Sister Death (Acid Vanilla Series Book 4) by Matthew Hattersley (best short novels of all time txt) 📗

was loose in the bottom. It must have been hidden behind the dial on previous inspections and had now come free from the mechanism. He tilted the egg and shook it. With another rattle the object came loose and fell out onto the palm of his hand. He could see now it was a USB drive. He shunted it down his palm and pinched it between his thumb and forefinger.

“What’s all this then?”

He considered his new find. There were no clues on it to what was contained within, but something told him this USB drive could be his ticket out of trouble. Or, more than likely, the cause of it. But either way, he had to know what was on it.

Once the egg was safely packed up inside his holdall, he shuffled over to the door of the chapel and eased it open. The bright morning sun sliced into his groggy retinas as he scanned the horizon for threats. But there was no one in sight. One of the reasons, he imagined, his drunken alter ego had picked this hideout was its remoteness, and the fact it hadn’t been in use for the last fifty years. He’d discovered it whilst on a walk on his first week in San Sebastian and had brought girls up here a few times – local girls, who seemed to get off on the idea of being ravished in an abandoned chapel. It was a dangerous and incredibly blasphemous experience, and all the more exciting because of it.

By his reckoning it had to be early morning still, not yet nine, but the low sun was already burning hot. Even its reflection was dazzling as it rippled across the deep blue of the Bay of Biscay and the North Atlantic beyond. Danny’s thoughts now drifted to food. He was starving, and if he was to think his way out of this mess he needed sustenance, as well as fluids that didn’t have a percentage by vol. After that he needed an internet café, somewhere he could plug in this cursed device and understand what he was dealing with. He’d try emailing his uncle too, seeing as he wasn’t answering his phone and the battery on his own had died some hours earlier. The old man could still be a lifeline. Knowing that kept him going. He gave the chapel a last nod, then headed down the path into town. It was a risky move, of course, with the mad nun still out there, but he needed answers. And right now all he had were a whole bunch of unanswerable questions.

Twelve

Whilst Danny Flynn was getting to grips with his predicament, across the other side of the bay, Magpie Stiletto – Hermana Muerte, Sister Death – was already up and dressed (civilian attire today, a light pair of linen trousers in cream and a crisp white t-shirt), and walking along the coastal path that led down to the eastern side of the sprawling beachfront. She’d slept well though briefly from midnight until four, but had woken with a start, her mind already racing with dark memories and a prickliness in her veins.

On reaching the seafront, she stayed on the high ground rather than venture onto the sand, walking along the paved esplanade that curved along the length of the bay. While she walked she took in the foamy unsettled sea, pondering what today might bring, and whether she might finally fulfil her promise to herself. She was considering this, her mind wandering in murky but inspiring contemplation, when her phone vibrated irritatingly in her pocket. She thought about ignoring the call, but that was not her way, never had been. In her experience, those who ran from things found themselves running for the rest of their lives.

She pulled out the burner phone and answered.

“Is it done?” a voice asked.

She waited a beat before answering. “I told you not to call me again. No further contact.”

“And I told you I want to be kept informed of what’s going on. I have paid a lot of money for this job. For you to return my property.” Luis Delgado sounded different today. His voice was less assured and higher-pitched, his words more hurried.

“I told you how I worked. When I’ve done the job and retrieved the items, I’ll contact you via a secure server to arrange delivery and final payment.”

Delgado was silent, though she could hear him swallowing back a mouthful of frustration. But this was the way it was. Even powerful people had to sit in patience sometimes, understand the value of fortitude. All being well, neither of them would have to wait too much longer.

“If what he stole from me falls into the wrong hands, I’m finished. You understand me?”

“Please don’t raise your voice.”

“Are you kidding me? Do you know who you’re dealing with? Who this implicates? Believe me, you wouldn’t be so calm if you did. If you fail this, we’re both dead.”

She reached the edge of the bridge that crossed over into the old town and stopped to gaze out over the ocean. The waves were high today. “Are you threatening me, Mr Delgado?”

A part of her wished he was. It was the part of her she pushed down inside herself, a reckless angry part of her psyche that was always there, bubbling away under the surface, and which she kept a handle on. As a young woman it had almost risen up and consumed her, but now it stayed hidden – like an evil twin locked in the attic of her mind lest it escape and take her down with it. These days she valued how controlled and serene she could be, even in high-stress situations. Life was all about control. But death even more so.

Delgado sighed. “It is not a threat. But I’m eager that we get this done. Soon.”

She set off walking again, curling her lip at a group of teenage girls dressed in tiny shorts and vest tops. “Patience, Mr Delgado. You