You're Almost Dead Read online

  You’re Almost Dead

  Book One

  by

  JACK PARKER

  This Novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events are products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to events or locations is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2019 by Jack Parker

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced, in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 1

  On a narrow street across from an equally narrow little pub, Kurt Gabler sat, calmly biding his time in a stolen car. It was the sort of oddly bustling Wednesday night that offered enough of a crowd for a man to remain lost in without there being too many people to worry much about solid witnesses. His target had disappeared into that nearly hidden watering hole about two hours ago and the light had long gone. It was just about right. Kurt speed dialed the first contact on an unmarked cellphone and held it to his ear.

  "Give it to me," a familiar American accent slid into his ear with casual expectation.

  "It's tonight," Kurt replied smoothly. His voice was the sort of deep, rich tenor that rarely necessitated a whisper. "A few hours back he popped into some local pub in South Croydon with a couple of classmates."

  "How are you gonna get him alone?"

  "One of them's already left. Sterling has a visual on the other. Our boy's busy chatting up some interested party at the bar and his other friend is fast losing his patience. Shouldn't be long before he makes some excuse to wander off."

  "ETA?"

  "A couple of hours."

  "Good man."

  Kurt tucked away his phone as the call cut off, resting his hands on the wheel and fixing his eyes on the front door across the way. It was about fifteen minutes later that his earpiece crackled to life and fed him the gruff voice of his companion stationed inside the bar. "You still in position, Gabler?"

  "Naturally."

  "He's 'eaded outside for a smoke, looks like."

  "Alone?"

  "There's no one followin' 'im. Besides me, anyhow."

  "Do you think that's wise?"

  "Why? Too much company out front?"

  Kurt peered forward contemplatively at the nearest alleyway flanking the pub and the cigarette butts that littered the pavement there. It was at least five meters from the nearest street light. "No. Not if you can manage it quickly."

  "Right. Be ready in a minute or two, then."

  As the communication stopped, Kurt saw the door of the pub creak open and out stepped their target: twenty-four year old Emery Eaton. He was what one would typically imagine the son of a rich family to be—attractive, a bit small-statured but well-proportioned with blue eyes, brown hair, and somewhat boyish features that were fast turning manly. He was well dressed and it made him stand out like a sore thumb, but he didn't seem bothered as he traipsed obliviously into the alley. A minute later, Kurt watched Alan Sterling's large frame lumber out after, pulling his long coat around him and rubbing his arms in the cold as he lingered for a moment at the step. He pretended not to notice Eaton for a moment before hesitantly approaching him and making some sort of wide-armed gesture followed by rubbing his hands together. Eaton offered a crooked smile and nodded, holding out his pack of cigarettes as he stuck one between his own lips. Sterling took one with an emphatic gesture of gratitude and began to lay his trap.

  Kurt sat back with his hands in his lap to wait for Sterling's cue. The man was sublime with acting a scene, but was bad at improvisation in the face of suspicion and was likely to resort to violence in a pinch. Hopefully he would be able to pull this one off without it. It wouldn't do to have Eaton's blood tainting the seats once this particular vehicle had outlasted its usefulness and needed to be ditched. He patiently tapped his fingers against each other, ignoring the niggling irritation he felt whenever forced to rely on the competencies of others and kept his eyes on the alley, but Sterling had led Eaton further back into the darkness and out of Kurt's line of sight.

  It was a few tense moments before Sterling suddenly reappeared, hauling their now fully unconscious victim's arm over his thick neck and dragging him out of the alley. Kurt straightened up, looking around to make sure this had gone unnoticed, but quickly caught two women walking by who looked a little too interested. If they recognized Eaton the entire thing was off. He readied the keys to start the car in a hurry if need be as he waited for Sterling's reaction. The women slowed to a halt with concerned faces as they tried to study Eaton and Sterling stopped, gauging them with barely concealed malice. Kurt immediately got out of the car.

  "Did you find him, then?" he called to Sterling.

  Both his partner and the two women turned towards him curiously. "Yeah," Sterling replied dumbly, not quite quick enough to catch on.

  "Well where in the seven hells has he been? Christ, what have you done to him?" Kurt crossed the street in a few long strides and cupped a hand under Eaton's chin, affecting the look of the put upon fatherly sort. "My sister's going to kill me you realize. If I have to tell her that I allowed her fiancé to spend his stag party in a hospital—"

  "It ain't as bad as all that!" Sterling interjected, finally relaxing as he unraveled the ruse.

  "Oh my. Is he alright?" one of the women asked, curling her hair behind her ear.

  "He's just 'ad one too many, that's all. Honest, 'e ain't that bad."

  "He'd better not be," Kurt sighed. "If he sleeps through his wedding I'll never hear the end of it."

  "Poor little love," the other woman said, trying not to laugh as she touched her lips. "What time is the wedding?"

  "Eight a.m. sharp I'm afraid," Kurt answered wearily.

  The women both made sounds of grave sympathy before turning off. "Good luck!" they wished in unison as they wandered off.

  Kurt quickly dropped his glare and picked up Eaton's other arm, helping Sterling drag him to the car. "Is he hurt?"

  "I used the chloroform, like I said I would," Sterling bit back, clearly still ruffled by the interference of good Samaritans.

  Kurt ignored the tone and plopped Eaton into the back seat, adjusting his limp body around and reaching in to pull the seatbelt over him. After a moment of struggling with it, he saw Sterling look in from the other window with an impatient sneer.

  "What you doin'?"

  Kurt looked down at the seatbelt and continued buckling it securely. "Safety first."

  Sterling guffawed loudly, slapping the top of the car before sliding into the passenger's seat, still chuckling. Kurt didn't think it particularly funny, but he gratefully accepted an end to conversation and shut the door, climbing back to his seat and starting the car to make a mostly spotless getaway.

  * * *

  "Look at this."

  Kurt knew his employer well enough by this point to sense when he was pleased. Casey Sheridan stood, dressed as sharply as ever in a black suit and dark purple dress shirt, hands out as he gestured to the unconscious figur
e of Emery Eaton held up like a marionette between Kurt and Sterling.

  "You say you're gonna deliver, and here you are. You even gift wrapped it for me." He patted a hand harshly on Emery's now hooded head and gestured to a chair in the center of the room. "You do good work, boys. I mean as much as I like bein' a hardass, you did too damn good."

  Sterling took over, dropping Emery's small frame into the chair and shifting him so that he remained upright. Victor Scott, the last man in the room, went over to lend his aid and began binding the victim's hands behind his back with nylon rope.

  "Any hiccups?" Sheridan demanded, looking to Kurt.

  "No," he responded evenly. He ignored Sterling's sidelong glance.

  "Scott," Sheridan looked over a shoulder. "That thing gonna be ready when we need it?"

  Scott gestured to the laptop sitting on a folding table nearby while he finished tying a knot. "Yeah, it'll work."

  "Great. So wake up sleeping beauty and let's do this."

  Said prisoner was already beginning to stir, feet clumsily shuffling against the ground and head rolling from side to side. Sterling reached out and snatched the hood off of his head, causing Emery to jolt and squint in alarm, head jerking from figure to figure in hazy confusion.

  "He lucid?" Sheridan pointed to him.

  "There's no reason he shouldn't be," Kurt affirmed.

  Sheridan nodded, picking up a chair that sat next to the table and carrying it over towards Emery's. He set it down directly in front of his prisoner and sank down into it with an easy smile. "How ya doin', kid?"

  Emery was regarding him with glazed eyes, arms sluggishly struggling to get free. "M'sorry?" he slurred.

  "You English fuckers are always so damn polite. Cracks me up," he threw an amused grin up at Sterling and rubbed his hands together between his knees.

  "I ain't never been polite in my fucking life," was the response from said English fucker. Kurt didn't care to add anything.

  Sheridan chortled and looked back to Emery. "Snap out of it, junior. You and I need to have a talk."

  Emery had at last come to the realization that his arms were intentionally bound, straightening up in his chair and blinking in disbelief at the man in front of him. He swallowed deeply and his breathing became suddenly heavy. "…Wh-what is this—where am I?"

  "Well it ain't your daddy's country club."

  Emery's eyes darted around the room, then turned awkwardly to try and look back at his restraints. Kurt could see the gears turning in the kid's head.

  "Hey, right here," Sheridan demanded, snapping his fingers in the space between them and causing Emery to jerk his head back around. "It sunk in yet or do I need to give your pampered ass a minute to panic? 'Cause I don't really have the time and I really don't have the patience."

  "No," Emery answered quickly, voice wavering. "I think I've got it."

  "Good. See, they said you were smart." Sheridan jutted a finger at him in approval. "Now look, I get it. This whole snatch and grab, it's…disorienting, right? Sure. But there's a silver lining. You know what that is?"

  Emery slowly shook his head.

  "You don't have to do shit," Sheridan explained. "Not a goddamn thing. See, there's gonna be a lot going on around you for the next couple of days. A lot of nitty, gritty, technical bullshit. You see us four right here? We're gonna be taking care of it all, top to bottom, start to finish. But you, well. All you gotta do is sit there and look pretty. Now, does that sound like the deal of the century or what?"

  Emery stared on, dumfounded for a long moment before suddenly gathering that he was to respond. "Uh, y-yes."

  "So we understand each other?" Sheridan sat back as Emery nodded fervently. "That's good. Alright. And uh, I don't…have to say what would happen if you decided to, I don't know…fuck around, do I?"

  "Fuck around?" Emery repeated numbly.

  "Yeah, you know. Try to escape. Try to call for help. Do anything other than fucking nothing at all…?"

  Emery swallowed heavily. "Oh. Right. Of course, um, no. Wouldn't dream of it. That would be…stupid…given the circumstances."

  "It would be pretty stupid, wouldn't it?" Sheridan laughed, clapping a hand on Emery's shoulder. "That's a good word for it. Stupid."

  "Right," Emery gave a nervous smile that looked more like a grimace. "Can I…ask something?"

  Sheridan crossed his arms and considered this before shrugged one shoulder. "Shoot."

  Emery wriggled forward a little, his tone strangely calmer. "Am I going to live through…whatever this is?"

  His captor leaned in close. "Let's put it this way. You and Daddy Warbucks do every little thing I say, and you won't walk out of here with so much as a split end. Fair enough?"

  Emery nodded, an understanding seeming to dawn on him. "Perfectly, yes. You uh, won't hear any complaints on my end." He sat back straightening up and looking around with an almost comical projection of innocence.

  "Great to hear," Sheridan said, satisfied. "Let's get you settled in. This here is Gabler." He pointed a hand at Kurt across the room. "You and him are gonna be pals these next few days. He's gonna set you up in a room, bring you your meals, keep you company, sort of like a uhhh, a butler." Sterling and Scott chuckled slightly at this. "Anything you need, you just tell him."

  "Oh. Lovely," Emery said with sickeningly convincing optimism.

  "Hey," Sheridan made an ambiguous gesture and Scott jumped forward, quickly undoing the knot that bound Emery to the chair and freeing his arms.

  Emery rubbed his shoulders with his hands and stretched slightly, eyes going back to Kurt with cooperative anticipation. Kurt regarded him with a cold stare and approached holding a pair of handcuffs. "Stand up," he ordered. "Hands out."

  Emery did as he was told, holding out his wrists, which Kurt cuffed tightly before planting a hand on his shoulder blade to firmly guide him away. He was headed towards the upstairs rooms of the old building when Sheridan leaned in to whisper something.

  "Keep a good eye on him."

  Kurt gave a nod and continued to push the prisoner out the door.

  CHAPTER 2

  Emery liked to consider himself one of the most, if not the most, adaptable people that there ever was. He'd been through a lot after all…well, relatively speaking…and still managed to find himself basically well off in the grand scheme of things. He had money, looks, luxury, a good education, a secure future, but this…well, frankly this was perfect.

  When he came to, seated front and center to a group of intimidating strangers at all sides, the first thing he could feel was a pang of confusion as to where the cigarette he'd just been smoking had gone. This was of course compounded almost instantly with a barrage of other thoughts like Where's the pub? Where's Mick? Where in the fuck is this? But most of those were answered fairly quickly, if not made entirely moot, by his mysterious abductor.

  He didn't recognize any of these men, but there were a few things he could gather right away. They had made no attempt to conceal their identities to him. This didn't bode well for his survival right off the bat. It also made him wonder if he should in fact recognize any of them. The first, clearly the outfit's ringleader, was a well-groomed American with neatly styled, reddish brown hair and looks that made it very difficult to discern whether he was genuinely attractive or simply had such unique facial features that they warranted staring. The man beside him, the one he remembered from outside the pub, was a very tall, broad-chested fellow with a shaved head and too many lines in his face for someone of his approximate age. He could only catch glimpses of the man behind him in his peripheral, but he was on the shorter side, bearded and younger than the first two.

  The last man, standing the furthest away, was somewhat on the tall side, dark haired with hazel eyes and a face that, while so stoic as to suggest he'd only ever heard of laughter in passing, was quite handsome. This was, of course, to be his handler. Emery squashed down his terror as best he could when the statuesque fellow, introduced to him only as Gabler, a
pproached and handcuffed him.

  Have to be agreeable, Emery thought, trying to pull everything together as he was led off. They mentioned my stepfather...they must want money. Unless it's personal. God I hope it's not personal. He stole a few glances at his elected prison warden and let out a breath. "This has got to be the worst morning after experience I've ever had," he cracked lightly. "No offense."

  Gabler didn't make a response other than an unreadable glance.

  Emery swallowed, forced to stop as they came to a staircase. Gabler motioned for him to climb it, so he did. As near as he could tell, this place was some sort of abandoned shop, an old establishment that still retained a living quarters up top. As good a place as any for a hideout, he supposed. There was no telling how far from home he was. Gabler led him down the hall and turned him off to one of the bedrooms, opening the door and ushering him forward. It was quaint. This place was probably abandoned sometime in the seventies based on awful artwork hanging on the walls the furniture left behind. There was a bed, a narrow table, a dresser and a chair along with a rusted radiator in the corner that looked like it would happily start an inferno upon activation. "Well this is…nice. So, uh—Gabler," Emery cleared his throat as he was pushed forward. "That's German, isn't it? I mean your accent's clearly Manchester, but I'll bet that's not where you started off. I can sort of hear it just beneath the surface. Woher kommst du? Ich brauche jemanden, mit meinem Deustch zu üben."

  Emery stumbled as he was shoved onto the bed, awkwardly keeping himself sitting upright with cuffed hands as he looked up at Gabler in shock. The man bent down to his level, tone flat and even enough to be deadly. "Is this a game to you?"

  Gabler's eyes were cutting straight past the man he had recently become and were fixated menacingly on the boy that was underneath. Emery shrank back, throat suddenly dry. "No…no, definitely…not. I just want to be cooperative. I-it's in my best interest, I think. Also when I'm nervous I s-sort of blabber like an idiot and um…well."

  Gabler stared for a stomach churning moment longer as Emery trailed off before he stood back up. He gripped Emery's wrist and unlocked a cuff, fixing it around the brass bedframe in one fluid motion. He met his eyes again coldly and straightened up. "I suggest you don't lose sight of that best interest and keep quiet for the rest of the day."