Captain Madigan by Patrick Fullmer

Author:Patrick Fullmer [Fullmer, Patrick]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-09-19T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

W

hiskey, strippers and Mexican food. The three old standbys had been far more effective than any antidepressants or breathing exercises ever could be, but Madigan thought he might have finally tapped out their usefulness.

He sat at the edge of the stage in the dimly lit Odessa’s Sisters and picked out bits of confetti that had rained down into his double decker tacos. The extra flare was nice - it brought a level of showmanship to the performance not usually seen - but he was here for tits and assholes, not to appreciate the craft. No pomp and circumstance, thank you very much. Just give a man the basics. He brushed aside a dusting of glitter that had landed on the taco wrapper and took a bite.

“Hey! What the fuck, man?”

Swimming, Madigan looked up at the bouncer who had pulled his attention away from the dancer. Fucking dickhead. She was mid-pose, upside down on her pole with legs spread out in both directions. The lady was working here, and this dumb donkey was mucking it all up.

“What did I fucking tell you ten minutes ago? Keep your food off the goddamn stage. You’re getting ground beef everywhere.”

“It’s carne asada,” Madigan slurred.

“I don’t give a shit what it is. Keep it off the stage or you’re out of here.”

Madigan didn’t have time for this. He pulled a wad of cash out of his front jeans pocket and slammed the credits into the man’s hand. It was easily ten thousand dollars US.

“Okay, okay, okay. Let’s…come on, now. Hey. My guy. Here take this for the trouble and let me eat in peace, okay? I’ll…look, alright...” Madigan picked up his taco, took a dainty little bite that resulted in no loose meat, cheese or shredded lettuce and gingerly dabbed his mouth with a greasy napkin. “Huh, how’s that? Not too bad in my estimate.”

The bouncer studied Madigan and then considered the dough in his hand, doing some quick internal math. He pocketed the credits with a shrug and left Madigan to his meal and show.

The captain belched, the taste of cheap bourbon and chimichurri filled his mouth.

Cameron. If you didn’t count the gurgling noise right before the handler was pureed, then it was Davidson’s last word. The coda for his life, and it gave Madigan absolutely nothing to work with. Ricky was running the Richard’s computer for anything that might be tied to the name, first or last, that could be buried somewhere in their files. A job gone wrong, either for the target or the signatory. An old rival privateer whose name eluded Madigan’s ever-fogging memory. The captain wasn’t holding out any hope. He knew what was in there. Jack fucking shit. One name wasn’t enough to work with, even for a supercomputer. Hope at this point could only be found at the bottom of the whiskey bottle he was working his way through.

Davidson was the key and, as expected, Madigan had turned the situation ass-end up. They had been so close.

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