Caribbean Hustle (A Nick Teffinger Thriller / Read in Any Order) by R.J. Jagger, Jack Rain Page A
Authors: R.J. Jagger, Jack Rain
right behind him. A powerfully cocked fist immediately landed at the back of his head with the impact of a brick. Colors exploded inside his skull and his body staggered briefly before crashing down. Everything turned black before he hit the ground.
At some point he regained consciousness.
At first he didn’t know where he was or what had happened. His head felt as if a little demon had gotten stuck inside and was trying to bust out with a ball peen hammer.
His neck was whiplashed.
His throat was dry.
“Modeste!”
He struggled to his feet and swung his eyes to the left, right, behind him, up the street, everywhere.
She was nowhere.
She was gone.
The two men were equally gone.
He noticed something on the ground, at first foreign and then as the videotape from the shooter’s apartment; the voodoo scene.
He picked it up and staggered away.
It took a while for his head to clear and for options to materialize. It was a given that the two men took Modeste on behalf of someone, probably Johnnie Rail, but possibly the initial robbers or the police.
They would make her talk.
They’d hold her and keep her alive until they got the money she stashed in the Caymans, plus the movie stars, which were in the custody of Modeste’s friend, Constance, whoever that was.
Then what?
Would they kill her?
Would they kill Constance too?
More importantly, why should Teffinger care? He had no dog in the fight. Modeste had done nothing but play him from the start, first by bringing him home for protection without any apparent care as to the risk to him, and then initially denying what she’d done. She’d also ignored Teffinger’s advice to give everything back, although, in hindsight, she’d been captured before she could have done that even if she wanted to.
So why should Teffinger help her?
She’d gotten herself into the mess.
She’d done nothing but play him for her own greedy gain.
He kicked a pop can.
All the logic wasn’t helping.
He couldn’t talk himself out of doing what he was going to do.
He turned around and headed back to Modeste’s place, entered from the fire escape and then searched for signs of Constance’s identity; a photo, letter, anything however small that might indicate who she was.
The mid-day heat wrapped around him with the strength of a python.
The place had no cross ventilation.
He turned on two small fans that did nothing other than mock him with their own inefficiency.
Nothing useful showed up.
Whoever Constance was, she was determined to remain invisible.
He took a cold shower
The water was life itself, filling his pores with all things good.
Suddenly the curtain pulled open.
A woman stood there, a white woman, startled to see him.
“Constance?”
She stepped back.
Then she ran.
He got to her before she could get to the door, flipped her to the carpet and pinned her down.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said. “I’m a friend of Modeste. By extension, that makes me your friend too. They took Modeste.”
“Who took Modeste? Where is she?”
“Johnnie Rail’s people, I’m assuming,” he said. “You’re next once they find out you have the diamonds. I need you to give them to me so I can use them as a bargaining chip to get her back.”
“Get off me.”
He complied.
Then he headed back to the bathroom and said, “I’m going to dry off and get dressed. Don’t go anywhere.”
He kicked the bathroom door shut with his foot.
The water was still running.
He stepped back in.
He needed more of it.
He needed a lot more.
Everything else was secondary.
When he got out five minutes later, the apartment was empty.
The woman was gone.
27
Day Four
June 7
Saturday Afternoon
Teffinger took a place on the couch and focused on the ball peen hammers inside his head. He’d been hit before, more than his fair share, but this was different. He closed his eyes. A moment later he slumped into a laying position.
He cursed his
At some point he regained consciousness.
At first he didn’t know where he was or what had happened. His head felt as if a little demon had gotten stuck inside and was trying to bust out with a ball peen hammer.
His neck was whiplashed.
His throat was dry.
“Modeste!”
He struggled to his feet and swung his eyes to the left, right, behind him, up the street, everywhere.
She was nowhere.
She was gone.
The two men were equally gone.
He noticed something on the ground, at first foreign and then as the videotape from the shooter’s apartment; the voodoo scene.
He picked it up and staggered away.
It took a while for his head to clear and for options to materialize. It was a given that the two men took Modeste on behalf of someone, probably Johnnie Rail, but possibly the initial robbers or the police.
They would make her talk.
They’d hold her and keep her alive until they got the money she stashed in the Caymans, plus the movie stars, which were in the custody of Modeste’s friend, Constance, whoever that was.
Then what?
Would they kill her?
Would they kill Constance too?
More importantly, why should Teffinger care? He had no dog in the fight. Modeste had done nothing but play him from the start, first by bringing him home for protection without any apparent care as to the risk to him, and then initially denying what she’d done. She’d also ignored Teffinger’s advice to give everything back, although, in hindsight, she’d been captured before she could have done that even if she wanted to.
So why should Teffinger help her?
She’d gotten herself into the mess.
She’d done nothing but play him for her own greedy gain.
He kicked a pop can.
All the logic wasn’t helping.
He couldn’t talk himself out of doing what he was going to do.
He turned around and headed back to Modeste’s place, entered from the fire escape and then searched for signs of Constance’s identity; a photo, letter, anything however small that might indicate who she was.
The mid-day heat wrapped around him with the strength of a python.
The place had no cross ventilation.
He turned on two small fans that did nothing other than mock him with their own inefficiency.
Nothing useful showed up.
Whoever Constance was, she was determined to remain invisible.
He took a cold shower
The water was life itself, filling his pores with all things good.
Suddenly the curtain pulled open.
A woman stood there, a white woman, startled to see him.
“Constance?”
She stepped back.
Then she ran.
He got to her before she could get to the door, flipped her to the carpet and pinned her down.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said. “I’m a friend of Modeste. By extension, that makes me your friend too. They took Modeste.”
“Who took Modeste? Where is she?”
“Johnnie Rail’s people, I’m assuming,” he said. “You’re next once they find out you have the diamonds. I need you to give them to me so I can use them as a bargaining chip to get her back.”
“Get off me.”
He complied.
Then he headed back to the bathroom and said, “I’m going to dry off and get dressed. Don’t go anywhere.”
He kicked the bathroom door shut with his foot.
The water was still running.
He stepped back in.
He needed more of it.
He needed a lot more.
Everything else was secondary.
When he got out five minutes later, the apartment was empty.
The woman was gone.
27
Day Four
June 7
Saturday Afternoon
Teffinger took a place on the couch and focused on the ball peen hammers inside his head. He’d been hit before, more than his fair share, but this was different. He closed his eyes. A moment later he slumped into a laying position.
He cursed his