David Stanley [Stanley - Night Passenger

NIGHT

PASSENGER

David Stanley

P A P E R S T R E E T

Published by Paper Street Publishing 2019

Copyright 2019 David Stanley

The moral right of the author has been asserted

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents

are either the products of the authors imagination or are used

fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,

businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be

Reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted,

In any form or by any means, without the prior

Permission of the publishers

ISBN 978 1 9161763 0 0

www.davidjstanley.com

www.paperstreetpublishing.net

For Lindsey and Connor, my sun and moon

ONE

He fell back, giving the guard more space. No point spooking the man at the last minute. Off the freeway, even a moron like Hanson would notice the same car in his mirrors. They turned right on White Oak Avenue, a single car between them. The traffic crawled a short distance before stopping again. Nobody spoke. Up ahead, the turn signal came on and the minivan cut across onto Martha Street. A line of vehicles streamed past, forcing Blake to wait before he could make the turn. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and exhaled slowly through his nose. They were so near the end, he could taste it. At last they were through and he hit the gas to close the gap. The now-familiar taillights swung up onto a driveway in front of a private residence and went out.

Blake pulled over to the curb and cut the engine.

The minivans door opened and the light inside lit up the bank guard. Hanson was big, easily north of four hundred pounds. The man had to rock himself backward and forward a couple of times before he got out the Dodge onto his feet. The effort seemed to drain him and he stood gripping the open door while he got his breath back. Blake shook his head.

They needed this man, he didnt need them.

Once the guard was inside the house, Blake moved the car into position and glanced at the clock. Seven thirty. At this time of night there was a good chance they could be interrupted by a neighbor. It looked like that kind of street, full of people in each others business. The smart play would be to come back later, now they knew where Hanson lived. Blake dismissed the idea without verbalizing it with the others.

He was hungry and wanted this done.

Seven thirty five, almost show time. He felt his energy levels building. Another five minutes, he thought. Let the man get settled in after his day at the bank. Give him time to relax, take his shoes off. The guard would still be revved up from the commute home. Driving made people angry, and angry people were harder to control. So you waited it out. Didnt take long. Five, maybe ten minutes. The calm wouldnt last worth a damn, but it would get them past the opening confusion when things usually went sideways.

Inside the property, light began to pulse against the curtains.

Hanson was watching television.

All right, Blake said. Lets do this.

He swung the door open and stepped onto the street. Sara got out next, then Porter. It wasnt his full crew, he wanted to keep it tight and these were the two he trusted most. They walked side by side across the street, with Porter falling into line behind as they came up the path to the front door. Blake drew his Glock and racked the slide. He nodded to Sara and she pressed the doorbell.

A heavyset woman opened the door. She was in her early thirties, had long red hair and wore a loose-fitting floral dress. There was a warm smile on her face but it disappeared fast when she saw the three of them standing there. Before she could say anything, Blake popped her between the eyes with the butt of his gun and she crumpled onto the floor. He listened for movement inside the house then, hearing none, stepped over the woman's motionless body into the hallway.

The house was warm and a delicious meaty smell hung in the air. Nearby, voices droned on, back and forth. The television. He turned and saw Sara and Porter move the woman's legs so they could shut the door. For the first time, Blake noted the redhead wasnt just large, she was pregnant. He supposed this ought to mean something to him, about knocking her out, but all it really meant was that his job had become easier.

Hon? Who was it?

Hanson's voice was exactly as hed imagined it, nasal and somehow fleshy. The man was close, less than fifteen feet away. Probably sitting in front of the television with a beer in his ski glove fist. Not far from where Blake stood, the wall that divided the two spaces ended and was replaced by square glass bricks of a type he hadn't seen for many years. The bricks were thick and cast a greenish light onto the pale wooden floor. It meant Hanson would see them coming and perhaps give him time to reach for a gun.

Sir? Blake called out. Your wife has collapsed.

Hanson charged into the hallway. He still wore his bank guard uniform, complete with sweat circles under the arms. Almost as soon as he appeared, he dropped down in front of the redhead.

Oh Jesus, oh Jesus, Hanson said.

Blake looked at the broad back of the security guard and shook his head. Hanson's shirt was almost transparent and through it he could see swirls of matted back hair.

Get off the floor.

The man didn't move, not unless you counted a small prayer-like rocking back and forth. He'd shut down, he wasn't in the moment at all. It was something Blake knew about all too well, but he didn't have the time for it, not from this guy.

Don't worry, Blake continued, it was just a tap to the head. As long as you tell me what I want to know, she's going to be fine.

Hanson lunged at him, his face scarlet, his teeth bared and clamped together. It happened quickly, faster than Blake thought a man that size could move. Hanson's weight pushed him back, flattening him against the wall. His gun spun out of his hand, bounced off the wall and landed on the wooden floor with a clatter. The guard looked at the Glock sitting next to his foot. The hands on Blake's chest began to shake but he kept right on looking at the automatic.

Sara cleared her throat.

Don't make me shoot the whore, Hanson.

Her voice was calm and controlled. No panic, no uncertainty. The effect on the guard was immediate, he put his hands on his knees and began to breathe rapidly through his mouth.

All right big man, take it easy. Blake said. I don't have time for you to pass out. We got some business to discuss and then we'll be gone. You dig?

A small nod. The man was losing it, he couldn't even speak. This was a good sign, it told him he wasn't dealing with a hero type. Blake hated heroes, they just made life difficult for everyone. He picked his Glock off the floor. Hanson's head moved with the pistol like they were connected, his throat swallowing repeatedly.

He flicked the pistol to the side. Move it.

What about my wife?

What about her?

You can't leave her like that, she's pregnant for God's sake.

He glanced at the woman on the floor. She looked terrible, there was no doubt about it. Her face was a bluish gray color and her eyes were fixed and dilated.

Fine, whatever. Blake turned to the others. Bring her through and sit her in a chair. Make her comfortable.

Thank you, Hanson said, his voice strained.

Porter and Sara took an arm each and dragged the redhead down the hallway toward him. The woman's head fell back between her shoulders as they walked. She looked dead. Next to him, Hanson moaned. When they drew level, Blake noticed that his gun had left a D-shaped bruise in the center of her head like a smiley face. He wasnt in the habit of hitting people in the head with a pistol and he wondered if he'd hit her too hard.