Temples, Tempests & Blood by Andrew Allan

Author:Andrew Allan [Allan, Andrew]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781732138568
Publisher: Swamp Hassle Books
Published: 2019-09-29T16:00:00+00:00

36

SOMEONE WANT TO explain to me what a mansion was doing inside an airplane hangar?

Only one answer for that. Hiding. How else could you hide a house? Okay then, whose house was it? Someone who could afford it. I had a hunch.

I drifted into a dark corner of the hangar and took in the scene: It was something else. It had a driveway, a lawn, landscaping a man was watering. It was just like a real house, real mansion. But the hangar covered everything. Lights shone from skylights giving the illusion of sunlight. It was like a set on a Hollywood movie soundstage. Back when they actually used to build the buildings instead of putting them in with CGI. It couldn’t have appeared more surreal. Very Logan’s Run. No. A Boy and His Dog. That underground Astroturf city where the maidens wore demure dresses and everything had small town charm. Artificial quaintness masking a dark secret.

A car in the driveway. Black, waxed, elite. Was the owner home? How was I going to get inside? Had I hit the jackpot? Was this where Razook lived? That was good and bad. Good I’d found it. Bad I didn’t have an army with me. Or, DG and his gang. They could do some damage here.

What did this all mean?

It meant this was where Razook must live. And, it was as eccentric as the other parts of his life. The murderous parts? I had to presume his indulgent tendencies ran wild here.

There was much to take in. I wanted to explore the house, see what he was hiding. If my mental map was right, this house backed up to the river. Could he leave and arrive that way? Too many questions.

Focus.

Time for action.

The landscaper hummed some unfamiliar tune as he walked down the drive and across the front of the mansion. He turned the corner and disappeared behind a row of tall, sculpted shrubs. Those would provide perfect cover. And, if I ran into the landscaper I could ask him a few—

“Hey!”

It was the smoker from outside—a jowly brute whose five o’clock shadow appeared to arrive at 11am.

“Help you?”

“Yeah, I’m here to meet someone,” I said. “About a delivery?” I held up my clipboard.

“Deliveries are always in the back.” He stepped up, gave me the once over, a cynical look on his face. “And, you’re the first deliveryman we’ve had that wore our uniform.”

He grabbed my collar and pulled. The jumpsuit twisted awkward around my body as I leaned away. His fist was like a vice.

“I told you,” I couldn’t shake his grasp. “I’m making a delivery.”

“Of what?”

“This,” I stopped leaning away and punched him. He wheezed and staggered back. But, he didn’t let go. I chopped down with the clipboard. That stung his forearm and loosened his grip enough for me to slip free. But, by that point he’d recovered from the first hit. He swung and missed, swung again, got me in the shoulder and the pain sizzled.

I barreled into him shoulder first and smashed him against the hangar wall.

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