Jealous Storm by Jack Stroke (classic literature books TXT) 📗

empty pool, joined by an exposed staircase.

Ben had watched with interest as Shake scoped out their first-floor room, searching for invisible monsters, while not remotely concerned with the abundance of very real cockroaches. Ben recalled Joan mentioning something about Amber having tripwire alarms set up when she first moved in. Was this sort of thing was in his future too?

The party had left Ben exhausted, exerting so much mental and physical energy, that he had thought he would be out the moment his head hit the pillow, even in a place like this. Instead, his mind raced most of the night, keeping him awake as he watched the headlights from passing traffic paint the room’s ceiling.

He must have drifted off at some point because he found himself waking in the glow of morning sun.

“Shake?”

No response. Ben rolled over, coming face-to-face with an inquisitive cockroach. He stretched. Getting out of bed, he moved the curtain gently, concerned the thing might come away in his hands.

The Tesla was still there, thankfully. Shake was laid out on a deckchair, by the waterless pool, in a pair of white trunks which matched his hair.

“Getting some sun?” Ben asked as he approached.

“You betcha.”

“Don’t you burn easily?”

“It’s early. Besides, I’m not albino. I’ve just got white hair.”

Ben descended into the next recliner alongside Shake, perching on the edge, not lounging like his companion. The chair complained but didn’t break.

“Get any sleep?” Shake asked.

“Not a lot. I thought I would sleep really well, but yeah…”

“Not easy. It’s a skill, learning to let go.”

Ben nodded. “Don’t think it’s possible to sleep well on a mattress like that.” He picked at the peeling paint on his chair. “Why are we staying here?”

“Got a problem with the ’Ropicana?”

“Yes. It’s awful.”

“You want to pay for something better, be my guest.”

“It’s just… It doesn’t fit.”

“Fit what?”

“I don’t know. With the Teslas and private jets.”

“Control,” Shake said. “What we do, it’s important to retain that element of control. You need to be able to sleep with confidence.”

“Can’t you control a nice hotel?”

Shake tilted his head skywards, not answering.

“But there’s, like, nobody after you right now, is there?”

“That would make this the perfect time to attack, would it not?”

Matter settled, Shake focused back on soaking up the rays.

“Listen,” Ben said in time. “I’m —”

“Having second thoughts?”

“Yeah. How did you…”

“Second thoughts are like tonsils. They’re useless, but everybody has them.”

“I was thinking about Baumer… You know, with him being the target and everything…”

He paused. Shake made no effort to help.

“I know it’s the job and whatever, but do we have to, you know, kill him?”

“We? No.”

“Me. Whatever.”

“Baumer is a bad man.”

“You said that. I mean, he seemed okay,” Ben said. “I know how stupid that sounds.”

“No, I get it. It makes a difference when you meet someone. When you shake their hand.”

“I can’t tell if you’re picking on me, but… yeah.”

“It doesn’t matter how charming he is, Benny, or how big his mansion might be. He’s still a bad dude. Most arms dealers are.”

“Arms dealers?”

“Sure.”

“I thought…”

“What?

“Isn’t he a human trafficker?”

“Why would you think that?”

“Because that’s what you said he was. On the plane.”

“Did I?”

“Yeah. I’m sure you did. No, you did.”

“Does it matter? A bad man is a bad man.”

Surely it did, yet Ben was having difficulty articulating why exactly.

“Either way, Shake, do —”

“Was she a good kisser?”

“What?”

“Baumer’s daughter. Was she a good kisser? Or have you not kissed enough people to tell? There’s no shame in —”

“No, I’ve kissed plenty of people.”

“No need to get defensive.”

“I’m not.”

“No one told you to kiss her, Ben.”

“That’s not what this is about.”

“She’s a pretty girl. You can’t let that colour things. There are plenty of pretty girls around.”

“I’m not. I’m just not sure we should kill Baumer. I’m not sure I can.”

“Excellent. I’ve got some good news for you then. We’re not killing Baumer.”

“We’re not?”

“We never were.”

“Isn’t… Isn’t he the target?”

“Precisely. Target. The job isn’t always to kill the target.”

“But didn’t you…”

“You jumped to conclusions. I said target. You assumed the rest.”

“Like I assumed you said he’s a human trafficker?”

Shake stretched out like a cat. “So, no killing Baumer. Feel better?”

“I guess.”

A car roared past down the road. Ben waited for Shake to fill in the gaps, even though he knew it was pointless.

“How are we getting to Baumer if we’re not killing him?”

“We, no. You.”

“Okay. How am I getting to him?”

“You’re going to kill his daughter.”

37

The Port Simmons police station was shiny and new, paid for by the exorbitant council rates charged to the residents who only lived there one month a year.

Officer Dash handled the front desk. Amber had only met him one time. He was a mate of Grubby until they’d had a falling out.

“Help you?”

“Yeah, is Officer Stacey about?”

“Why?”

“Because I need to speak to her.”

“Is this a police matter? If it is, you can tell me. If it’s not, talk to her outside work hours.”

How simple would it be to grab Dash by the back of the head, slam his face into the desk? Maybe break his nose.

Fortunately, Officer Stacey appeared. “Ms Storm. What can we do for you?”

“I’m just after a quick word with you actually, if that’s all right. In private.”

“Sure thing.”

Ignoring Dash’s scowl, they retreated to Stacey’s desk in the staff room.

“Quiet today.”

“Quiet most days. Port Simmons in off-season. It’s either a feast or famine around here, you know?”

Amber pulled over a seat and sat opposite Stacey.

“What’s up?”

“There’s a suspicious character hanging around town.”

“Paradise Cove?”

“Yep. I was hoping you might be able to do a background check on him or something.”

“Right. Suspicious how?”

“He’s just bad news.”

“Okay… Bad news how exactly?”

“Up to no good.”

“Right. And is this something you know? Or just a hunch?”

“Something I know.”

“And yet you seem hesitant to go into detail.” Stacey waited. When she didn’t get a response, she put down her pen. “Listen, Amber. You’re a smart woman. I’m sure you understand that this is not how things work.”

“How so?”

“There’s not much I can do based on you not liking someone.”

“It’s not that I don’t