Midnight Quest by Lisa Marie Rice

Author:Lisa Marie Rice
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Lisa Marie Rice
Published: 2016-04-18T23:00:00+00:00

Fuck!

Stu Constable opened up his desk drawer and pulled out an old photo. It had been handed to him by his predecessor and Constable had been holding on to it for close to ten years.

Five hundred grand. He was looking at a face that represented five hundred grand. Five hundred thousand dollars was enough to pay his debts, get him out of this shithole and provide a stake in a new business.

He stared at the photo of the man in the photo. Tough-looking guy, cold eyes. He had long graying sideburns and a full head of dark hair. Wearing an ’80s-style shirt with long pointy collars. But none of that was important. What was important was that he looked exactly like the man who’d just been in Constable’s office.

The man in the photo had darker skin but that might be an effect of a photo that was over thirty years old. He also had pale eyes. Constable couldn’t tell if the eyes were pale blue or gray. He had hair and the guy who’d just left had a shaved head. Other than that, he looked exactly like the man who’d just been in his office, Jackman. The resemblance was uncanny.

He punched in a number.

“Sì?” A male Hispanic voice.

“Hey,” Constable said. Good, the number was still valid. “This is Stuart Constable in Cross, Texas. That guy you want, Dante Jimenez? You still want him, don’t you?”

He started sweating. A lot was riding on this. Five hundred thousand dollars would turn his life right around. Maybe convince his wife to stay with him. She was sick of being a sheriff’s wife in a dump of a town. 500K would be a stake in a new life. He could buy half his brother-in-law’s thriving diving equipment business in Galveston. Get out of this place, finally. Fuck the half-assed cop pension.

“Yeah,” the guttural voice answered. “We still want him. Price has gone down, though. Two hundred grand.”

Constable slumped in his chair. Fuck! He waited a second to make sure his voice was cool and calm. Two hundred grand was still a lot of money.

“I think I have a lead.”

“You think you have a lead?” the voice asked sharply.

Shit! He couldn’t lose this!

“No, no! I have a lead. A good one.” Constable wiped his brow with the back of his hand.

“Stay at this number,” the voice said and disconnected.

Constable listened to empty air then thumbed his cell off. Stay at this number. For how long, dammit?

He heaved a sigh. Pointless fooling himself. He’d sit in this fucking broken down chair until he starved and cobwebs covered his body. And it wasn’t like he had something else to do. Cross was dead, day and night. Even the faintest possibility of making some real money—that was enough to keep him where he was.

An hour later, his cell rang. Unknown number. Okay. Maybe his request was making its way up through the ranks. Maybe he was going to talk to Gustavo Villalongo himself. No, wait. He’d died in prison years back.

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