Quarterback Trap (A Carlos McCrary novel Book 3)

by Dallas Gorham

  He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He squeezed her shoulder tighter. I saw the carpet knife press a crease in Gracie’s throat.

  I pulled the fat envelope from my pants pocket and held it in my left hand. “Move the knife and I’ll give you this money.”

  He eased up on the knife. The crease disappeared and I felt a little hope.

  “Gimme the money.”

  “Move the knife.”

  He did. Maybe an inch. “Stop playing games and gimme the goddamn money.”

  “Sharky, you gotta walk out of here regardless.” I gestured at the front door with my chin. “Why don’t you come over here and I’ll hand it to you on your way out. I presume you parked around the next corner? Shouldn’t be a long walk.”

  I could hear the wheels turn in his twisted little mind as he considered that. “Show me the money again.”

  I opened the flap of the envelope and showed him the bills inside. I pulled a few an inch out of the envelope. “They’re all hundreds. Here. It’s yours.” I left the flap open where he could see the bills and extended the envelope in my right hand, willing him to come take it.

  Her grabbed Gracie’s hair and turned her head toward him as he leaned close to her face. “Don’t move one muscle until I’m out the door. You hear me, bitch?”

  She managed to nod her head. Her lips trembled. Her eyes were wet.

  He let go of her hair. He stuck the carpet knife in the back of the couch. As he walked around the end, he cut a long slash in the fabric. Foam rubber oozed from the cut. “That could be you, bitch.”

  He waved the carpet knife at me as he crossed the living room. “Get the fuck outta my way.”

  I stepped to the left and held the envelope out to the right, in front of the door. I knew that he’d count the money as soon as he left. He’d be back, if not immediately, then later in New York. I had to do something now or Gracie would pay with her life or her career.

  Sharky held the knife inches from my face as he reached for the envelope with his left hand.

  When his hand touched the envelope, I dropped it.

  Sharky instinctively grabbed at the envelope with his left hand.

  I shot my hand up and seized his right wrist like a vise. I twisted the curved blade up and away from my face.

  He reached his left hand up and grabbed my wrist, trying to free his knife hand. It felt like he was chinning himself on my arm and it started to drop downward.

  I couldn’t let him get that wicked curved blade near me. I swung my other fist into his solar plexus as hard as I could.

  He dropped his left arm to protect his stomach.

  I kneed him in the balls hard enough to lift him off the floor. The carpet knife dropped to the floor near his feet. Gravity is my friend.

  I grasped his right wrist like it was the last helicopter at the fall of Saigon. I hammered his throat with my other fist. Another right to the heart and he collapsed on the floor.

  He rolled over and reached for the carpet knife. I kicked him in the head. He was still moving, so I kicked him again. I picked up the wicked knife and threw it through the doorway into the kitchen.

  It was over.

  I grabbed the roll of duct tape and secured his wrists and ankles, then called 911.

  Chapter 70

  Kelly put her notebook away. “Bigs, you got anything else?”

  “I’m good, Kelly.”

  She turned back to me. “I guess that wraps it up, Chuck.”

  Two uniforms in a black-and-white had taken Sharky away. The CSIs had finished their duties and detectives Kelly Contreras and Bigs Bigelow had another collar on their record.

  The three of us shook hands and the two detectives left.

  Gracie came in from the kitchen where she had been waiting. “What happens now, Chuck?”

  “Well, I’m going to call Miyo and ask her for a real date for tomorrow night. Then I’m going home and sleep for about fourteen hours.”

  “No. I mean what’s going to happen to me?”

  I spread my hands, palms up. “I don’t have a crystal ball, Gracie. Your future is pretty much up to you.”

  “Do you think Bob will take me back?”

  “You’ll have to ask him.”

  She sat on the couch in the same spot she’d been that morning. “You’re no help.”

  “What? Saving your life, or at least your face, that was no help? Catching the guy who threatened to maim you, that wasn’t any help? Getting him on attempted murder for his attack on me, that wasn’t help? What do you want from me, lady?”

  Her face got cloudy. “I don’t know. I just…” She started to cry…again. “I feel so helpless.”

  “To paraphrase Forrest Gump: Helpless is as helpless does.” I sat down across from her. “I don’t know what you’ll do with your life, Gracie. But it’s your life. It’s not mine, and it’s not Bob’s. You write your own life story. You can’t hire a ghost writer.”

  I reached across and put my hand on hers. “You’ve had a wake-up call, Gracie. I hope you heed it. I hope you grow up and take responsibility for your actions. I really do. But it’s up to you.”

  I stood. “Now, if you’ll give my regards to your parents when they return, I’ll be on my way.”

  Acknowledgments

  My thanks to my editor Marsha Butler. Her Website is http://www.swmpwriter.com. She makes me a better writer. Also to my colleagues in the Authors’ Roundtable of Mount Dora, FL for their support and encouragement. And to my cover designer Michael Butler of Michael by Design. His Website is http://michaelbydesign.com/.

  About the author

  Dallas Gorham is a sixth-generation Texan and a proud Texas Longhorn, having earned a Bachelor of Business Administration at the University of Texas at Austin. Like his fictional hero, Chuck McCrary, Dallas now lives in a waterfront home in Florida, where he has followed his lifelong love of reading private-eye novels into writing them. He is a member of Mystery Writers of America, the Florida Writers Association, and the Authors’ Roundtable of Mt. Dora FL.

  One of his goals in life is to find more golf balls than he loses. He is also a defender of oppressed palm trees.

  You can visit his website at http://dallasgorham.com, follow him on Twitter at @DallasGorham, or Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/DallasGorham.

  Hello from Dallas Gorham

  Now that you have finished Quarterback Trap, can I ask you a favor? Please go to the Website where you bought it and write a review. We authors live and die by our reviews. Your review can help someone else decide whether they might like my book.

  Thanks.

  I always love to hear from my readers. Email me at Dallas@DallasGorham.com. Tell me how you liked my story and what you’d like to see Chuck McCrary do next. Or tell me anything else on your mind.

  All the best,

  Dallas

  Also by Dallas Gorham

  I’m No Hero

  A short story introducing Carlos McCrary when he was a sergeant in the U.S. Special Forces in Afghanistan. Available on Amazon.com.

  On a clear night in June 2006, Special Forces Operational Detachment Alpha 777, the Triple Seven, gets their mission: Free an Afghan mountain village from a ruthless Taliban blockade which is starving the people to death. The village's crime? They educated girls in the village school.

  A courageous young boy from the village sneaks through the hot summer night to escape the Taliban blockade. He runs ten miles barefooted to get help, arriving at an Afghan National Army garrison with bloody feet. He seeks the help of Afghan Major Ibrahim Malik. But Malik knows that his ANA small force is no match for the well-armed Taliban terrorists. Malik and the boy come to the Green Berets of the Triple Seven for help.

  The Taliban have a larger force, heavily armed with Kalashnikov AK-47s and rocket-propelled grenades. The Americans must rely on their equipment, their training, and themselves.

  This is a story of Sergeant Carlos "Chuck" McCrary, a Mexican-American Green Beret, a
nd his team of soldiers who risk their lives to save two thousand Afghan townspeople they have never even met. Chuck and his fellow Special Forces soldiers live the motto: “We own the night.” They set off in the darkness to defeat the Taliban and break the blockade. But when the soldiers of the Triple Seven don their night vision goggles and show up in the dark hours to liberate the village, they are surprised and outnumbered by an ambush of heavily-armed Taliban terrorists.

  The soldiers of Team Triple Seven must fight for their lives, or the villagers won’t be the only ones the Taliban wipe out.

  Six Murders Too Many

  The first novel in the Carlos McCrary series, Six Murders Too Many is available in both electronic and print editions on Amazon.com.

  Private detective Carlos “Chuck” McCrary digs into a paternity dispute and uncovers a series of murders.

  Millionaire oil man Ike Simonetti tells Chuck McCrary that his late father’s widow is trying to steal over $200,000,000 from him.

  While seventy-five-year-old billionaire Sam Simonetti was hospitalized for his second heart attack, his two daughters from an earlier marriage died in a house fire, leaving Ike as Sam’s only child and sole heir. Or was he?

  After Sam’s death, his trophy wife (now widowed) produced another contender for the fortune—a baby girl born six months later. The widow stakes a claim to half of Sam’s estate for her infant daughter Gloria.

  Now Ike wants Chuck to uncover the identity of Gloria’s real father and cut her out of the will.

  The investigation takes Chuck from the sun-splashed beaches of South Florida to the burned-out Cleveland home of the two dead daughters. He stirs up a hornet’s nest and uncovers a triple murder.

  When three hit men ambush Chuck, the case becomes a matter of life and death. To save his own life and that of the supposed infant heiress, Chuck must discover if one of the billionaire’s surviving family members is the real puppet master behind the murders.

  Then Chuck learns that there may be two Black Widows dueling over the billionaire’s estate—willing to kill anyone who gets in their way...including an infant heiress and a nosy private investigator.

  Double Fake, Double Murder

  The second novel in the Carlos McCrary series, Double Fake, Double Murder is available in both electronic and print editions on Amazon.com.

  Mob boss Garrison Franco is gunned down in the street, and the police think they know who did it—Jorge Castellano, one of their own homicide detectives whose wife had been threatened by Franco. Castellano claims he’s been framed and pleads with private investigator Chuck McCrary to find the real killer.

  Chuck discovers a mysterious teenager who ran away from an abusive foster home who may have witnessed the murder. But the boy doesn’t trust anyone and won’t tell Chuck what he saw. Chuck must gain the boy’s trust before he can solve the crime.

  Chuck’s prime suspect is Ted Smoot, a disgraced, former police detective and convicted blackmailer, now out of jail and plying his trade again. With shameful secrets and millions of dollars at stake, three of Smoot’s super rich victims try to hire Chuck to kill Smoot. He refuses, but days later Smoot is found shot to death with Chuck’s gun. Chuck is arrested for murder.

  Now Chuck must not only find out who killed Franco and framed his friend Castellano for the murder, but must solve the new murder or face a lifetime in prison himself. His efforts to untangle the web of fabricated evidence in both murders take him from the crime-filled streets of a South Florida ghetto to the waterfront mansions and condos of the mega wealthy in pursuit of the mysterious and elusive killers.

  Chuck must deal with millionaires and billionaires on the one hand and hoodlums and drug dealers on the other.

  If you enjoyed Quarterback Trap, read on for an exciting preview of Dangerous Friends, a new Carlos McCrary novel available June 2015 from Seven Oaks Publishing LLC in electronic and print format.

  Dangerous Friends

  A Carlos McCrary Novel

  By Dallas Gorham

  Chapter 1

  Michelle looked at her phone and punched reject to send the call to voicemail. “I feel kinda bad ignoring Daddy’s calls like that.”

  “Why don’t you just turn the goddamn phone off? You’re an adult for crissakes. This isn’t the nineteenth century. Your father doesn’t own you. You deserve your own personal identity. You don’t have to be defined by your subservient role to a patriarchal paradigm. You deserve some privacy. We deserve some privacy.” James rubbed her breast with his fingertips, sending chills down her belly.

  She rolled onto her side facing him, grabbed his hand, and kissed the palm. She rubbed his hand against her cheek. “I know, James, but…Daddy’s going to be real worried, you know?” She leaned backwards and set the phone down on the nightstand. “Besides, Katherine might call.”

  She wrapped James’s arm around her waist and rolled onto his chest with her legs on either side of his body. She nuzzled his neck under the beard. “I can feel that.”

  James wrapped both arms around her waist. “Omigod, that feels good.”

  “It could feel even better.” She nibbled his earlobe and rolled off. “You’d better put on a condom.”

  James lay there with his eyes closed. “Don’t go. What are the odds, just this once?”

  “We’ve discussed this. We don’t want to bring children into this world yet. Not until we clean up some of the pollution. Put on the condom, lover.” She leaned over and nibbled his ear.

  “I’ll put on a condom, if you turn off your phone.”

  “What if Steven calls? You know how pissed he gets if we don’t answer his calls immediately, no matter what we’re doing. Or who.” She smiled.

  “Fuck Steven.”

  “Oh, I will, just not now.” She ran a finger down his chest. “James, the project is going to happen any time now. Maybe tonight. We’ve got to be ready and available. Are you that easily distracted?” She blew in his ear. “Speaking of being ready and available…” She ran her fingers down his chest. “I’ll bet I can keep your attention, even if the phone does ring. Put on a condom and I’ll prove it.”

  Chapter 2

  When he carried his coffee into my office, John Hickham looked as nervous as a nudist at a church convention.

  “Come in, John. You said on the phone that you had a family emergency. What’s happening?”

  “Michelle’s in trouble, Chuck.”

  “I met her at your dad’s Super Bowl party. Your oldest daughter, right?”

  He nodded. “She’s a freshman at UAC.”

  “What’s she studying at the university?”

  “Environmental science.”

  I wrote that down. “How can I help?”

  John set his cup on the coffee table and flopped in the chair across from me. His hands rested on his thighs and his chin dropped to his chest. “Michelle has disappeared. I just called Dad. He said I should call you, that you helped him out of a tough spot a while back.”

  “Disappeared how?”

  “She doesn’t answer her phone. I’ve emailed and texted her and she doesn’t reply.”

  “How old is she?”

  “Eighteen. She’ll be nineteen this summer.”

  “When’s her birthday?”

  “What difference does that make?”

  I shrugged. “Maybe none. It’s just the way I work. I get lots of facts. When’s her birthday?”

  “Geez, I don’t know. Sometime next summer. I’d have to ask Penny.” Penny was John’s wife.

  “Never mind. I’ll get that later. Where does she live?”

  “At home. She commutes to school.”

  “What’s your address?”

  He told me and I wrote it down. “How long has Michelle been out of touch?”

  “A couple of days. I think something bad’s happened to her.”

  “What does Penny think?”

  His lips twisted in a half smile. “Her maternal instincts tell her that Michelle is okay. Penny thinks mayb
e she skipped out to be with a boyfriend. She reminded me that we did that when we were in college.”

  “But you don’t think she’s with a boyfriend.” I sipped my coffee.

  “She doesn’t have a steady boyfriend.”

  “That you know about. Sometimes parents don’t know as much about their kids as they think.”

  I smiled at him. “Face it, John. Legally, Michelle is an adult. There are things you and Penny don’t know about her. She has a right to some privacy, even if she does live at home.”

  “Michelle may be eighteen, but she’s not really an adult. I remember when I was her age. I didn’t have a lick of sense. Frankly, she’s naïve about the real world.” He picked up his coffee. “Maybe Penny and I have been overprotective. Okay, maybe I’ve been overprotective. You’ll understand when you have daughters.” He sipped his coffee.

  “When’s the last time you heard from her?”

  “Couple of days ago. Last Friday night at dinner Michele told us that she and a few friends from the university were gonna build houses for Habitat for Humanity during spring break. Some local motel out in west Port City agreed to house the volunteers. She packed a bag and left Saturday morning. Nobody’s heard from her since.”

  I looked at my wall clock. “Okay, it’s two-thirty. Why come to me now?”

  John leaned forward with his forearms on his knees. “This morning I had some business in west Port City. I called Habitat for Humanity and got the address where they’re building houses this week. I was gonna drop by and surprise Michelle. Take her and her friends to lunch.”

  “Good for you.” I smirked. “A great way for Dad to check up on his little girl.”