Read Online Full Ratchet: A Silas Cade Thriller Hardcover by Mike Cooper - Free Book Online
Authors: Mike Cooper
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my public and work lives completely separate—my home is Manhattan, for God’s sake, not a cave in the mountains. To most people, I’m a guy they see around, something in finance or insurance, a face at the gym. Not
hiding,
in other words. But when I’m on the job, I disappear. Completely. No connection to the real me whatsoever.
Until now.
“Recognize them?”
“No. A woman, like I said, and two men.” He gave me a useless description. Unless someone’s albino or missing an arm or something, eyewitness testimony is pointless. Five ten, fit, short hair—we all look like that, Zeke and me included.
Which Zeke knew, of course. “The girl, though—reminded me of someone. Maybe it was the hair. Stylish.”
“Stylish?”
“A blonde. Light colored. Too dark on your street to see much.” Which is one reason I chose the place. “Good cut.”
Maybe he’d started reading
Vogue
. “So?”
“So she was in charge.”
“How could you tell?”
“She got into the front passenger seat. Plus the body language. I was down the block, by the laundromat. Couldn’t hear anything, and they drove away before I could get close.”
“How’d you know they were coming out of my apartment, then?”
“Because the lock was broke when I went up. They’d drilled it out and punched the deadbolt. Metal bits on the floor, they didn’t even try to clean up.”
He didn’t bother describing the car. It would have been a rental or stolen or a throwaway.
“Ryan’s still not answering,” I said. “I talked to him once, twenty-one hundred last night or so, but now nothing.”
“I’ve been calling him too. Nothing.”
“You check out his place?”
“Don’t know where he lives. You?”
“No.” Ryan might have had a life somewhere, but he kept it secret, which is good practice until you need someone like Zeke to come help you out.
“No one else cares about Ryan. They’re all talking about you. And your new friends.”
Suddenly I had new friends everywhere.
“It’s two teams,” I said. “Guys in a car, following me out of Pittsburgh, and a separate group at my apartment in New York.”
“Working together, though.”
“That’s not an unreasonable assumption.” Given the timeframe. “But it’s hard to believe Brinker has enough sway to whistle up a nationwide manhunt.”
“How much do you think he’s skimming?”
“I don’t know.”
“Millions?”
“Maybe.”
“So there’s your juice.” Zeke had a simple view of the world.
What made it complicated was Markson. Brinker had obvious reasons to want me out of the picture. Someone at Clayco corporate, worried that Markson might find out about Clay Micro’s spectacular malfeasance, might also want me out of the picture. Nothing made sense otherwise; companies following Markson’s business ethics just don’t hire people like me or my pursuers.
But still:
two
teams?
A door banged. I glanced back to see Dave coming out of the office.
“I have to go,” I said.
“You want my advice, stay out of the city for a while.”
“You serious?”
“They didn’t toss it.”
I didn’t follow. “Toss what?”
“Your place. I looked in, and everything was in order. The way they treated the lock, if they’d done a search it would have been totally ransacked.”
“Well, fuck.” More bad news.
“That’s right.” Zeke got the final word. “They’re not after information, or clues, or whatever. They want
you
.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
T he drive took thirty minutes, west and back toward Pittsburgh, roughly following the Monongahela. I had the wipers on, then off, then on again—the clouds just wouldn’t make up their mind.
I wasn’t saying much, distracted by Zeke’s news. I don’t mind the usual riffraff populating my line of work, but another team of professionals was different. Intimidating white-collar executives is one thing; shooting it out with high-powered mercenaries quite another.
Dave leaned his seat back.
“I tried to find
hiding,
in other words. But when I’m on the job, I disappear. Completely. No connection to the real me whatsoever.
Until now.
“Recognize them?”
“No. A woman, like I said, and two men.” He gave me a useless description. Unless someone’s albino or missing an arm or something, eyewitness testimony is pointless. Five ten, fit, short hair—we all look like that, Zeke and me included.
Which Zeke knew, of course. “The girl, though—reminded me of someone. Maybe it was the hair. Stylish.”
“Stylish?”
“A blonde. Light colored. Too dark on your street to see much.” Which is one reason I chose the place. “Good cut.”
Maybe he’d started reading
Vogue
. “So?”
“So she was in charge.”
“How could you tell?”
“She got into the front passenger seat. Plus the body language. I was down the block, by the laundromat. Couldn’t hear anything, and they drove away before I could get close.”
“How’d you know they were coming out of my apartment, then?”
“Because the lock was broke when I went up. They’d drilled it out and punched the deadbolt. Metal bits on the floor, they didn’t even try to clean up.”
He didn’t bother describing the car. It would have been a rental or stolen or a throwaway.
“Ryan’s still not answering,” I said. “I talked to him once, twenty-one hundred last night or so, but now nothing.”
“I’ve been calling him too. Nothing.”
“You check out his place?”
“Don’t know where he lives. You?”
“No.” Ryan might have had a life somewhere, but he kept it secret, which is good practice until you need someone like Zeke to come help you out.
“No one else cares about Ryan. They’re all talking about you. And your new friends.”
Suddenly I had new friends everywhere.
“It’s two teams,” I said. “Guys in a car, following me out of Pittsburgh, and a separate group at my apartment in New York.”
“Working together, though.”
“That’s not an unreasonable assumption.” Given the timeframe. “But it’s hard to believe Brinker has enough sway to whistle up a nationwide manhunt.”
“How much do you think he’s skimming?”
“I don’t know.”
“Millions?”
“Maybe.”
“So there’s your juice.” Zeke had a simple view of the world.
What made it complicated was Markson. Brinker had obvious reasons to want me out of the picture. Someone at Clayco corporate, worried that Markson might find out about Clay Micro’s spectacular malfeasance, might also want me out of the picture. Nothing made sense otherwise; companies following Markson’s business ethics just don’t hire people like me or my pursuers.
But still:
two
teams?
A door banged. I glanced back to see Dave coming out of the office.
“I have to go,” I said.
“You want my advice, stay out of the city for a while.”
“You serious?”
“They didn’t toss it.”
I didn’t follow. “Toss what?”
“Your place. I looked in, and everything was in order. The way they treated the lock, if they’d done a search it would have been totally ransacked.”
“Well, fuck.” More bad news.
“That’s right.” Zeke got the final word. “They’re not after information, or clues, or whatever. They want
you
.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
T he drive took thirty minutes, west and back toward Pittsburgh, roughly following the Monongahela. I had the wipers on, then off, then on again—the clouds just wouldn’t make up their mind.
I wasn’t saying much, distracted by Zeke’s news. I don’t mind the usual riffraff populating my line of work, but another team of professionals was different. Intimidating white-collar executives is one thing; shooting it out with high-powered mercenaries quite another.
Dave leaned his seat back.
“I tried to find
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