The Relic Runner Origin Story Box Set by Ernest Dempsey (best desktop ebook reader .txt) 📗

Dak as if he was the ghost of someone he’d wronged long ago. Will was almost the same height and build as Dak. The two friends had joked in the past that they could have been brothers if their ancestries weren't so opposite. Will's history traced back to Cameroon and Ivory Coast, while Dak's was all over the place, mostly in Europe.

"Look what the cat dragged in," Will had said upon Dak's arrival.

"Bad clichés?" Dak asked.

Will snorted at the snarky remark and then gave his old friend a welcoming hug. After being invited in, the two went through the usual catch up kind of conversation for half an hour before Dak dragged Will into more recent events.

To his credit, Will never flinched, never balked at any of it. He knew only too well what it was like to be wrongfully accused, though he didn't complain about it.

Dak explained what he wanted—needed — to do, how he planned to track down the men who'd taken everything from him. Will was happy to help with that. Maybe a little too happy. The fuel of vengeance seemed to course through him, as if he was getting a little vicarious payback for his own misfortunes.

More than just offering to help, Will set Dak up in a cozy apartment next door to his own, complete with a coastal view. Dak wondered how many of these apartments Will owned, but didn’t ask.

Will also hooked Dak up with new ID and paperwork too, including a brand new passport that would have slipped through any customs agent's inspection.

His new name was Dan Bronson, which Dak was fine with. He was still Dak. The name was only for getting through security checkpoints, wherever they might be. His driver's license was a work of art too; it even included the holograms for the state ID of Tennessee that few people could replicate.

Now, six months later, little had changed.

Dak wasn't one to mooch, though, and refused a job with Will to make his own way. That resulted in a low paying gig at a local restaurant as a dishwasher. He didn't mind the work. It was honest, and it took care of his basic needs. His life was on hold until he tracked down the five men who betrayed him. Luxuries or comforts could wait.

However, this life certainly had its perks—the view of the beach being one of them.

He turned around and walked softly across the floor, mindful of the neighbors below. He felt certain that they never heard him moving about, but he tried to be a good tenant and not disturb the others.

Dak stopped at his black IKEA dresser and pulled out the top drawer. He'd found many Europeans preferred the inexpensive yet efficient Swedish furniture, especially in smaller flats like this one.

He took out a Led Zeppelin T-shirt and pulled it down over his torso, then slipped into a pair of khaki cargo shorts and flip-flops. After a yawn and a long stretch nearly to the ceiling, he walked out into the hall toward the kitchen and living room.

The apartment’s 500 square feet didn’t offer much in the way of room, but it was more than adequate. He'd set up a desk in the corner near the balcony overlooking the coast and the village to the left so he could enjoy the views with his coffee, and while he checked the computer for any information about the five men he hunted.

Each day the routine was the same. If it changed, the difference was miniscule. He'd learned to surf to kill time between shifts since there was only so much he could do in his online search.

He knew that Will was doing his best, too, and had recently made a few less-than-ethical updates to his software that allowed him access to cameras in some of the larger cities around the world. The number of feeds he could access were finite, and he'd been clear just how tiny a needle they were trying to locate in a planet-sized haystack.

Dak compared it to fishing. Not the kind done in the sea off the coast of Nazare, but the way he used to fish back in the States on the lakes and rivers of the southeast.

He flipped open the laptop, a hand-me-down from Will—one of the few gifts Dak accepted from his friend—and entered his password.

His right index finger ran along the track pad to move the arrow on the screen and then clicked the email icon at the bottom. It was the same morning routine he'd grown accustomed to over the months of waiting, hoping. Every time doubt crept into his mind, telling him he'd never find the other five, he beat those thoughts away with a steel hammer and forced himself to hold out faith he would find the men who did this and bring them to justice, his own brand of justice.

They were probably living on sandy beaches, sipping fancy drinks, going to nightclubs, living in small mansions. Maybe they weren't that stupid. Dak knew Bo would have given them instructions on how to spend their ill-gotten fortunes, if they'd even been able to find a buyer for the horde.

This entire time he'd operated on the assumption that the five Judases had made a ton of money from their heist. That assertion was proven likely when none of them turned up in their former homes, or anywhere.

They'd made their money and gone dark. That much was clear.

The only lead Dak had in his back pocket was a conversation he once had with Carson about the city of Miami.

Carson had a thing for it, the Art déco buildings, the Cuban food and cigars, the nightlife, and most of all, the beaches. He talked about it like it was the greatest city in the world. After that conversation, he never brought it up again. When Will asked which cities, he should target for traffic feeds first, Dak told him Miami.

That lure had produced nothing for six months, but neither had any of