Discreet Inquiries (The Dark Retribution Series Book 2)

Book summary

In "Discreet Inquiries," the second book of B.R. Stateham's Dark Retribution Series, the criminal underworld faces imminent chaos. The key to preventing a gang war lies in the hands of Smitty, a legendary figure feared and revered in equal measure. Known for his lethal skills as a hitman and thief, Smitty must now use his unique talents to solve the disappearance of Donald Irving, a math prodigy whose absence threatens to ignite a violent showdown. This gritty thriller intertwines intellect and instinct, as Smitty navigates a perilous path to uncover the truth.

Excerpt from Discreet Inquiries (The Dark Retribution Series Book 2)

He sat back in his chair and folded the paper back to reveal the Want Ads. Folding the paper in half again, he laid it down on the small kitchen table beside his eggs and bacon and reached for his cup of hot black coffee. Sunlight was pouring through the small kitchen window of his otherwise spacious condo and splashing across the kitchen table with a warm, clear light. Outside, the sky was that light cerulean blue which reminded him for some reason of Greece in the summertime. Not a cloud to be seen to mar the image. He smiled. It looked like it was going to be another beautiful day.

It was another Monday morning. Sitting at the table dressed in a blue shirt, top button undone, dark slacks, and still wearing his slippers, he glanced at his watch and noted he had another hour before needing to be at the office. Good. A good breakfast, then up to wash his teeth and slip into his shoes before slipping on his tie and knotting it, and he’d be ready for another day at the office.

But lifting the coffee cup, he paused and frowned.

There it was again. That strange ad. Taking up the right bottom corner of the Want Ads. Nothing special. Other than the size of the ad. An eighth of a page of the Want Ads had to be expensive. But there it was. With such an odd, odd lead line that instantly caught one’s attention.

Everyone, at one time or another, must face a Serious Security Crisis in their Lives.

Life is neither Fair nor Cruel. But People can be.

When that situation arises, and you need that Someone in your corner,

Call Me for a Free Consultation.

He lowered the cup onto the table, not taking his eyes off the bold black words in the process and read the ad three or four more times. Odd. So very odd. It was like something out of a TV show. Yes. That was it. He remembered the old show from out of the 60’s. What was it called? Ah! The Equalizer. That was it. An ex-CIA spy, retired, working the streets of New York City and helping those who needed protection and who could not do it themselves.

Silly. Really silly nonsense, if you asked him. Someone pulling a joke on the reading public. That’s all. Simple tomfoolery!

But, twisting his face into a thoughtful mask…

I wonder. Could it be for real?

He read the ad another half a dozen times. Ending, each time, by staring at the phone number. Finally, sitting back in his chair, he grabbed for his coffee and hurriedly slurped some of the hot fluid down before turning in his chair and reaching across the narrow confines of the kitchenette for his cellphone lying on the countertop beside the sink. Lifting the phone up close, he thumbed the phone icon and then paused.

Was he really going to do this? Was he really going to make a fool of himself?

Yes. He could use someone like this in his life now. Questions needed answers. So many questions. Questions he had been looking to find the answers to ever since coming to the city. He had promised. Made a promise to someone back home he would find out. Do everything possible to find out. Surprised, he felt sweat beginning to bud up like unwanted little dandelions across his forehead as he paused holding the phone in his hand, ready to dial. Yet his natural tendency to be cautious, to be circumspect, kept him from dialing.

Really? Really? Was he going to do this?

Yes. He was. Setting his face into a mask of stone, he glanced at the number in the ad and dialed.

Six.

The voice said to meet at 6 p.m. this evening. Just an hour after work.

In a parking lot of all places. A parking lot! The north parking lot in the giant Greenstreet Mall on the corner of Market and Greenstreet. His instructions had been specific. He was to pull into an empty parking space directly opposite the main north entrance of the mall and wait. Don’t get out of the car. Don’t use his cell phone for any reason. Just sit in his car and wait. Someone would contact him within fifteen minutes.

All day long at work he was a nervous wreck. His nerves strung out like a much too tight violin string. Any sudden movement, anyone suddenly turning and talking to him, and he jumped in shocked surprise. He couldn’t concentrate. He couldn’t answer a phone. He kept finding himself staring out his office window at nothing in particular. Kept replaying in his mind the telephone call, and that voice, calling him just before he stepped out of his condo to go to work.

That voice. Something slightly stronger than a whisper. But cold. Almost alien. Yet precise. Measured. Quietly giving out detailed instructions.

Jesus. What had he got himself into?

Why, for instance, would a private detective want to take these odd measures and meet him in a parking lot? Why not just go to his office, sit down in a chair, and explain his problem? Why not just explain everything over the phone? Why this elaborate subterfuge? Was there something illicit going on here? Was he getting himself involved in some kind of crime syndicate? Should he call the police?

And what, for Christ’s sake, would he tell them?

“Officer, a private detective wants to meet me in a parking lot. No, I haven’t done anything wrong. No, as far as I know, the detective hasn’t done anything wrong. Yes, I saw his ad in the newspaper and decided to call. No, I’m not planning to do anything illegal. Or, at least, I don’t think I’m going to do anything illegal. Yes, yes… if we kill someone, we’ll be sure to call the proper authorities. Bye!”

No. He shouldn’t go. That’s it. He just wasn’t going.

But. But. But.

Wasn’t there just a little bit of curiosity about all this? Why all this cloak and dagger stuff? Why all this secrecy? And Christ Mother Mary! What about the guy and his voice?! Who the hell talks like that? Something one might imagine a creature from Hell might use.

Curious? Yes. Scared? Oh, hell yes!

But he had to go. He had to see what this person looked like. He wanted to see for himself if this guy might be competent enough to find his brother. It was the worry over his brother’s well-being which was driving him on. Donald was missing. Gone now for two weeks. Just … gone.

Walked out of his bank and simply vanished. Like a puff of smoke. Like a bad nightmare. Just gone. Left his wife, Stacey, and the kids. The kids, Jeremey, age 8, and Leon, age 4. Left them. Stacey was the love of his life. And the kids? Well, the kids, were his reason to live. He loved those kids like any good father should. There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for them. There wasn’t anything he would do to hurt them.

But Donald wasn’t around. Nobody knew where he was. Stacey was barely functioning as a mother. Barely holding on. Something had to be done. Someone had to find Donald. Or, at least, find out what happened to Donald. Certainly, the police weren’t very helpful. Two officers came to Stacey and Donald’s house and took a report. They listened. They took notes. They said soothing words. And they left. That was it. Not a word from them after two weeks of waiting anxiously to hear from them.

Donald was missing. His brother was missing. Stacey’s husband and the father of her two children was missing. And it was as if not a person in the world cared.

That was it. All doubt left him. He would go. He would sit in the parking lot and wait for this mysterious voice to appear in human form. For Donald. For his brother. For his sister-in-law. For his nephews.

For his peace of mind. 

He sat behind the steering wheel of his elderly El Dorado Caddy and stared out of the front windshield of the car and watched the birds flying around and landing in the parking lot. The almost barren parking lot. The north lot of the Greenstreet Mall was an almost bleak sea of black asphalt when it came to the mall’s clientele. This end of the mall contained a couple of restaurants and a nightclub. Establishments which didn’t open until after four in the afternoon. At six p.m., the lot had maybe fifteen cars scattered across the flat expanse of asphalt. And they had been here before he arrived.

The only movement he had seen since coming into the lot and finding a slot to park in were the Crows. Big, noisy Crows who circled the lot and landed and inspected the lot for any discarded flotsam which attracted their interest. The Crows walked from car to car, examining the asphalt underneath the cars, walked away, looked at a piece of paper lying around, walked away, moved to another parked vehicle, and began the process all over again.

Actually, he found himself becoming curious about the big birds. For a bird, they seemed to be quite intelligent. Certainly, more curious than, say, a Sparrow or a Robin. They showed an amazing ability of selectivity. Both in their choice of automobiles they examined and at the flotsam lying on the asphalt. The autos were four-door SUVs or big sedans. Or pickup trucks. They didn’t go over to check out the only motorcycle parked in a stall. Nor did they approach any vehicle which had only two doors. Only big vehicles which could carry a family.

And the discarded riffraff lying on the asphalt was interesting. Only the discarded wrappings left behind from food vendors. They barely glanced at small plastic bags. They didn’t look at anything that might be found in a small box. Only food wrappings. The Crows were hunting for their next meal. They were old hands at it.

Really quite amazing, if one thought about it. The adaptability of wildlife living in a world filled with human clutter. Doing it much better than a number of humans he knew living among humans.

But seeing a human walking from the mall to their vehicle, or from their vehicle to the mall, simply did not happen. No vehicle entered nor left the parking lot. Frowning, glancing at the clock embedded in the dash, he noted it was precisely fifteen minutes past six. He hesitated. Visibly irritated at the thought of being stood up by this crazy man, he wavered between starting the car and leaving immediately. Or sticking around for another ten minutes. That’s when hard knuckles rapped softly on the door window beside his left ear. A sudden and unexpected noise which made him visibly jump in surprise, sucking the breath out of his lungs at the same time.