Presidential Cleaning: A Psychological Suspense Novel

Presidential Cleaning

Chapter 1

The day they took my wife was the day they signed their death certificate. My friends would tell you that I’m an average guy. Average height. Average looks. Averagely short hair and average brown eyes. However, what they wouldn’t tell you is that I worked for a part of the government that no man, woman or child knew existed. They wouldn’t be able to divulge this information because to them, Joe was just average- the average Joe.

It’s been two weeks and five days since I walked into my apartment to see that not only had the place been ransacked, but the lady who waited patiently with a warm smile and a big heart wasn’t sitting in her regular position on the sofa. ‘Honey,’ she’d say, ‘brighten up that smile.’ And because she wasn’t there to remind me that the corners of my mouth were meant to face upward, I forgot. Two weeks and five days is how long I’ve been wearing this frown. Two weeks and five days’ worth of wrath is what they’d be feeling. ‘Our paths will cross,’ I had warned them when they called to rub their dirty deeds in my face. Information is what they sought. Information that didn’t belong to them. If there was anything I knew, it was how to keep my mouth shut and my promises secured. Knowing that my heart would bleed for no one but my wife, they decided to tackle me where it really hurt. I’d been trained not to feel pain; to live an emotionless life. I knew very well what it felt like to watch a man die but what I didn’t know was how to feel for a dying man. My wife, she was different. She’d caused me to break each and every rule that I’d made for myself. Most importantly, she’d allowed me to forget that caring was the biggest downfall a man could ever have. And there it was, the bleeding of a heart I forgot I had; the watering of eyes that shouldn’t know how to cry. They had figured out my weakness and they ensured that each and every breath I took was one I took without her.

I pressed my ear tightly against the phone, not trying to hear the voice that streamed through it, but instead, hoping for a sign that would lead me into the direction of
them
.

‘Give us our guy, and we’ll give you your girl,’ he said in a tone that didn’t hide how victorious he felt.

He waited for me to reply, but I had nothing to say. Listen. Observe. Decipher. I glanced over at my computer which had stopped searching and instead, presented rather clear coordinates on the screen. I had the tower that his cellphone pinged from and just when I thought I’d have to go from door to door in order to find these bastards, another sign presented itself. The noise that lasted for a few seconds could be nothing but a train whizzing past. All the while he was rambling on about how powerful ‘they’ were. He couldn’t use his miniscule brain to come to the conclusion that a guy like me had bigger and better things to do and hearing him out wasn’t one of them.

‘Joe Chandler,’ his obnoxious voice came again, ‘I think it’s about time you start talking. If you’re ever going to see…’

I hung up. There was work to be done. The first course of action was to figure out just how many of these imbeciles I’d have to take down. I headed to the backroom of my averagely average three bedroom apartment, unveiling the door to walls that bore a striking resemblance to a police investigation board except more meticulous. My motivation to keep going; to never give up came from a thirteen by eighteen photograph of my beautiful Lila. Her long brown hair draped over her shoulders. Her face complete with a twinkle in her subtle brown eyes and her smile as refreshing as the morning wind. I glanced at the photograph for what seemed like forever before making my way to the board that was plastered with pictures of the day they trashed my home. 

I’d collected four sets of footprints, which meant there were at least four people stomping through my apartment that day. A getaway vehicle had more than likely been waiting for them somewhere along the usually quiet streets of Bathesda. One neighbor claimed a dark SUV with blacked out windows was parked out front. Another believed she had seen a blue car with two suspicious guys driving around the neighborhood- an unlikely option, as they’d been professional enough to drag my wife out of our home with no one seeing them. I came to the conclusion that a minimum of six guys is what I’d need to prep for.

But then, there was something else that required my consideration. I’d refrained from checking the DNA on a splatter of blood found on a chipped tooth I’d collected from in the midst of shattered glass from our wine cabinet. Initially, there was no doubt in my mind that it had come from my wife except, observing my wife’s photograph showed me that the white’s I’d found weren’t as pearly as they needed to be to come from her. This brought me to seven. A bare minimum of seven intruders.

For a while, I contemplated turning this piece of evidence into to the haphazard DC police. However, I shied away from the idea, knowing that their incompetence would irk my nerves once again. Did I really need the DNA? Putting a face to a man or woman I knew I’d have the chance to revenge wouldn’t make a difference. All the information I needed was tucked inside that shady warehouse that the phone call was made from; the shady warehouse that I’d be gracing with my presence sooner than later.

Chapter 2

The chilly DC air was bearable in a T-Shirt only due to the adrenaline that coated my entire body. I waited impatiently, a considerable distance away from the broken down warehouse, tapping my jittering fingers on the steering wheel as I ran through the plan in my head. Them not expecting me didn’t mean they weren’t prepared for a threat. I needed to condition myself to think about them first and my wife later. Success was based on rapid elimination of the threat, preventing those within close proximity from reacting fast enough to make me their prey. Had it crossed my mind that the ease with which I found them was all a setup? Absolutely. The fact that these guys had the balls to make me their enemy meant one of two things- either they were really smart or really dumb. Smart, in that they were adequately prepared to deal with the threat I posed; dumb because they had no idea what I was capable of.

I parked my car two blocks away from the warehouse location and checked my surroundings a few times to ascertain that I hadn’t been spotted by anyone who could send alarm bells ringing in the building. Once I’d determined that all was clear, it was time for them to learn who Joe Chandler really was. I headed to the north side of the building. My palm was tightly pressed against the grip of my Colt Forty-Five, the metal introducing a new singe of cold. My index finger was set on the trigger, ready to destroy any and everyone who tried to prevent me from accomplishing my goal. Steady and quickly, I slithered my way around the building, spotting the first of the men I needed to eliminate. The silencer, securely attached to the muzzle of my gun ensured that the sound let off-when the bullet traveled through the barrel and into the first victim of my wrath’s head- were muffled enough to prevent the great deal of chaos that a louder sound would bring. Surely, those on the inside would hear a noise, but pinpointing the blast would come with its difficulties. Victim two received one to the chest. His body twitched and contorted as he struggled to catch his last breath. Over their lifeless figures I stepped, and into the pool of blood that streamed from their bodies. I’d leave my bloody footprints along the way, ascertaining that those who came after could get a glimpse of what it was like to walk in my shoes.

The heavy metal door creaked as I pushed it open with ease. In order to refrain from raising an alarm, I carefully guided it close. The pungent smell of concrete was only outdone by the smell of sweat that oozed from each segment of the building. They’d been there for a while. They felt at home. That wasn’t the first mistake they made, but it surely would be their last. I felt as though my home was my safe haven and they ensured that I knew just how amateur it was to feel safe in a world glazed with evil.

‘Luis,’ number three said his last word thanks to the rapidness of my fingers on the trigger. I made my way toward him, making sure that the last image he had in his head was one of me smiling at his misfortune. This seemed to pump a fresh wave of adrenaline through his veins. His eyes widened the way my smile widened when I watched him accept that it was over.

Footsteps told me that the leisurely way in which I’d been taking them down was about to come to an end. I could hear three of them, charging in my direction, undoubtedly certain that something was off.

‘Fuck,’ toned a voice that I was pleased to hear. My bullet went straight through number four’s eye and the guy behind him had an only normal reaction considering his face wore the blood of the man who once stood before him. ‘Fuck,’ he repeated.

I slid my way into a corner, protecting myself from the shots that whizzed my way. I wouldn’t take him out- not just yet- but the guy behind him would be the recipient of three rounds, one to the head, and two to the chest. And thus, number five was down.

The guy whose voice saved his life spoke again. He was the one who I’d spoken with on the phone. He had the information I was looking for. ‘How did you find us?’ he asked breathlessly. Still keeping his hands on his gun and his eyes on me.

Goons. That’s what they were. Disposable goons who weren’t worth protecting with an arm or a leg.

‘Where is she?’ I replied. My eyes were kept peered to ensure that I spotted any threats that decided it was prime to present themselves.

‘You’ll never find her.’ His tone held an air of mockery. Even with the men who’d dropped like flies right before his eyes, he doubted me.

He raised his hand, taking aim, but suddenly lost his grip as a bullet slipped through the barrel of my gun and found itself tangled in the flesh of his arm. I quickly made my way to him, tuning out the wails that he released.

‘I’m not going to kill you,’ I ensured him.

His eyes gave the thanks that his mouth was unable to speak.

‘Don’t thank me just yet,’ I warned Mr. Loudmouth.

I gripped him by his bloody and pain ridden arm, grabbed his gun and tucked it into the waist of my pants. He groaned even louder as my fingers dug deeper into his open wound. I could feel the bullet and the demon in me ensured that his pain didn’t subside. Dragging him along, I made my way into a tiny room- the only one along the way that showed a glimmer of life. The shallow breathing that was evident upon entry told me I wasn’t alone. I drew back, waiting for the footsteps to approach and when they did, my gun took care of the rest. Again, there was a new gun to be claimed. As I made my way closer to number six, I realized that he still had the slightest bit of life for me to take. With one arm wrapped around Mr. Loudmouth’s body, I re-gripped my gun and fired a few more rounds into number six’s head.

‘Okay,’ I sighed. ‘Now that that’s been settled. Is there anyone else I need to be aware of?’

Loudmouth didn’t answer. Instead, he tried to wiggle his way out of my grasp.

‘Is there anyone else I need to be aware of,’ I repeated in a tone that made him know that the truth was the only right answer.

‘No,’ he shook his head from side to side- his face wearing the pain he felt in his arm.

‘Good. So, Loudmouth. Where’s my wife?’

‘The name’s Locke. Sami Locke.’

‘Where the fuck is my wife,’ I yelled directly into his ear.

‘Bring us Derrick Shaw and you’ll get your wife’

For the first time since my wife was taken, I was caught off guard. Derrick Shaw?

‘Derrick Shaw.’ I repeated, my head tightening at the sound of his name.

Chapter 3

I knew the name. I knew the name Derrick Shaw more than I wanted to or was willing to admit. Derrick Shaw was one of the president’s many secrets. A secret that I kept well. A secret that a select few men of NW45- the government agency I once called home- knew about. Who they were asking for was a man who deserved more than what he’d be receiving. The Indianapolis bombings, the Phoenix bombings, the Denver bombings- they were all his work of art.

I didn’t have time to wonder how I hadn’t heard them say the name Derrick Shaw before. Up until that moment, he’d only been ‘our guy’ as though I should know just who these guys were in search of. Back then, when they were barking commands down my phone, I didn’t care who they wanted. The only things I needed were to know where they were and to develop a sure fire plan to serve them their revenge and get my wife back.  I wasn’t in the game of being bribed by the enemy. I came to kill and I came to conquer. Whatever it was that they wanted. They needed to find someone else- someone weaker- to assist.

‘I’m not here to make a deal, Loudmouth.’ I tried hard to will my voice back after the name Derrick Shaw had so elegantly whisked it away. ‘Where do you keep her?’

I was in no mood to go scavenging through all ten-thousand square feet of the warehouse. I needed a precise location and though Loudmouth wasn’t initially aware that he’d give it to me, he soon realized that my requests weren’t to be taken lightly.