Never Go Home

Never Go Home

(Jack Noble)

L.T. Ryan

http://LTRyan.com

[email protected]

@LTRyanWrites

PUBLISHED BY:

L.T. Ryan

Copyright © 2013

All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be copied, reproduced in any format, by any
means, electronic or otherwise, without prior consent from the copyright owner
and publisher of this book. This is a work of fiction. All characters, names,
places and events are the product of the author's imagination or used
fictitiously.

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Table
of Contents

Other
Books by L.T. Ryan

An
Excerpt from the upcoming thriller featuring Clarissa Abbot

Jack Noble Series in Order
Noble
Beginnings
A
Deadly Distance
Noble
Intentions Season One
Noble
Intentions Season Two
Noble
Intentions Season Three
Never Go Home (This book)
Untitled (Clarissa Abbot) - Coming October, 2013
Noble Intentions Season Four - Coming December, 2013

The woman
emerged from a pack of pedestrians. They parted as she passed. They stared at
her in awe. I imagined them asking each other, “Who is that woman?” She drew
attention in part because of her beauty. In part due to her confidence.

Surrounding
her were six men.

Dressed in
black.

All armed.

Not a sight
you see every day on the outskirts of London.

Yet people
didn’t notice them. She made them look invisible.

I presumed
the men had training on a level close to my own.

The woman and
the men continued their approach down the street. Her black hair was parted
down the middle. It splashed across her shoulders. The breeze lifted it at the
edges and it danced in the wind.

They stopped
in front of Cataldi’s. The restaurant had a wood burning stove. The cooks had
started it a few minutes ago. The exhaust fan spit flavored smoke into the sky.
It passed by me. My stomach ached with anticipation. As much for the meal as
for the job.

The woman and
her bodyguards continued on. They’d stopped in front of the restaurant the
previous three days. They never went in. Three doors down sat the cafe. If the
woman were as much a creature of habit as I thought, and counted on, they’d go
in there again this morning.

The
roof  offered a view of the entire street. The downside to that was that I
could be seen from the street from both directions. With the woman and her
security team close by, I retreated. No big deal. Their plans weren’t secret.

I touched the
button on the device connected to my ear. Steady static ensued. “I’ve got
visual confirmation. Heading inside now.” I tapped the button again. The static
faded away.

Noise crawled
along the building’s two hundred year old facade. The chatter of those passing,
a moped racing by, the steady thud of the bodyguards’ hard-soled shoes, and the
woman’s stilettos attacking the sidewalk.

They stood
out from the rest.

Staying low,
I crossed the rooftop, coming to a stop in front of the building access.
Nothing in the surrounding environment had changed. I pulled the door open,
kicked the prop out of the way and hit the stairs, taking them two at a time.

The lobby
door crashed open. Heavy steps hit the stairs. The person ran up. Their heavy
breaths indicated that they had been running even before they entered the
building.

I froze in
place, pulled my Beretta and leaned back against someone’s door.

A mother
scolded her child. The little kid raced through the apartment behind me. A door
slammed. The mother let out a frustrated sound.

The footsteps
kept coming toward me. Had they spotted me? I moved away from the wall and
toward the stairs. The person stopped. I held my breath. They let out theirs.
Then they took a deep breath and exhaled again.

“Good run,”
they said, followed by a door opening and closing.

Shaking my
head, I reflected on how close I’d come to killing an innocent bystander. No
time to dwell. I continued my descent.

Sasha’s voice
filled my ear. “She’s in front of the cafe, Jack.”

I didn’t stop
to reply. Five steps separated me from the lobby. I’d see for myself in a few
moments.

Black and
white checkered tile led to the front of the room where double doors swayed
back and forth a few inches. I ran up to them, stopped, scanned the street in
front of me. I couldn’t see her. The two men positioned behind her were too
tall and too wide.

Where’d they
find these guys? The pro wrestling circuit? They sure as hell weren’t former
Special Forces.

I drove my
shoulder into the door, pushed it open and stepped onto the sidewalk. Down
here, the smell of the grill was stronger. It combined with that of the pastry
shop next door. It was almost enough to throw me off.

I turned left
and started walking, using the windows next to me to watch the scene on the
other side of the street. One of her security detail studied me. He was mammoth
in size. He stayed outside along with another big guy, while the other four
accompanied the woman into the cafe.

“They’re
heading inside, Jack.”

I reached up
and activated the speaker. “Are we set up?”

“We never got
inside.”

“Say again?”

“They had two
waiting.”

“So she’s got
eight bodyguards today?”

“The threat
was high. You knew this. You said you were prepared for it.”

Three elderly
women approached. I said nothing with them in earshot. One of the women smiled
at me. Bright red lipstick coated her lips, as well as skin above and below.
Even her teeth were shades of red. I smiled back and nodded at her.

“Jack? Do you
want me to call everyone back and abort?”

I looked over
my shoulder. The woman was no longer in sight. Two men stood in the doorway.
The elderly women crossed the street. One of them skipped a step. Must be one
good cup of coffee inside.

The older
women approached the two behemoths standing guard. The guards demanded that the
ladies open up their purses so they could search them. They tossed items on the
ground. One of the women protested loudly. The guy said something to the effect
of, “Don’t like it? Get lost.”

“Jack?” she
yelled.

“Call them
off,” I said.

“You’re
giving up?”

“They weren’t
doing this yesterday.”

“What?”

“I’ll see you
in an hour.”

“Jack, what
are you going to do?”

I pulled the
device off my ear, tossed it into the trash, continued on another half block. I
reached behind my back and drew my Beretta. It went into the trash, too. I
stepped off the curb, paused for a white Fiat that honked at me as it passed,
then crossed the street. A group of teenagers told me to go back to America. I
ignored them.

Ahead, the
last of the elderly women stepped inside the cafe. The guard closest to me
turned his head in my direction. He watched as I approached.

I stopped in
front of the cafe. Placed my foot on the first step.

The guy stuck
his thick hand out. He wagged his finger in front of me. When he spoke, his
accent was Irish, thick, like he was from Cork. “I saw you exit the apartment
building and head up the street.”

I nodded.
“Had a coffee date with a woman. She called it off. Kind of happy, actually.
This place has the best brew in town. First time I’ve seen security here,
though. What’s going on? Did the Queen stop by today?”

The men
glanced at each other. They looked like two defensive linemen about to converge
on the quarterback at the same time.

“Come up
here,” the guy on the right said. He was local.

I stepped up,
held my arms out to the side.

“Turn
around,” Cork said.

I faced the
apartment building. A kid walking by looked up at me. I stuck my tongue out at
him and crossed my eyes. He smiled. The guy behind me patted me down, stuck his
hands in my pocket, and cupped me somewhere he shouldn’t have. I rose up on my
tiptoes.

“You gonna
buy me a pastry now?” I said.

“Shut up,”
Cork said.

“Go on in,”
the other said.

Neither held
the door for me. I felt cheated after how close we’d become.

I used the
hard toe of my right shoe against the door’s kick plate and nudged it open. The
aroma of dark roast met me. My mouth watered. It was necessary to stay focused,
so I scanned the room, breaking it down into quadrants.

The woman sat
in the corner, surrounded by guys smaller than the two at the front door. These
were the pros. The other two were meatheads whose only purpose was to scare the
store’s patrons. I kept my eyes moving. Didn’t want to linger on her too long.
Or on the men.

There were
three people behind the counter. The day before there had only been two, and
those two weren’t present today. I figure most people would assume that the
biggest one would be the plant, if there was one. Not me. And not the skinny
guy with red hair and acne either. I pegged it as the cute girl with the
dimples. She smiled and winked and put my mind at ease.

Not an easy
thing to do.

I ordered a
Cafe Americano and took a seat at a table fifteen feet away from the woman.

Her name was
Marcia Stanton. The name meant nothing to me. I’d been told Marcia was an up
and comer in politics. She had gained relevance by attacking and bringing down
some powerful people. A grassroots movement built, and next thing she knew,
people encouraged her to run for office.

At first, she
declined. The offers didn’t stop. So when a heavy hitter stepped in and told
her she owed it to her country, she agreed.

And that
opened a Pandora’s Box of hell for her. Death threats came. Bodyguards were
hired. Three attempts on her life had resulted in the hiring of three more
bodyguards to replace her core four.

All of that
led to me being seated in that cafe, mid-morning, hungry, tired, unarmed and
uncaffeinated. At least one condition was close to being remedied.

“Sir?”

I glanced up
at the cute girl with the dimples. She threw a pale elbow on the counter and
held out my mug with the other hand. I rose, stole a glance at Marcia and her
bodyguards, and walked to the counter. The girl watched me the whole way. One
hand wrapped around the mug. The other dropped a tip on the glass top.

“Cream or
sugar?” she asked.

I shook my
head. “Black is fine. The rest of the stuff gets in the way.”

She shrugged.
“Anything else?”

Behind her,
the big guy glared at me. I noticed a swastika tattooed on his wrist. We
engaged in a stare-off. He looked away first.

“Sir?” the
girl said.

“I’m fine,” I
said.

She turned
around, rolling her eyes. I was just another schmuck to her, and that was OK. I
returned to the same table, sat in a different seat. This one allowed me to see
the counter and Marcia’s booth. The downside to that was that the table created
an obstacle that I had to go around in order to do my job.

One of the
bodyguards rose. He headed toward the hallway that led to the restrooms.

Hand Tattoo
passed through a beaded curtain. I figured he went into the kitchen. Dimples
glanced around the cafe. Her gaze came to a stop on Marcia’s table. A minute
later, the girl joined the guy in back, leaving the skinny red-head all alone.

I stood,
walked to the counter and leaned against it.

Skinny Red
said, “Help you?”

“I’m good,” I
said.

Skinny Red
seemed too calm, relaxed, confident. If there was a plant, it had to be him.

The front
door opened. A man stepped inside. A sheet of sweat coated his forehead. His
breathing was erratic. His eyes shifted side to side. They never settled on
anything. He looked at me, Skinny Red, the beaded curtain, and at Marcia. And
when he saw her, he bent over and reached for his ankle.

One hand
reached to my ear, and the other around my back. Neither found what they were
looking for. I’d thrown away the ear piece and pistol a few minutes ago. I
hoped to recover them soon. Making it out alive became priority number one.
There was no backup now. I had no idea who was and wasn’t trustworthy in the
cafe.

The nervous
man caught the attention of Marcia’s table. One of her men rose. He strolled
over to the guy. This left Marcia with two bodyguards. One next to her, and one
across the table.

The guy who’d
stood up now blocked the path of the nervous man, who was bent over with two
fingers in his sock. The man lifted his head three inches. His gaze followed
along. His eyes angled inward. They focused on the barrel of the pistol aimed
at his forehead. The expression on his face took a few moments to change.

“Don’t move.”
The bodyguard’s accent wasn’t easy to place. South Africa, maybe? Perhaps New
Zealand. I get those mixed up quite often.

The nervous
man let out a sound I’d once heard a dying squirrel make. A couple seconds
later, drips of water hit the floor. It wasn’t water though. A puddle formed at
his feet.

“Disgusting,”
the bodyguard said. He jabbed the end of his pistol into the nervous guy’s
chest.

Around the
cafe, patrons stared in horror at the scene unfolding. It seemed everyone was
enthralled by the event. All except for one of the elderly women. She bit into
her pastry and refused to put it down.

I remained
still, watched the scene play out.

“Get up,
slowly,” the bodyguard said.