Blood Money (2 page)

Backed by billions of his father’s dollars
and influence beyond calculation, Jason Preston assumed himself to
be untouchable.

Tonight he was going to learn the truth.

Kelton had been in position for a little
more than an hour when a black Lincoln Navigator pulled into the
driveway. The grill of the large SUV stopped inches from the garage
door. The engine cut and the passenger door opened.

There were no lights on near the house but
the full moon overhead was bright enough for Kelton to clearly see
Jason Preston’s pinched, pockmarked face as the young man came
around the back of the vehicle.

With a spring in his step and a little
grin painted on his face, Jason opened the rear passenger
door, reached in, and pulled out a young woman who appeared to be
bordering on the edge of consciousness.

Grunting in effort, Jason slung her small,
thin, limp body over his shoulder and walked towards the front
door.

Bottling up his disgust to be used as fuel
as the evening moved along, Kelton waited until Jason was inside
the house before initiating the operation.

Once the door closed, Kelton pulled a ski
mask over his head and carefully climbed to his feet. Maintaining a
crouched position, he picked his way through the trees and across
the perfectly manicured grass, moving quickly but unhurriedly,
his movements smooth, almost oily, like a lion stalking its prey
through the African bush.

A few seconds later, he was standing next to
the glass double doors at the rear of the house, watching as Jason
carried the girl up the stairs to the second floor.

After they’d disappeared from view, Kelton
produced a set of lock-picking tools from his fanny pack and picked
the lock. He eased the door open, slipped into the house, then
eased the door closed.

After a slight pause to pull a silenced .22
caliber Glock from his thigh holster, Kelton began moving across
the carpeted floor towards the stairs.

Walking in the measured, confident steps of
someone practiced in the art of stealth, Kelton negotiated the
steps with the Glock extended and angled up towards a partially
open door at the end of the hall on the second floor.

He had just reached the top of the steps
when he heard Jason’s voice coming from the room beyond the open
door. He slid into position just short of the doorway and peeked in
through the sliver of space.

The large room was equipped with a mirrored
ceiling, an enormous plasma-screen TV, and a table with sex toys
scattered haphazardly on top. An H-shaped contraption sat in one
corner and a funky-looking swing hung from the ceiling in another.
Four digital video cameras affixed to tripods were positioned
strategically, covering the entire area.

On top of the king-sized bed in the center
of the room was the young, blonde-haired woman that Jason had
pulled from the car. She was lying on her back, spread-eagled,
wearing nothing but a bra and panties. Her wrists and ankles were
bound loosely to the four corners of the bed. Her breathing was
shallow and her eyes were closed.

Jason was standing next to the bed with his
back to Kelton, adjusting one of the video cameras. He had already
stripped down to his boxers and was whistling softly as he
worked.

With the ski mask still covering his face,
Kelton took a deep breath, pushed the door open with the toe of his
soft-soled shoe, and stepped into the room.

“Turn around, asshole.”

Jason nearly jumped out his skin. He spun
around, eyes wide, mouth open. He saw Kelton’s gun and threw his
hands in front of his face. Cringing, he said, “What the hell is
this?”

“Keep your mouth shut.”

“What do you want?”

Kelton stepped forward and pressed the
extended barrel of the silenced Glock up against Jason’s cheek.

“Shut. The. Fuck. Up.”

The cold steel seemed to get Jason’s
attention. Despite the tears running down his face, the young man
slammed his mouth shut without saying another word.

“That’s better,” Kelton said. He took a step
back, leveled the small bore barrel at Jason’s face. “Turn
around.”

“Why? What are you going to—”

Kelton reared back and kicked Jason in the
crotch, lifting the young man off his feet.

Jason seemed to levitate for a moment before
crashing to the carpeted floor. He immediately curled into the
fetal position. He was mewling like a newborn kitten.

“I told you to stay quiet,” Kelton said.
“Pay attention.”

Jason replied with a dry-heave, followed by
a series of low, chest-rattling coughs.

Kelton stepped over the young man, grabbed
him by the armpits, lifted him to his feet and shoved him towards
the bathroom door.

Jason stumbled into the bathroom, obviously
still in pain. Kelton spun him around, pushed him up against the
far wall and said, “Sit. On the floor.”

Jason did as he was told.

Kelton glanced back at the girl—she hadn’t
stirred in the least—before closing the door. He sat down on the
edge of the bathtub, six feet away from Jason, and set the hand
holding the Glock on his right knee. The gun was still pointed in
Jason’s general direction, but not at any specific body part.

“Can you talk yet?” Kelton said.

Jason squawked out a hoarse, “Yeah.”

“Good, because I’m going to ask you a couple
of questions. And if you answer them honestly, maybe this night
won’t end with you drowning in a pool of your own blood.
Understand?”

Jason nodded. Suddenly there was a shimmer
of hope beneath his fear, which suited Kelton’s purposes perfectly.
He wanted Jason to think there was a chance he’d get out of this
situation unscathed. It would greatly lessen the chance of things
spinning out of control, and if there was one thing Kelton valued
above all else, it was being in control.

Kelton leveled his gaze at Jason, hoping to
convey the gravity of the situation with his eyes alone. “What did
you give that girl in there?”

“A mild sedative,” Jason stammered. “That’s
it. Just enough to knock her out for a while.”

“Have you touched her yet?”

Jason shook his head quickly from side to
side. “No. I swear.”

“How many others have you done this to?”

Jason shrugged and looked down at the floor.
He was not an effective liar, at least not when a gun was trained
on him.

“Don’t give me that crap,” Kelton said. “You
know exactly how many.”

Jason opened his mouth, paused, then said,
“Ten. Maybe twelve.”

“Lie to me again and I put a bullet in your
kneecap,” Kelton said, his tone conversational, completely absent
of malice. “Now look at me and tell me how many.”

Amazingly, when Jason tilted his head up,
there was the hint of a smile on his face, as though thinking about
his victims elicited some kind of uncontrollable pleasure.
“Thirty-four.”

Kelton sighed and shook his head. His blood
was boiling, threatening to spill over.

He knew the job explicitly stated “no
permanent damage” but every fiber in his being screamed out to make
this punk-ass daddy’s boy suffer for what he’d done to all those
girls.

Kelton wanted to hurt Jason. Badly.

Still unsure of what the final act in this
episode would be, Kelton stood up and pointed the Glock at Jason’s
head.

Jason’s smile disappeared along with the
blood of his suddenly pale face. “Ah shit, man, don’t.” He tried
unsuccessfully to twist out of the line of fire. His panic seemed
to give him a rush of energy. “Come on, man, don’t . . . don’t do
this! You said if I told you the truth you wouldn’t kill me!”

Kelton shrugged, put another half-pound of
pressure on the trigger. “I lied.”

Jason’s face quivered. Pleading now, he
said, “Whatever you’re getting paid, I’ll double it!”

“That’s what everyone says.”

“Then I’ll triple it!”

“They all say that too.”

Jason burst into tears.

Kelton stifled a smile. He enjoyed watching
Jason squirm like the worm that he was.

“My dad, he’s a powerful man,” Jason said,
the words now rushing out of his mouth in a torrent. “I can get you
however much you want! Five million. Ten million. More. Whatever it
takes, I can pay it. Just tell me how much!”

“You can’t buy me off,” Kelton said. “I
don’t do this for the money.”

Jason stopped crying and considered Kelton
with a slightly cocked head and a confused look, as though he
couldn’t comprehend anyone that wasn’t motivated by profit. “Then
why?”

“I do it because it’s the right thing to
do,” Kelton said. “Think of me as an avenging angel.”

Jason’s eyes widened and he opened his mouth
to scream but nothing came out as Kelton squeezed the trigger but
there was only a click and Jason cried out, “Oh God! Oh God no!”
before he realized that the gun hadn’t fired.

Jason sucked in a giant breath of air,
started giggling, then wrapped his arms around his chest and rocked
back and forth. His face was a bright red mask of terror.

“Silly me,” Kelton said. “I must have forgot
to rack the slide.” He did so now. The sound reverberated
throughout the bathroom, echoing off the tile walls.

Jason’s breath caught in his throat, and
then he broke down completely and fell onto the bathroom tile and
into the fetal position for the second time in the evening.

Kelton kept the gun trained on Jason until
the young man’s sobs had turned into deep, whooping breaths, then
let his arm drop to his side and again sat down on the edge of the
tub.

“Get yourself together and sit up you little
shit,” Kelton said.

Jason flashed him a confused look.

“I said, sit up.”

Jason did as he was told.

“I’ll tell you what, Jason, you’re one lucky
little bastard. Lucky that the person who asked me to come here
tonight is a better man than me. Lucky that he just wanted me to
teach you a lesson instead of kill you. Because if you would have
done these things to someone I knew? Well, let’s just say you
wouldn’t have been around to see the sun come up.”

Jason’s sobbing had ceased, but his eyes
were still leaking and his chest was shuddering with every
breath.

“Next time you consider doing what you were
about to do to that girl out there, I want you to remember what
happened here tonight,” Kelton said. “Because if you so much as
think about doing it again, to anyone, whether it be in San Diego
or fucking Timbuktu, I’ll find out. And I’ll come for you. Trust me
when I tell you it’ll be a much longer, far more unpleasant night
than this one has been. And you won’t wake up the next morning.
Understand?”

Jason nodded. He managed a weak, “Yeah.”

“Are you sure?” Kelton said. “Because you
sure don’t sound like you mean it.”

“I mean it,” Jason said, more forcefully
this time. “I do. I swear. I really do.”

Kelton held the young man’s eyes for an
extra beat before offering a tiny nod. “You know, I think I
actually believe you.”

Relief flooded over Jason’s features, but
hidden behind it was something else; a tiny shred of impertinence
similar to the one that had showed up briefly when telling Kelton
the true number of how many women he’d done this to.

Kelton sighed and shook his head. He knew
that there was no way this privileged little fuck was going to be
able to control himself. He might take a break for a couple of
months, maybe even a year, but one of these days, he’d rape someone
else. It wasn’t just a distinct possibility, it was a
certainty.

Something rose in Kelton’s chest. Not rage
this time—for that burned hot—but a different sensation, something
cold, detached; resignation perhaps. Even though Kelton knew he
wasn’t supposed to permanently hurt Jason, there was no way in hell
he was going to let the little shit off the hook without something
to remember the night by.

Kelton stood up and stepped forward and
raised the gun and shot Jason in the right foot.

CHAPTER TWO

After dropping the young woman off at a
nearby hospital, Kelton arranged the customary post-operation
meeting with his business partner, Jake Slania, known universally
as Slake.

They met at their regular haunt; The Garage,
a bar across the street from Seaport Village in the heart of
downtown San Diego.

Unlike the vast majority of the newer,
trendier bars in the recently refurbished downtown area, The Garage
was a dive that catered almost exclusively to locals. The inside
was dark and poorly ventilated, the floor consisting solely of bare
concrete and the walls spotty with old paint. When Kelton arrived,
it was sparsely populated—as always—and the few people present were
far more interested in their drinks than the other inhabitants.

Slake was sitting in a booth near the back
of the room, his 300 pounds packed disproportionately into the
upper half of his six-foot frame. His full head of bright red hair
made him immediately recognizable, even in the gloom of the bar. In
front of him were two pint glasses, both full.

Kelton sat down across from his large friend
and reached for one of the glasses, but Slake pulled it away from
him with a little grin.

“First, you need to tell me if you’re in or
out,” Slake said.

“I’m in,” Kelton replied.

“Loser buys?”

“As always.”

Slake smiled and pushed the beer across the
table. “Then be my guest.”

Kelton brought the glass to his lips, tilted
it, let the beer sit in his mouth for a moment, then swallowed it
down. He held the glass up to the meager light, inspected the color
and density of the liquid inside, and set it back on the table.

“Well?” Slake said.

“Piece of cake,” Kelton said. “Half JW
Dundee Honey Brown, half Guinness. It’s a variation of Black and
Tan that I believe is officially called Black Honey.”