Frostbite

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Authors: Eric Pete

BOOK: Frostbite
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Frostbite
 
Eric Pete
 
 
 
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Acknowledgments
 
Welcome to the further adventures of Truth North, a creation who takes my love of flawed characters to another level. Based on the readers’ reaction and the fun I had with
Crushed Ice,
I saw there was still more trouble I could cook up for him.
Especially if Sophia’s anywhere in the picture.
But with this one, I wanted to see how Truth handled trouble not of his making and way out of his comfort zone. So, here we are with
Frostbite.
I hope you enjoy.
I also want to thank you for spending not just your hard-earned money, but for spending your precious time with me. I sincerely hope that you continue to come back because there are many more stories to tell and journeys to take.
To my family, friends, agent, publisher, and fellow authors; thank you for being there. This year has been a challenge, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything and am a better person for it.
One love, one heart.
Can’t stop. Won’t stop. Believe that.
-Eric
@IAmEricPete
NOW
 
“Please. Please. I don’t want to die!” she screams. Pitch perfect.
“So ... what’s it going to be?” I say to the man who just listened to the woman’s pleas. It’s his wife. He knows it now.
“Now look here ...”
“Don’t stall. You’ll only make it worse for her. And your kid.”
“I’ll kill you! I swear to God, I will—”
“Do what I say. You will do what I say,” I utter, completing his statement for him.
I check my watch while he comes to grips with his new reality.
“Okay. Okay. How can I trust you?” he asks, stifling a stutter that I still notice.
“You can’t,” I say calmly. “No one can trust me.”
1
 
Last Year Florida ... Somewhere
 
No one was home when my phone rang, vibrating just once in my pocket. They were all away at the movies. Saw when they pulled away in the Range Rover. Even the maid had the night off. Probably out celebrating their son’s status as the consensus number one recruit in the country. Kid played football for St. Thomas Aquinas over in Fort Lauderdale.
The dad was an investment banker. Successful even by the standards of the old economy—the bullshit, happy-happy fantasy we believed in before the bottom fell out. Maybe it was because of people like him that things were in such a shitty state. I mean ... I know I took a hit with my nest egg. My client could’ve been one of the people he’d fucked over.
But that wasn’t the reason I was hired.
It was simple petty jealousy.
Y’see ... my client had a son as well.
The kids were goddamn teammates even.
Except my client’s kid was the consensus number two recruit in the country.
But like the wise poet Nelly once said, “Two is not a winner and three nobody remembers.”
Competition on steroids.
A simple planting of evidence and the dad would be besieged by legal problems with ethics violations. Legal problems that would be a distraction for his entire family as well as his son.
Distraction enough to underperform in the upcoming all-star games in which they were scheduled to participate. And providing the case why numero
dos
should be numero
uno
. Wasn’t like both didn’t have a crazy share of scholarship offers anyway.
And if I didn’t take the job, my client was going to have someone else pull a Tonya Harding and break the kid’s leg. Or worse if they were amateurs. At least this way, no one was physically hurt.
Sick shit, but I just took the money.
“Hello?” I whispered as I swiftly removed the flash drive from the home office computer I’d hacked into. Had to be sure to reset the security system on my way out.
“Mr. Elvis? Elvis Spielberg?” the woman asked upon my answering, almost daring to laugh at the implausible name. Most people chuckled when they heard it. Didn’t care. Wasn’t my real name anyway. Just another guise that suited my needs like the set of clothes I wore.
But almost no one who knew me by that name would have this phone number.
Almost no one.
That’s what really piqued my curiosity.
“Yes. This is he. Who is this?” I asked, as I backtracked, making sure everything in the home was left undisturbed. The ID said UNKNOWN CALLER.
She didn’t identify herself. “I’m calling for Aswad,” she offered instead.
“Who?” I asked as I checked my watch. Was on a short schedule. “I don’t know any ‘Aswad.’”
“I’m sorry. That is what he calls her. She said to tell you her name is Sophia.” A mix of fondness and irritation gripped me. We weren’t on the best of terms when we parted ways. A difference of opinion about my vision or something. In short, she was greedy and reckless. Probably the reason I was getting this call. After originally being part of a plot against me, the woman was now part protégé/part problem with me never being too clear on which.
“And where is Sophia for you to be calling on her behalf?” I asked, trying to place the woman’s accent and gauge whether she was lying. The home’s security system central keypad was in front of me. Another minute and this job would be completed except for my money.
Money from my client who was also this guy’s neighbor.
No cup of sugar. Just a dose of scorpion venom served up.
Like I said,
competition on steroids.
“Miami,” the woman on the phone replied. Some sick coincidence that I was already in south Florida? Or was Sophia up to her usual tricks?
“Bullshit,” I hissed. “She’s in London.” Remembered feeling the inside of her hand aboard the Eye while staring out over the Thames. We were playing tourists ... and lovers that day. Some welcome downtime while traipsing across Europe. And a fitting reward after getting my revenge on.
“No, sir. She is in America. I ... I just saw her. This morning when I was cleaning. She said she needs you to come quick.”
“Okay,” I mumbled as I wiped the codes showing my entrance and soon-to-be exit from the security system memory and took my leave. “And what else?”
“And that you’d reward me for delivering this message.”
Greed.
Now that was real.
Guess I was starting to believe this woman who’d called me.
“What’s your price?” I asked as I slipped into the darkness where I felt most comfortable.

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