Read Online Noble Intentions: Season Four by L.T. Ryan - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: L.T. Ryan
Tags: thriller, Literature & Fiction, Thrillers, Action & Adventure, Espionage, Mystery, Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, Thrillers & Suspense, Thriller & Suspense, Spies & Politics, Mystery & Thrillers
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to call security."
Bear pushed away from the counter. "Reasonable minds can come to reasonable resolutions."
"Excuse me?"
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a hundred euros in bills, then placed the wad of cash on the counter. "Just give me an address. Pierre Allard's
address. Take the money, get yourself a nice outfit, maybe a facial, or some glasses from this century. I don't care what you do with it, frankly, I just
want his address. I know you can see why he was admitted. I was there. I had to leave the country, but now I'm back, and I want to make sure he's all right
and help him out if I can."
"Sir…" She looked around. Her cheeks had grown red. Sweat coated her forehead. A few people seated in blue chairs glanced over. "I…"
He reached into his pocket and pulled out another stack of bills. One by one he laid them on the counter. Ten. Twenty. Fifty more euros. The woman's eyes
continued to dart around, presumably on the lookout for security, or her supervisor, or just taking in all the attention they had drawn.
"Sir, this is embarrassing. Please stop."
"The address, please, then I'm gone."
She reached for a notebook and pulled a black pen out of an empty coffee mug that read "#1 Grandma."
"I could get fired for this," she said, tearing the paper out of the notebook.
"You let me know if you do. I'll make sure you get your job back."
Bear backed away and glanced toward the entrance. The doors stood open due to Mandy hovering directly in the path of the sensor. He glanced at the address
on the paper, then tucked it in his pocket.
Chapter 11
New York City.
CHARLES STOOD IN front of the Washington Square fountain with his right arm crossed over his chest, left hand covering his mouth. The wind blew an
enveloping mist toward him. Most days he'd have thrown a fit over getting wet. But today he had on chinos and a golf shirt. Overdressed, as far as the heat
was concerned. Under his clothing, sweat raced down the middle of his back, and coated his inner thighs.
"This fucking weather," he said to the man next to him. "Anyway, you're sure it's my guy?"
The guy nodded, gestured with his head toward the field to the north. Both men started that way.
The duo made an odd couple. Harris was a twenty-plus-year veteran of the NYPD. For more than half that time he'd managed to remain uncorrupted. He'd known
Charles when the guy wasn't even considered a thug. Met the Old Man through him. Eventually, the Old Man had made a persuasive enough argument. The kind
that went beyond money, and involved Harris's wife and kids. Even his dog at the time. The detective could've fought back. Might've won. It would have been
a hollow victory, for he would have lost something, or someone, in the process. Harris had been smart enough to know that. And now with Feng out of the
picture, he fell right in line and did whatever Charles needed. The organization paid him handsomely. So much so, that when Harris got word of two men
found partially burned and beaten and stabbed and bludgeoned to death in upstate New York, he called Charles rather than revealing that he knew the
identity of one of the men.
A short walk later, the men found an unoccupied corner of the park. Charles sat down on a well-worn bench. Harris joined him, then pulled out his
smartphone and tapped on the screen.
"They just emailed these to me." He handed the device to Charles.
"Christ." He scrolled through the images of two men beaten so badly he couldn't recognize them. At first, at least. The charred, flabby belly obviously
belonged to Endrizzi. But the other body, he couldn't tell. "Can you zoom these or something?"
Harris reached for the phone. The detective pinched and spread his fingers on the screen. "There you go."
Charles stared at the picture. No doubt in his mind that the identity of the other man was Milano. Same as Endrizzi, the guy's stomach was charred, and his
legs looked worse than fried chicken. His face only had soot and
Bear pushed away from the counter. "Reasonable minds can come to reasonable resolutions."
"Excuse me?"
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a hundred euros in bills, then placed the wad of cash on the counter. "Just give me an address. Pierre Allard's
address. Take the money, get yourself a nice outfit, maybe a facial, or some glasses from this century. I don't care what you do with it, frankly, I just
want his address. I know you can see why he was admitted. I was there. I had to leave the country, but now I'm back, and I want to make sure he's all right
and help him out if I can."
"Sir…" She looked around. Her cheeks had grown red. Sweat coated her forehead. A few people seated in blue chairs glanced over. "I…"
He reached into his pocket and pulled out another stack of bills. One by one he laid them on the counter. Ten. Twenty. Fifty more euros. The woman's eyes
continued to dart around, presumably on the lookout for security, or her supervisor, or just taking in all the attention they had drawn.
"Sir, this is embarrassing. Please stop."
"The address, please, then I'm gone."
She reached for a notebook and pulled a black pen out of an empty coffee mug that read "#1 Grandma."
"I could get fired for this," she said, tearing the paper out of the notebook.
"You let me know if you do. I'll make sure you get your job back."
Bear backed away and glanced toward the entrance. The doors stood open due to Mandy hovering directly in the path of the sensor. He glanced at the address
on the paper, then tucked it in his pocket.
Chapter 11
New York City.
CHARLES STOOD IN front of the Washington Square fountain with his right arm crossed over his chest, left hand covering his mouth. The wind blew an
enveloping mist toward him. Most days he'd have thrown a fit over getting wet. But today he had on chinos and a golf shirt. Overdressed, as far as the heat
was concerned. Under his clothing, sweat raced down the middle of his back, and coated his inner thighs.
"This fucking weather," he said to the man next to him. "Anyway, you're sure it's my guy?"
The guy nodded, gestured with his head toward the field to the north. Both men started that way.
The duo made an odd couple. Harris was a twenty-plus-year veteran of the NYPD. For more than half that time he'd managed to remain uncorrupted. He'd known
Charles when the guy wasn't even considered a thug. Met the Old Man through him. Eventually, the Old Man had made a persuasive enough argument. The kind
that went beyond money, and involved Harris's wife and kids. Even his dog at the time. The detective could've fought back. Might've won. It would have been
a hollow victory, for he would have lost something, or someone, in the process. Harris had been smart enough to know that. And now with Feng out of the
picture, he fell right in line and did whatever Charles needed. The organization paid him handsomely. So much so, that when Harris got word of two men
found partially burned and beaten and stabbed and bludgeoned to death in upstate New York, he called Charles rather than revealing that he knew the
identity of one of the men.
A short walk later, the men found an unoccupied corner of the park. Charles sat down on a well-worn bench. Harris joined him, then pulled out his
smartphone and tapped on the screen.
"They just emailed these to me." He handed the device to Charles.
"Christ." He scrolled through the images of two men beaten so badly he couldn't recognize them. At first, at least. The charred, flabby belly obviously
belonged to Endrizzi. But the other body, he couldn't tell. "Can you zoom these or something?"
Harris reached for the phone. The detective pinched and spread his fingers on the screen. "There you go."
Charles stared at the picture. No doubt in his mind that the identity of the other man was Milano. Same as Endrizzi, the guy's stomach was charred, and his
legs looked worse than fried chicken. His face only had soot and
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