Total Mayhem (A Jonathan Grave Thriller Book 11) by John Gilstrap

Author:John Gilstrap [Gilstrap, John]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pinnacle Books
Published: 2019-07-01T05:00:00+00:00

Change your appearance asap. Facial recognition software is looking for you. Visit Claude at 134 Simpson there in C-pep. Pass=I’ll be just fine. Your choice on Claude’s tomorrow.

Next event must be huge, then we go dormant for a while. Check out Capital Harbor. Halloween, 21:23. Shoot for 100.

Text new burner when able.

Eliminate your street contact. Details attached.

Iceman.

“Well, shit,” Kellner said aloud to his truck. Somehow, he’d been made, and he still had lots of work to do.

* * *

In his line of work, Kellner had come to expect every illicit contractor to be old, twitchy, and male. They were the kinds of people who grooved on the notion of the killing business but never wanted any actual blood on their hands. Sort of like gamers, he supposed—men who give themselves lethal-sounding names and arm up with enough virtual guns and ammo to blow up the virtual world and feel powerful while doing it, while in fact having never once been punched in the face.

He was surprised then—no, call it shocked—when the resident of 134 Simpson Drive turned out not to be Claude, but rather Claudette, and she was anything but old or twitchy. In fact, she was pretty hot in a plus-size Ellie May Clampett kind of way. Big country-girl blond hair, western shirt that emphasized her God-given gifts (as Kellner’s mother used to refer to boobs), and blue jeans, but without the rope belt from the television show.

His surprise must have been evident because she laughed when she opened the door to her 1940s-era farmhouse and saw him standing there. “Can I help you?” she said.

“I, uh . . .” He found himself stammering.

“Can I help you.” This time she said it as a statement rather than a question. She was prompting him.

“I’ll be just fine,” Kellner said. The pass phrase.

She held out her hand for him. “Call me Claude,” she said. “I know you ain’t got no name, but I got to call you something, so how’s Wilbur?” She didn’t wait for an answer but rather stepped aside and motioned for Kellner to come in.

“I hope you got cash,” she said, “because checks and credit cards ain’t welcome here.” She laughed when she said it, but the humor escaped Kellner.

“Is it the boobs?” she asked as she led him deeper into the tiny house. All the rooms were small, and there had to be five of them on the first floor, separated from one another by archways.

“Excuse me?”

“The look on your face. Was it the boobs? Not what you were expecting?”

“I, uh, I guess not,” Kellner said.

“So, how much you need?” Claude asked. She was still walking, leading him to a doorway under the stairs. Sensing his hesitation, she added, “My workshop isn’t the kind of thing that should be visible through the windows, don’t you agree?”

“I suppose,” Kellner said.

Claudette opened the door and flipped the switch for the single exposed lightbulb that barely illuminated anything. “You didn’t answer my question,” she said. “How much do you need?”

“I didn’t answer it because I didn’t understand it,” Kellner said.

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