Bad News Travels
- Автор: Суэйн Джеймс
- Серия: Lancaster & Daniels #3
- Год: 2020
- Язык: английский
- Год: Thomas & Mercer
- ISBN: 978-1-5420-1644-5
- Жанр: Триллеры
Электронная книга - «Bad News Travels». Краткое содержание книги:
No sooner do they arrive than suspicions are aroused. There’s the pair of Russians who seem to be watching every move the family makes. A final, cryptic phone call Martin Daniels made to his granddaughter. Strange blood evidence on his estate. More than $1 million missing from Martin’s account. And his cell phone, wiped clean, along with clues to a double life. To Beth, it’s disturbingly clear: the man she loved was a stranger.
As she and Jon delve into Martin’s past, they have no idea where the secrets will take them. Or how dangerous it will be to expose the conspiracies, the cover-ups, and the terrible truths of Martin’s life — and death.
Butter Stain got behind the wheel and fired up the engine. His partners drove an unmarked sedan with tinted windows. He followed them out of the parking lot.
“Where are you taking me?” Lancaster asked.
“You were a cop, what do you think?” Butter Stain said.
“I think you’re abusing your authority.”
“And you would be right.”
He hadn’t spent enough time in Saint Augustine to have a lay of the land, and unfamiliar street names flashed by. They came to a large park, with swings and basketball courts, and Butter Stain parked behind an aluminum storage shed. An unmarked sedan was waiting for them.
Butter Stain yanked him out of the back seat and removed the handcuffs. Lancaster watched the cops roll back their shirt sleeves in preparation for a good beating. One by one, they removed their sidearms and placed them on the hood of the sedan.
A man stepped out from behind the shed. He wore a jacket and tie and was sucking on a cigarette. He took a final hit and ground it into the dirt. It was Detective Sykes. Coming forward, he poked his finger in Lancaster’s chest.
“You are the definition of a problem,” Sykes said.
“What did I do?” Lancaster asked.
“What didn’t you do, is more like it,” the detective said. “You run around town with that pretty little FBI lady, poking your nose where it doesn’t belong, stirring the pot. Martin Daniels killed himself, and nothing’s going to change that. Leave it be.”
“Martin was being extorted by a group of Russians,” he said.
“We’ll take care of the Russians in due time,” Sykes said.
“The Russians have been causing trouble for a while, and it doesn’t appear that you did a damn thing to stop them.”
Sykes poked him again. “Leave it be.”
“Fuck you.”
“What are you, some kind of masochist? My boys will beat you to a pulp, make that ugly face even uglier.”
“Have at it.”
Sykes snarled like a junkyard dog. He moved backward while motioning with his arm. The biggest of the three uniforms stepped forward. He was corn fed, about six-four and 250 pounds, with tree-trunk arms and no neck. Lancaster, who stood five-nine and weighed 170, held his ground.
“You shouldn’t have said that,” No Neck said.
“Said what?” Lancaster asked.
“Fuck you. You shouldn’t have said that.”
“I didn’t realize you boys were so fragile. Oh, by the way, fuck you.”
No Neck put his hand on the lapel of Lancaster’s shirt and gave it a yank, popping the buttons. “You’re not funny.” Suddenly his eyes went wide, and he froze.
Sykes sensed something was amiss. “What’s wrong?”
No Neck pointed at the distinctive frog skeleton tattoo crawling up Lancaster’s shoulder. The tattoo was blue-black in color, and had the date that it had been inked.
“He’s a SEAL,” No Neck said, the bravado gone from his voice. “Those guys are lethal. I don’t want my eyes gouged out.”
“He’s no SEAL,” Sykes said. “He probably got the tattoo to trick a lady into thinking he was. Only way he was ever going to get laid.”
Sykes and the other two cops laughed. No Neck wasn’t convinced and started backing up. Lancaster wondered if the guy had been born stupid or if he took classes. By dropping his defenses, he’d made himself vulnerable to a variety of kicks and blows, all of which would incapacitate him. He was an open target.
Lancaster rushed forward and grabbed No Neck by the arms. He kicked his legs out from under him, and gave him a shove. No Neck crashed to earth, taking Butter Stain with him on his way down. They lay on the ground, writhing in pain.
“My knee!” Butter Stain said.
Sykes cursed. Their four-to-one advantage had just been halved. He began to draw his sidearm from inside his sports jacket. Lancaster knelt down and grabbed a handful of dirt, which he tossed into Sykes’s face.
“I can’t see. Get him, Kenny,” Sykes said.
The third cop rushed him like a mad bull. Lancaster had seen the tactic before. Kenny was going to use his superior weight to wrestle him to the ground and hold him there. It was a smart tactic when dealing with a suspect resisting arrest, but not an ex-special ops soldier. In fact, it was probably the worst choice Kenny could have made. SEALS were taught first and foremost to be practical fighters, and were trained not to engage in fancy spinning kicks or other showy maneuvers. As a result, they only focused on the effective martial arts, like Brazilian jiu-jitsu, Israeli Krav Maga, Muay Thai, and good old-fashioned boxing.
He sidestepped Kenny’s charge and tripped him. Kenny broke his fall, then sprang off the ground, and threw an amateurish haymaker. He ducked the blow, then stepped in and grabbed Kenny’s right ear with his right hand. He pulled Kenny’s head toward him, while driving his elbow into Kenny’s mouth. The sound was awful.
Holding his damaged face, Kenny sank to his knees.
Sykes was struggling to get his vision back. Lancaster reached into the detective’s sports jacket, and relieved him of his weapon. Then, he scooped up the three officers’ weapons that had been left on the hood of the sedan. The trio remained on the ground. Their faces were bloodied, their clothes ripped. The badges of dishonorable men.
“Give us our weapons back,” Sykes said.
“So you can arrest me? Fat chance.”
“You’ll pay for this,” Sykes said.
“You’re in no position to threaten me. I’m also taking your car. I’ll leave it in the hospital parking lot with the keys under the mat. I plan to tell Special Agent Daniels what happened, and I’m sure she’ll relay my story to the FBI’s Jacksonville office. If you pull another stunt like this, they’ll come after you. Am I making myself clear?”
Sykes grunted under his breath. He was seeing clearly, and the future didn’t look very promising. In a pleading voice he said, “Please don’t take our guns. I’m begging you, man. From one cop to another.”
Sykes and his pals would get in hot water for losing their weapons. There would be a department review that would end in them being disciplined, or even suspended. If they fabricated a story, and were later caught lying, they’d lose their jobs.
“Sure. But I want something in return,” Lancaster said. “Tell me why you didn’t run the Sokolov brothers out of town. From what I can see, they’ve been pulling bad shit for a while, yet the police haven’t touched them.”
“I can’t tell you that,” Sykes said.
“Then you’re not getting your guns back.”
He got behind the wheel of the sedan. The engine was running, and the interior was ice cold. He placed the cops’ guns on the passenger seat, and pulled out. Driving away, he glanced into his mirror at Sykes and his goons and saw them shake their fists.
Reaching the main road, Lancaster spied a kid with a backpack on a bicycle, pedaling furiously. Had the kid seen the fracas with the cops?
Lancaster decided to follow him.
Chapter 25
After a mile, the kid ran out of steam, and pulled his bike into the parking lot of a convenience store named Rudy’s. Lancaster sensed the kid was going to jump off his bike and make a run for it, and he pulled in and lowered his window.
“Police. Stop.”
Lancaster jumped out of the sedan. The kid was straddling his bike, puffing hard. He was looking through the front window of Rudy’s as if expecting someone might come outside and save him. Lancaster showed him his badge.
“Don’t be afraid, I just want to talk,” he said.