Aces Full

by Alan Lee

  Aces Full

  Alan Lee

  Sparkle Press

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  My Opinion

  Sneak Peek of the next Mackenzie August book

  Thank You

  Aces Full

  by Alan Lee

  All rights reserved. No parts of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2018 Alan Janney

  First Edition

  Printed in USA

  Cover by Inspired Cover Designs

  Formatting by Polgarus

  Paperback ISBN: 978-1720304715

  Sparkle Press

  Created with Vellum

  1

  Grady Huff was gonna swing.

  That’s the way the Roanoke Times made it sound.

  The man had no chance, guilty as sin, and soon he’d be strung up on a long rope on the tallest tree branch while the townsfolk watched.

  Or sentenced to life in prison, but that was less romantic. Either way, Grady Huff’s prospects looked grim.

  I sat in my office, windows closed against a pale October chill, and read the Times on my laptop. My Merrell all-terrain hiking shoes (worn in case I needed to chase a dastardly villain up a rugged mountainside) were crossed on my desk. My black NorthFace rain jacket (worn in case the mountainside pursuit took place in a lashing downpour) was unzipped. My salmon slim-fitted Neiman Marcus (worn in case I needed to impress fashion-conscious damsels during the soaked mountainside chase) was neatly untucked. And I, lantern-jawed and intrepid investigator, pursuer of fiends, did not want to help Grady Huff escape his destiny.

  He was a trust fund kid, now thirty-five, and he’d inherited millions from his father’s investment in Pepsi in the fifties. Grady had bought a mansion on Smith Mountain Lake, spent his days inebriated on his dock and large sailboat, until one day killing his cleaning lady during a drunken bout of violence.

  I brought up her picture—she was a cutie.

  I brought up his—he was not.

  I lazily reached into the bottom drawer of my desk and fetched the nearly-full bottle of Johnny Walker Blue. Scrappy gumshoes had no business owning such a luxury so I nursed it carefully. Somedays I only popped the cork and smelled it. Today, though, I thought, today was a drizzly day and a good one to indulge.

  I popped the cork. Brought the bottle to my lips. Took half a sip, rolled it around, and replaced the bottle again.

  Mackenzie August, uncontrollable lush.

  I punched keys on my MacBook and the screen changed to my email. The most recently received was from a lawyer. Asking for my help. Asking me to help her prevent Grady Huff from swinging by his neck until dead.

  But I didn’t want to. The attorney didn’t pretend Grady was innocent. She didn’t want help proving his blamelessness, but rather to prevent the carriage of justice.

  Help me, Mackenzie August. You’re my only hope.

  Without you, this heinous and guilty man might get what he deserves.

  I sardonically shifted to stare out the window and think sardonic thoughts about the mist.

  “The cleaning lady,” I muttered. “Who kills their cleaning lady?”

  Everyone knew that cleaning ladies were universally nice women. If I could afford one, I’d be exceptionally kind to her. Unlike Grady Huff, the caveman.

  I breathed in deeply through my nose, enjoyed the potpourri’s masculine aroma, and thought deep thoughts while slowly exhaling like a popped tire.

  After a while, the wooden stairs leading to my second floor office creaked and strained.

  A man named Carlos came in. I knew Carlos, a tall and beefy associate of Marcus Morgan. Carlos was adept at hiding bodies, that’s what I knew. His head was shaved, his facial hair short and wispy and thin. He had tattoos on his neck and his forearms. He looked the way mobster muscle should, except his face didn’t hold the meanness. A gentle hitman.

  His jeans were black. His tight gray t-shirt strained at the biceps and neck.

  Carlos dropped to his knees at my desk. Pressed his face into the wood, and balled fists and made a sobbing sound.

  “Carlos,” I said. “You look destroyed. Is someone larger and scarier than you about to burst through my door?”

  He shoved a hand into his pocket and set a thick envelope of cash between us, without looking up.

  “August. You must be purchased. Por favor.”

  “Hired, you mean.”

  “He took her. She was taken and I…I do not know.”

  “Who took whom?” I said.

  “Mi niña. She is gone.”

  I sat up straighter. Claims of child abduction called for more erect posture.

  “Your daughter was kidnapped?”

  “Sí.”

  “When?”

  “No sé. I do not know where. And when. And who.”

  “What do you know?”

  He got to his feet. Wiped his eyes. Collapsed into one of my client chairs. “My daughter. Isabella. She live in Méjico. With her tía.”

  “Her aunt.”

  “Sí.”

  “And someone took her.”

  He nodded, trying to regain composure. And failing.

  “Could it be retaliation for your work with Marcus? Professional rivalry?”

  He shook his head. Took two deep shuddering breaths. “Okay. You listen. You understand a coyote.”

  “A coyote, yes,” I said. With a sinking feeling. “Someone you pay to smuggle yourself or a loved one across a boundary, like the Mexican border.”

  “Sí. I save money. I pay a coyote. He bring Isabella from Méjico. Across the border. I speak with her on the phone.”

  “And now the coyote wants triple the price or he won’t release Isabella,” I guessed.

  “Not three. Four.”

  “Quadruple! And you don’t know if Isabella is still alive. Or if he’ll let her go even if you pay.”

  His eyes squished and his mouth turned down again. “Sí.”

  “Well damn, Carlos.”

  He reached forward to press the envelope closer to me. “Here. For you. You find her. And maybe I can get you a diamond.”

  “A diamond? Why don’t you ask Marcus to help? He’s got connections in the underworld.”

  “I will. If you can not. You understand? It is… It is…”

  “Embarrassing and unprofessional?”

  “Sí.”

  “When your daughter is missing, getting help is never embarrassing and unprofessional, Carlos.”

  He said, “Please, Seńor August.”

  “How old is Isabella?”

  “Fourteen.”

  “Damn,” I said again. “Any number but fourtee
n.”

  “You will help.”

  “Of course. Por supuesto. I owe Marcus multiple favors anyway.” I closed my laptop screen. Grady Huff would have to wait until tomorrow. “You have a number to call?”

  “After I have money, I call the number.”

  I stood up and removed my jacket. It wasn’t raining indoors, Mackenzie, you idiot. I paced a moment. “Okay. You’re going to take a photo of yourself with this stack of cash. Text it to that number. And then call.”

  “The coyote say PayPal.”

  “We’re not doing PayPal. What kind of criminal does PayPal? Freaking millennials. You tell him you don’t have PayPal, but you’ll drop the cash anywhere. Tonight.”

  “Tonight?”

  “Sí,” I said. “This’ll work better, we strike quick.”

  “Bueno.”

  “Shock and awe. A child is at stake. Tonight.”

  “Bueno! Esta noche. We do this now?”

  “Yes. This very minute.”

  He grabbed the envelope and withdrew the cash. Spread the bills out in a fan in front of his face and snapped a pic with his phone. Replaced the cash into the envelope, set it on my desk, and sent the text message. “We will find him?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “I will kill him.”

  “Up to you. Wait a minute, let the coyote see the cash. Then call the guy. Put it on speaker.”

  Carlos nodded and watched his phone and sweated.

  He lasted thirty seconds and then made the phone call.

  “Remember,” I told him. “No PayPal. You will drop the cash anywhere. Tonight. Has to be tonight. Follow my lead.”

  Carlos nodded and sniffed, the gentle hitman.

  The phone clicked. A voice came over the speaker.

  “Tienes listo mi dinero, migo?”

  Carlos replied, “Quiero hablar con Isabella.”

  “No. Usted envía el dinero, recibe a su hija.”

  I was translating as best I could.

  Something like, you got the money?

  Yes, let me talk to Isabella.

  No, only after I get the cash.

  I made an angry face and balled a fist. Shook it at Carlos. Get mad!

  Carlos nodded and yelled into the phone, “Mataste a mi hija! Que te jodan!”

  “Isabella está viva. Relájate. No soy un asesino. Envía el dinero.”

  You killed my daughter!

  No, she’s alive. Send the money.

  I nodded. Good. We’ll give you the cash.

  “Te traeré efectivo. Esta noche. Sin PayPal,” said Carlos.

  “Solo PayPal.”

  I shook my head. No PayPal.

  Carlos said, “Efectivo. Esta noche. Sin PayPal. Lo dejaré en cualquier lado.”

  I’ll bring you cash anywhere tonight. No PayPal.

  “Tienes que usar PayPal, Carlos.”

  I shook my head and jumped. Swung my arms furiously. No PayPal, you piece of shit!

  “No tengo PayPal, mierda!” Carlos shouted. “Efectivo. Esta noche! O te cortaré la garganta!”

  “El punto es en Virginia Beach, Carlos. Usted conduce aquí esta noche?”

  Cash tonight, or I’ll cut your throat!

  The drop is in Virginia Beach, Carlos. You’ll drive here?

  I nodded. Thumbs up. I whispered, “Tonight.”

  “Esta bien. Traeré el dinero. Y liberas a Isabella.”

  “Traes dinero esta noche? Voy a liberar a Isabella por la mañana.”

  I was getting a little lost. Something like, I’ll bring you the money tonight for Isabella.

  Then I will release her tomorrow.

  I nodded. Big nod.

  “Sí,” said Carlos with relief. “Está mi hija en la playa de Virginia Beach?”

  “Sí. Le enviaré un mensaje de texto con instrucciones.”

  Is my daughter in Virginia Beach?

  Yes. I will text you with directions.

  And he hung up.

  Carlos set the phone down with shaking fingers. He squeezed his eyes shut again.

  I patted him on his heavy shoulder. “Real good, Carlos. You did great. We’re getting her back. Tonight.”

  “But the money. It’s too much. I am not rich.”

  “We’re not giving him a nickel. We’re going coyote hunting in Virginia Beach. We’re going to find the bastard and take Isabella by force.”

  2

  Carlos left to pack a few things. Like a weightier gun.

  I made a phone call.

  The world’s most mellifluous voice came on and filled my ear with steam and honey. “Hello Mackenzie.”

  “Hello Ronnie.”

  “Don’t you find it strange that I’ve never seen you naked? Please send a nude photo this instant.”

  I said, “If you’re with a client, he might be getting jealous.”

  “Or she.”

  I sat at my desk and reclined. “True.”

  “Do you remember Ruben Collier?”

  “I do. Nice man. He tends the plantations of marijuana that you own.”

  “Oh my. Phrase that some other way. I’ve never seen the fields. I don’t even know where they’re located.”

  “He tends the plantations of marijuana that you inherited,” I said. “But have never seen. He lives in Franklin County and is putting his kids through college by growing your major export.”

  “Ruben Collier called me. He requires my assistance making a few decisions about next year’s crop and this year’s stored surplus.”

  “What’d you tell him?”

  “I told him I didn’t have a fucking clue! That I am an expert in civil law and trendy fashion,” she said. “I need advice from someone I trust. Let’s talk about my options over dinner.”

  “I need to cancel our plans tonight.”

  Her breath caught. “You’re standing me up on our first date?”

  “It wasn’t a date and it wouldn’t be our first. And yes.”

  “It was a date and I was going to throw myself at you,” she said. “I purchased new lingerie.”

  “I do not date engaged women,” I said. With a smile. A handsome and reticent one.

  “That’s over, Mackenzie. I just haven’t told him. And I haven’t seen you in weeks. What is so urgent that you torment me?”

  “A child has been kidnapped. Only I can save her, hero that I am. I’ll be gone until tomorrow.”

  Her breath caught again. I cherished that sound. “Okay, that’s a good reason. I release you. What will you do with Kix, your perfect son?”

  “Beg my father or Manny.”

  “I will watch him.”

  “Absolutely not,” I said. “I’ve been inside your apartment. All your plants are dead.”

  “Because who cares about fucking plants. I adore your son and will remember to water him.”

  “Ronnie—”

  I heard clicking sounds through the phone. She said, “I’m already canceling my appointments for the rest of today, Mackenzie. And tomorrow.”

  “You’re going to be the world’s hottest babysitter.”

  “Correct.”

  “You cannot take him to your place. You have to stay at mine.”

  “Finally,” she said, “You ask me to sleep over. And you’ll be out all night. Will Manny be there?”

  “If he is, you may not touch him.”

  “When do you need me?”

  “As soon as possible,” I said. “We’ve not a moment to lose.”

  “I wish you were always this insistent. I’ll see you soon, Mackenzie. And I expect payment up front.”

  At my house I threw a handful of granola bars into a backpack. Plus some water bottles and a box of .45 ammo. Kix drank milk and watched me with concern from his playpen, eyebrows raised over sparkling blue eyes.

  Looks like you have a wild night planned.

  I said, “Daddy’s got to go out tonight, but he’ll be safe.”

  Please don’t refer to yourself in the third person. It makes things weird
.

  “Ronnie volunteered to watch you. Be a good boy.”

  Stay as long as you like, old man. The hot blonde and I will be juuuust fine.

  Manny came home at four, as he often did, the captain of industriousness. An absurdly handsome and fit man, built like a wide receiver. He paused on the way to the fridge to glance in my backpack. “Señor, who you be shooting? Five hundred times, looks like.”

  “You know Carlos? One of Marcus Morgan’s guys?”

  “Simon, I know Carlos.”

  “He’s being extorted by a coyote with his daughter. We’re retrieving her.”

  He cocked a hip and crossed his arms. Inspected me with strenuous disapproval. “You and I, Mack,” he said. “We no longer amigos?”

  I grinned. “You want to go?”

  He glared.

  I said, “You can go but we’ll be gone all night.”

  “That is a hell of a thing to say to me, cabrón.”

  “The coyote is in Virginia Beach, we think. The plan is, bust his door down. Then duck and shoot back, long enough to get the girl. You in?”

  He didn’t move. Glared some more. Then pointed a finger at me (which I knew for a fact had been manicured). “Next time you pack for a shootout without telling me? I shoot you myself.”

  “I apologize for not inviting you to get killed tonight by Mexican coyotes. Will never happen again. You big baby.”

  “You and me, we are Mack and Manuel. We work together. Like the candy, M&M. Everyone calls us that,” he said.

  “No they don’t.”

  “Not if you keep taking Carlos and not me, stupid Anglo.”