Free BRAINRUSH, a Thriller by Richard Bard Page B

scars up and down his arms, he’d seen more than a little action. The two used an eavesdropping device to listen to a conversation going on between some chick with a really smooth accent and a dude named Jake.
    The homeless man wasn’t sure why they’d nabbed him. But he was damn sure going to break their heads as soon as this drug wore off. 
    They should never have messed with a vet!
    **
     
    From inside the van at the other end of the parking lot, Carlo watched Jake and Francesca inside the coffee shop. “This man, Jake, doesn’t seem like much, eh, Mineo?” Carlo said in Italian. He saw Jake stand and prepare to leave. Carlo switched off the small digital receiver and speaker resting on his lap. “He’s going to wish that he’d accepted her sweet invitation.” 
    As Jake approached the exit, Carlo said, “He’s coming this way. Avert your eyes.”
    Mineo dropped the parabolic microphone to his lap. He tried to sink lower into the driver’s seat but his bulk wouldn’t permit him to move but a couple of inches. He needn’t have worried. The American passed directly in front of their van without ever looking up.
     “Good,” Carlo said. “He’s walking home. That gives us about fifteen minutes.”
    Mineo started up the engine and drove out of the lot.
    Carlo glanced back at the crumpled form in the back of the van. In thickly accented English he said, “And you, my friend, are going to be homeless no longer. We’re going to take you to a cozy little villa by the beach where you will be allowed to live out the rest of your life.”
    The man blinked.
    **
     
    Jake wanted to avoid any fans or newshounds that might be lingering in front of his house. He walked slowly up the block, checking for any unusual activity. A stiff breeze had picked up, rustling the palm leaves up and down the street in front of the multi-million dollar Tuscan villa “rebuilds” that skirted the cliff. The newer homes were sandwiched so closely together on the tiny lots that one could just about reach out from an upper-floor window and touch the house next door. There were still a few scrape-and-build holdouts on the street, like Jake’s home, where the old Hollywood feel was still in evidence. His single-story, two-bedroom Spanish stucco charmer had a covered front porch framed by an ivy-laced arch with towering Italian cypress trees that lined either side of the property. The familiar low rumble of crashing waves echoed from the cliff behind his home.  
    His elderly neighbor, Helen, spotted him as she walked up her drive across the street with her toy poodle in tow. Jake returned her friendly wave and turned quickly up his walkway to avoid another of her drawn-out stories.
    He walked up the half flight of steps to the front porch. Picking up a folded copy of the Daily Breeze , he turned the knob on the door. He was surprised to find it locked. Jake never locked his front door. He must have done it unconsciously when he left with Francesca. That woman had sure frazzled him.
    He fished his keys out of his pocket, unlocked the door, and stepped inside. Kicking the door closed with his heel, he dropped his keys on the side table and stooped to gather the mail on the floor.
    There was a rush of movement behind him. A set of massive arms locked around his chest. He felt a sharp sting on his neck. 
    Instinct took over. Drawing on his training, Jake jammed his heel viciously on the instep of the man holding him. The grip loosened just enough for Jake to drop his weight and twist out from under the man’s grasp. There was a slight tug on his neck as one of the man’s fingers caught on Jake’s thin necklace, snapping it loose.
    He spun around in a crouch, one foot slightly back, his weight evenly distributed so he could kick out with either foot. He brought his fists up just as a tingling sensation began to spread from his neck to his arms.
    Like in the bar, time suddenly slowed as he took in the scene. 
    There were two of them. The