Free Deal Gone Bad - A Thriller (Frank Morrison Thriller Series Book 1) by Tony Wiley

in
fact.
    She left it at that. Said
good-night. Then she headed down the hallway to the master bedroom.
    Morrison pushed open the
door to his blue room and dropped his bags on the dresser. He crashed into the lowlying
chair facing the bed and removed his shoes. The spot where his toes rested on
the key felt sore. He peeled off his socks and turned the sole of his foot
upward in his hands. The skin was reddened but not to the point where it would
blister. Morrison pushed the shoes underneath the bed, got up, undressed and went
for a long shower. Then he jumped straight into bed.
    His head had not yet
landed on the pillow. It was still hovering slightly above. But already, he was
sound asleep.
    *
    Morrison woke up past nine
o’clock in the morning. His head still buzzing from the deep sleep, he got up, foraged
the shopping bags and put on a brand new pair of jeans and a blue oxford shirt.
Then he put his shoes back on and left the room.
    He had yet to tour the
house. So instead of aiming for the big winding staircase, he pushed his way through
the top floor hallway toward the back.
    He counted five doors
including his room’s and the baby girl’s. Three on his side, two on the
opposite. The bigger rooms were the baby’s and, most certainly, Mike and Laura’s.
Judging from the space between the doors, the other rooms looked about the same
size as his blue room. But he couldn’t know for sure. He couldn’t peek inside. The
doors were all closed shut.
    At the end of the hallway,
he reached an elbow that veered to the right. Four more doors appeared, a lot
closer together, which suggested the rooms were small and certainly did not
comprise a private bathroom. He pushed on. At the end was a narrow winding
staircase that led downstairs. He had seen a similar arrangement in the past. He
figured in the old days, that portion of the hallway must’ve been walled off at
the elbow. The cramped section would’ve been the servants’ quarters, and only
they would’ve used the winding staircase to go to and fro between their
sleeping quarters and the kitchen, where they would disperse throughout the
house to attend to their masters’ needs.
    On the landing, a waft of freshly
brewed coffee confirmed his intuition. He went down the stairs. He had expected
them to be as creaky and noisy as the front ones, but he descended without a
sound. The rubbery lining that covered them did a great job of concealing any
squeak.
    Mike and the blond guy stood
in the kitchen, butts leaning on the kitchen island. They were having coffee
while watching a small flatscreen TV nestled in a narrow countertop section bookended
by solid wood cabinets.
    “I could have one of
these,” Morrison said.
    They turned their heads. They
hadn’t heard him coming down.
    “Help yourself,” Mike said.
    Morrison picked up a black
mug on the counter and filled it. Mike turned his attention from the TV set to look
at him with piercing eyes.
    “Sleepin’ in, Morrison?” he
said.
    “You know me. I need my
beauty sleep,” Morrison said. He noticed the dark circles under Mike’s eyes.
Same for the blond guy. They must have stayed up pretty late. “Looks like you
could use some too.”
    Mike waved his hand
dismissively.
    “This ain’t prison anymore,”
he said. “You’re gonna have to get off your butt.”
    Morrison sneered. “Don’t
worry about that,” he said. “Just make sure you leave me 20K before you go.”
    Mike arched his eyebrow.
    “So you’ve already gotten
yourself busy, then.”
    “What did you expect?”
    “You could’ve gone soft in
prison. It’s happened to others before.”
    Morrison shrugged. “It
only happens if you allow it,” he said. He took his first sip of coffee. It was
strong and real hot.
    For his part, Mike drained
the dregs of his cup and put it down in the sink. He nodded toward the TV and
said, “There was something on the news about the sheriff’s department seizing
ATM skimming equipment at half a dozen banks late