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Title: Ripple Effect
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Author(s): Alex Standish
Editor: Vincent
ISBN:
Release Date: 2/11/09
Word Count: 90000
Imprint: Top Shelf
Price: 5.95
Heat Level/Warnings: Bell pepper, chile, jalapeno, habanero
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Author Email: [email protected]
Editor Email: [email protected]
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Ripple Effect
Chapter One
Jawara country, Africa
Present day
He was going to kill Bruce, he really was. In an extremely slow, painful way. Maybe even involving some sort of excruciating torture before delivering the final blow. Chinese torture, that would do. Carson bit his lip as yet another sharp, low-hanging branch scraped against his body, ripping cloth and tearing skin. He was covered in cuts and bruises, beyond exhausted. The remorseless sun beating down on him made it seem like he was inside a sweltering oven and he would kill for a single drop of water.
Not to mention, since his watch had been smashed in an earlier fall, he had lost track of how long he had been wandering through the jungle. And it was all Bruce's fault for abandoning him in this endless labyrinth of tropical vegetation.
What the hell had he been thinking, taking up with a self-centered, arrogant, prickly bastard like Bruce Fraser? What the hell had him thinking a relationship between them could possibly work? They couldn't even see eye to eye on toothpaste let alone important stuff.
But this, this took the cake. Being invited on vacation to an exotic country to "patch up" their differences, only to be left stranded in the middle of nowhere after a stupid argument over where in Jawara to visit next... Oh, yes, Bruce was going to regret it. Assuming, of course, a band of starving lions didn't decide to have Carson for lunch, or he didn't die of dehydration first.
As if in defiance of his crazed thoughts, he heard a most welcome sound; running water. There had to be a river or stream nearby. He stood frozen for a moment, trying to find where the noise was coming from, his legs taking him in that direction of their own volition.
He nearly sobbed as his eyes spotted a stream of clear water right before him. He knelt on the bank, submerging his head and neck into that wonderful freshness, then drank his fill, remembering not to swallow too fast. The last thing he needed was to get sick. He sat on the lush grass for a long while, enjoying a well-deserved rest, before deciding to proceed with his mission. Sooner or later he would find civilization, a way to return to Jawara City, and then Bruce would get his just desserts.
He had barely risen to his feet when he sensed he was no longer alone. He had heard no particular noise, man-made or otherwise, but the hairs at the back of his neck were standing up in warning. The world around him was suddenly too still, too quiet. Even the animals had grown silent.
"Bruce?" he whispered, hoping his asshole of a lover had come back for him. "Is that you?"
The sound of rustling leaves reached him from several directions. He shuddered, realizing he was about to face more than one person or animal. His breath caught as the bushes were pushed aside, and he found himself abruptly surrounded by a dozen black men. All of them wore nothing more than a loincloth at the waist and bone necklaces at their throats. The paint smeared on their faces and chests and the spears in their hands as they drew closer didn't exactly reassure Carson he was in safe hands. Especially as he recognized some of the bones adorning their necks as being human vertebrae.
Oh, I can see the headlines now, he thought inanely to himself. 'Private Investigator on vacation in Africa eaten by tribe of cannibals.' How in the hell do I get out of this mess?
That was his last coherent thought for some time, as the natives chose that moment to attack. He managed to evade the spears, punching and kicking as best as he could, but he was at a great disadvantage and still tired, and soon began to lose ground. Two of the cannibals had succeeded in throwing him on the rough earth and were trying to subdue him when gunshots echoed. In less than a second, he was free and the tribesmen had vanished out of sight.
Carson stayed on the ground, eyes squeezed shut, panting for breath as he silently thanked whatever deity was responsible for saving his sorry hide. He finally opened his eyes as the familiar purring of a motor halted next to him. It was a jeep, carrying three white men, all of them armed with machine guns.
"Hey," he greeted them weakly. "I assume you're my timely saviors?"
One of the men, in his forties and sporting a bright red-haired goatee that contrasted drastically with his bald head, grinned wickedly. "That would be us, yeah. My name's Benzin; these are my friends, Collins and Bloom."
Carson sat up slowly. "In that case, thank you. My idea of fun wasn't to end up as someone else's gourmet dinner."
The men chuckled. "Well, I wouldn't thank my lucky stars just yet," Benzin said, his grin widening.
Carson raised an eyebrow at that.
"We've been looking for you," Collins said. He was a giant of a man, big and strong, and would have probably given most wrestlers a run for their money. "We witnessed your fight with your friend. And how he took off in the jeep you'd rented and left you alone. Bit of a bastard, isn't he? Anyway, it was the perfect opportunity, as far as we're concerned."
"Perfect opportunity for what?" Carson echoed, dread surging through him. Talk about jumping out of the frying pan and into the fire. It would seem his "saviors" had a hidden agenda.
"We were doing some business in Jawara City a few days ago, when we saw you near your hotel," Bloom said. Contrary to the other two, who did look like mercenaries, Bloom resembled anything but. Short, slim, and with the face of a weasel, he was as different from the others as could be. "We recognized Bruce Fraser immediately; after all, he's one of the wealthiest men in the States. We've been following you around, hoping to get you alone."
"Yeah. Our boss thought Fraser might be willing to part with some of his money to get you back. Although, after your fight I'm not so sure. The man certainly has a temper, hasn't he? You better pray he cares enough about you to pay up, or you'll be in some serious trouble." Benzin laughed merrily. "Up and at 'em, boyo. We have places to be and ransoms to demand."
Carson sighed and rose to his feet, allowing Collins to bind his wrists behind his back. There was no way he could escape, not with three firearms aimed at his head. All he could do was hope that Bruce paid the ransom and that these men wouldn't kill him afterwards. He would stick to that plan until a better one came along.
Apparently Bruce got to live after all, and not only not get tortured, he would even get to play the hero. It was an annoying thought. # # #
Carson was expertly driven through the jungle, until they reached a clearing where a pavilion had been erected. A Cherokee jeep and a Ford military truck were parked by the left side. Benzin shut down his jeep's engine next to the other two vehicles just as a fourth man exited the pristine white tent. "That's our boss, Geils," Bloom said helpfully, pulling Carson out of the jeep and towards Geils.
"I see you finally managed to capture our prey," Geils said softly, a smile playing on his lips. Carson watched warily as the mercenary's blue eyes explored his body with a cool, smoldering interest. It made him uneasy to realize Geils was openly showing sexual interest in him. "Did you search him?" the gang's leader finally asked.
Geils was a tall, lanky man, with very fain
t facial scarring, most likely from a childhood disease. His black hair was overdue for a good, thorough washing, but strangely enough his clothes looked clean and perfectly ironed.
"No," Collins replied. "But he's not armed. There's no place to hide a gun in the clothes he's wearing."
Geils swatted Collins lightly on the head. "You can never be too careful," he admonished. "A knife is easily concealed on one's person, and just as deadly as a gun. We must be prudent in all things, especially in this business." He chuckled, approaching Carson slowly. "Allow me the honor."
Carson gritted his teeth as Geils searched him more thoroughly than necessary, running his hands all over Carson's body. The only thing found was his wallet, and Geils raised his eyebrows in surprise as he looked inside.
"Private Investigator? An idle millionaire and a P.I.? You two are an odd pair, aren't you? Well, I guess I've seen stranger friendships before." He looked at Benzin. "Go back to town, find Fraser and tell him we have his friend, Carson Bodine. Tell him he either gives us two million dollars by Friday or we'll deliver Bodine back to him piece by piece."
"I'm not sure Fraser'll pay, boss," Collins said. "We saw them having one hell of a row earlier. And then Fraser took off and left Bodine here all alone in the jungle. That's not buddies."
Geils raised an eyebrow at that. "Not very friendly indeed." He trailed his fingers down the line of Carson's jaw. "What did you argue about? It must've been serious."
"The price of tea in China," Carson scowled, refusing to admit the truth.
Collins was right, Bruce was a bastard. These men would laugh themselves silly if they knew their argument had been because Bruce wanted to visit some of the local tribes and Carson thought they had better find a guide who knew the area first.
Carson wouldn't have left a stranger stranded in the jungle to fend for himself, let alone a lover. But that had always been one of the points of contention between them; Bruce's careless attitude. They had their moments of companionship, but they had never really been friends. Bruce's actions spoke louder than words. There was nothing left to patch up between them; perhaps there had never been.
Geils tapped Carson's cheek lightly. "Funny. Be as it may, he better pay up or I'll have to make good on my threat and kill you. And it would be such a shame to ruin perfection. Bloom, take him inside."
"Right, boss." Bloom dragged Carson inside the tent, throwing him on the floor. "Do anything stupid and you're dead, Bodine."
# # #
Left temporarily alone, Carson didn't waste any time exploring his surroundings. His gaze swept over every inch of the inside of the tent, which was spartan at best. A table and four chairs stood near the center, a few backpacks were tucked in a corner, along with two battery lamps, four bedrolls, canteens, jerry cans of water, and crates of provisions. "We travel light," Geils said, having walked in during Carson's inspection of the place. "Due to our... profession we're forced to move often."
"What happens now?" Carson asked.
"Now, if you give me your word not to try to escape, I'll let you have some food and water and a change of clothes. I believe we're about the same size."
"I'd appreciate that. But that's not what I meant."
"I know," Geils replied, as he cut Carson's ropes and helped him stand with surprising gentleness. "It's up to your friend. If he pays the ransom, I'll let you go. Although I confess that in your case it will pain me to do so. But we do have a reputation to uphold round these parts."
Carson snorted. "Of course." Geils gestured for him to sit at the table, and brought him water, a plate with two large omelet sandwiches and several pieces of fruit, all of which Carson gladly devoured. "So, you're actually telling me that if Bruce pays the ransom you'll let me go? You might be able to break camp at a second's notice, but even assuming you're using aliases, I've seen your faces. How can you let me leave?"
Geils brushed a lock of greasy hair off his forehead, then shrugged carelessly. "It doesn't matter who knows our names or faces. It's not the first time we've done this. The authorities won't do anything against us. This country is a gold mine for the right people. Most tribes are at war with each other, and are as primitive as they come, even by this continent's standards. Only the capital city shows any promise, and both the government and the big shots running it care only about power and the American dollar. We've been in Jawara for years and we're still running free. Nobody here dares to take us on for the bounties on our heads. Except maybe MacKenzie and his crowd."
"MacKenzie?" Carson asked curiously, biting into a juicy peach, and frowning as Geils' eyes darkened and focused on his mouth. He licked his lips to get rid of the juice, but realized he was making things worse when Geils leaned forward, his breathing erratic.
"A group of do-gooders who recently settled down in Jawara country," Geils replied, sounding slightly hoarse. "Their aim is to improve the tribes' living conditions, help put an end to their petty wars, if possible. And of course, put a stop to operators such as myself."
"What exactly do you do, besides kidnapping people and holding them for ransom?"
Geils smirked. "Oh, this and that. Whatever the guys with the big bucks want me to do. Now, I think it's time for that change of clothes." He rose from the table and set a basin on the wooden surface, which he filled with water. "I'm afraid showers are out of the question, but you can still wash away the dirt with this." Next he brought out a pair of cream khaki pants and an army green t-shirt. "I'm sure this will do for now."
"Thank you," Carson said. Seeing that Geils was still standing there looking at him expectantly, he added, "I suppose asking for a little privacy would be too much?"
The mercenary laughed. "You're a detective, Carson... Can I call you Carson?"
"Oh, please do," Carson muttered sarcastically.
"Thank you. As I was saying, you're a detective, probably very adept at getting out of sticky situations. The moment I turn my back, you'll very likely try to leave my company. Besides, I'm certain I'll enjoy the show very, very much."
Flushing with both anger and embarrassment, Carson stripped off his torn shirt, using it to clear the worse of the dirt clinging to his torso. He could feel Geils' eyes glued to his body, but refused to acknowledge the man or to make matters worse by snapping at him. After donning the t-shirt, he took off his equally ruined pants, rushing to clean himself up and nearly sighing with relief when he was once again fully clothed. Geils seemed about ready to pounce on him and that was the last thing he needed.
"You have a beautiful body, Carson," Geils said, his voice husky. "Tell me, are you and Bruce just friends? Don't take this the wrong way, but I find it hard to believe that a pompous fool like Fraser would be friends with a mere private investigator. Unless there was something in it for him, of course."
"None of your damn business," Carson said angrily, sick of the man and his disgusting stare.
And if Carson was honest with himself, the suggestion that he was nothing more than a piece of ass to Bruce rattled. Sometimes he thought the only thing Bruce really cared about was his money. Then again, at the moment he didn't give a damn about what Bruce wanted or cared about, or Geils either, for that matter.
Geils didn't seem offended or upset at his tone. "Perhaps. But I would love to find out. And maybe I will, soon."
With that Geils finally left the tent, but before Carson could even think of escaping, both Bloom and Collins were back to guard him. It was more urgent than ever for Carson to make a break for it as soon as possible. He didn't think Geils would resist temptation for long, no matter the outcome of his "business" with Bruce.
# # #
Carson hadn't meant to fall asleep sitting at the table, but after hours tramping through the jungle and the fight with the tribesmen, he had been exhausted. He woke up to the sound of the jeep returning, night having fallen long ago. Collins was waiting for Benzin with Geils, but Bloom was still keeping an eye on him.
Carson watched through the open tent door as the three
men outside talked quietly by a small fire; Benzin was obviously recounting his talk with Bruce. After a while, Geils nodded and walked in, leaving the other two to sit by the fire.
"Out," he said to Bloom, who rushed to obey.
The mercenary sat near Carson, the light from the two lamps illuminating the pavilion enough for the man's grim expression to be perfectly visible. Carson's heart tightened at that; clearly, there was something wrong.
"What happened?" he asked, hardly aware he was whispering.
"I'm afraid I have bad news, Carson," Geils said, and he looked honestly sorry.
"Bruce refused to pay the ransom?" Carson ventured, only half-surprised.
"Not exactly. When Benzin arrived at the hotel you two had been staying in, Bruce was gone."
Carson shot up from his chair, not sure if he had heard correctly. "What? What do you mean, gone?"
"I mean that he paid for the room, asked the receptionist to hold your things for a few days and caught the first flight back to the States. He left you behind."
"That little..." Carson muttered angrily. "I suppose it's too late to hire your services and have you torture that son of a bitch to death?"
Geils chuckled. "Way too late. I'd be arrested the moment I set foot in the States. Same thing with Bloom and Collins. But I still know a few people in the right circles. If you really want it done..."
"No! No," Carson said more calmly. "I was just... blowing off steam. I can't believe he left without so much as a second thought, especially after our fight this morning. He didn't even care that something might've happened to me. I mean, I know he can be a jerk, especially when he's pissed off, but to actually leave the country..." He sat dejectedly on the table. "Now what?"
"Normally, I'd kill you, since I'd have no further use for you. Fraser having left means we'll get no money. But there's something about you..." Geils shook his head, a rueful smile on his lips. "I'd like to propose a deal."
Carson narrowed his eyes. He reclined back in his chair and crossed his arms. "A deal?"
The Ripple Effect Page 1
