Free Cold Jade by Dan Ames Page B

the scotch on the plane. And now here he was in the early evening, darkness creeping over the world, and he felt like an explorer, going boldly into the world of the unknown. The dark, where good things happened to bad people, and bad things happened to whoever was targeted by those with money.
    Evans had money.
    And he had a taste for doing bad things.
    He nearly laughed again and wished he had brought along a small bottle of booze for the car trip. But it was a short ride, maybe just a half hour tops. And then when he was picked up, he had no doubt his every need would be attended to. His every thirst quenched.
    They had better be.
    Considering how much he’d paid.

37
    I t had not been a good day.
    Charles Starkey hurried out of the office even though it was only early afternoon. But he had accomplished very little all day, other than growing his conviction that the world was closing in on him like a shadow he had no hope of outrunning.
    Now, he drove away from the office in the opposite direction of home. He couldn’t help but look over his shoulder. There had been several calls on both his office phone and his cell.
    Charles Starkey had answered neither.
    Instead, he had spent the majority of the day pacing in his office, drinking from a bottle of vodka in his drawer and debating about calling the FBI again.
    He was not good at waiting.
    Starkey drove in no consistent direction, taking quick turns without using turn signals. He checked his mirrors so often he narrowly avoided hitting two parked cars.
    It reminded him of the time when he was a kid and his parents had taken him to an amusement park. They had encouraged him to try out a mini roller coaster. Not the real ones. This was specifically designed for children, who filled the seats around him. He remembered the bar coming down over his body, his hands sticky from cotton candy.
    And then the ride began.
    The initial push had excited him as the little car picked up speed. But the first big loop found young Charles Starkey screaming at the top of his lungs. His face wet with tears, he never stopped screaming until the ride came to an end.
    He had never been on another rollercoaster his entire life.
    Until now.
    Eventually he was confident that no one was following so at the first bar he spotted he pulled into the back lot, ensuring his car wouldn’t be visible from the street. He parked and went inside.
    It was a dive bar with one bartender and three customers. He went to a booth, saw the bartender roll her eyes, and he sat down. He put his cell phone on the table.
    He ordered a double whiskey on the rocks and gulped from it when it arrived. It was desperation time, he knew that. It was kill himself, be killed, or rescued by the FBI.
    The more he thought about it, the better he liked the idea of witness protection.
    The plan would be simple.
    Testify against whoever was in charge of The Store, do whatever had to be done, then go into the FBI’s witness protection. Keep things under control for awhile. He could still go on the Internet, have some fun. And then, maybe after awhile, start to have some real fun again. Not cyber fun.
    He found the bottom of his glass, and signaled the bartender for another. He knew he was drunk, but he felt mostly sick. The second drink was before him and he had a moment of dizziness. He felt like he was literally spinning until he grabbed the edges of the table with both hands and closed his eyes, squeezed them shut and ground his teeth.
    When he opened them again, the spinning had stopped. He picked up the glass and drank it all down, threw a pair of twenties on the table and went out to his car. He keyed the ignition, and headed back toward his home. He had to piss, that was for sure. But maybe paranoia was getting the better of him. Could people from The Store know that he had already sent an email to the FBI? Could they be after him already? And what about the phone calls to his office? They could have been anyone.
    By the time he