Temples tempests and blo.., p.1
Temples, Tempests & Blood, page 1
part #3 of Walt Asher Series
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
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ANDREW ALLAN
Copyright © 2019 Andrew Allan
All rights reserved.
ISBN-13: 978-1-7321385-6-8
Also by Andrew Allan
Walt Asher Thriller Series
Killers, Bikers & Freaks
(Walt Asher Book 1)
Sell Shock
(Walt Asher Short Thriller #1)
Bodies, Blades & Rituals
(Walt Asher Book 2)
Walt’s Fault
(Walt Asher Short Thriller #2)
Passport
(Walt Asher Short Thriller #3)
Grindhouse Pulp Series
The Pimp’s Henchman
(Grindhouse Pulp #1)
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1
OREN DENNER WAS murdered and mutilated and splattered all around his well-appointed West Palm Beach house. It was a horror show. Said so right in the newspaper.
But, that wasn’t the problem.
I’d been expecting to hear from Oren. Wasn’t quite sure when. But, I figured he’d reach out. After all, who wouldn’t respond to a postal package that included a threatening letter and the bloody scalp of a former business partner? That’s exactly what I had sent Oren. Because Oren and the other sons of bitches in his freak cult, the Kith, had tried to kill me. Had almost killed me, many times. But, they hadn’t gotten me yet.
After all the grief and terror he had caused me, Ilsa, and my what was then my true-blue friend, DG…it would be a lie to say I didn’t want to kill him. I was so sick and tired and filled with rage over Oren’s despicable actions that I most definitely wanted to kill him. And, my little not-so-caring package was meant to signal that. I was coming for him.
But, someone else got to him first.
That wasn’t the problem either.
The third-to-last paragraph in the newspaper article mentioned substantial evidence found at the crime scene. The cops were confident they knew who ripped Mr. Denner apart, and they were looking to apprehend the murderer soon.
Not even that was the problem.
The real problem was that a detective and two police deputies were standing outside the front door of my river house holding a warrant up to the peephole.
The detective said, “Mr. Asher, you’re under arrest for the murder of Oren Denner.”
2
“WHO’S AT THE door?”
It was Ilsa, now my wife. We made it official a few weeks back, once things had settled down from my last encounter with the Kith. Emotions run high, you almost die. But then, you don’t. So it feels like you have to enhance the time you have left and accelerate the schedule, what were we waiting for?—Let’s do it. So, we did it. Here at the house, right on the river. Mr. and Mrs. It was grand.
We decided to delay the honeymoon until summer when the University of Florida students left Gainesville and Ilsa’s bars hit their down season.
Fine by me. We both needed to lose ourselves in some work while we recovered from our wounds, both physical and psychological.
Necessary to the latter was selling our houses. The Kith knew where we lived, both here in Dunnellon and further south in Clearwater, closer to the beaches. They had attacked me at both places, stuck a poor woman’s dead body in one of them. I hated the thought of moving away from the river. But, we’d never feel safe at either place. Both homes were on the market.
Didn’t know yet where we’d move. But, the plan was to get away once the houses sold. Then we could use the cash for one hell of a getaway where, over a few glorious Mediterranean nights, we’d discuss our next homestead.
But now, the honeymoon looked like it was going to be delayed further.
I turned to Ilsa. Her skin and hair were still damp from a dip in the river, where the temperature stayed a consistent 72 degrees year round. So even now, in the colder months, she could swim.
“It’s the police,” I said. “They’re here to arrest me. Apparently.”
“They said that?” she said.
I nodded.
“Walter, why? What…is it because…from South Florida”?
She was spooked. Despite my best efforts, I didn’t kill Rogers Aufderheide. She did. Ventilated his head just in time to save my life. I would be forever grateful. She would be forever tormented. And now, she was about to freak thinking her prison stay had been booked.
But, they said they were here to arrest me.
But, I hadn’t killed him.
I had killed Denner’s business partner, his co-creep, Rance Williams. In self-defense for whatever that’s worth. He suckered me into a peace treaty: I leave the Kith alone, they leave me alone. We shook on it. And, then he went at me with a steak knife in an abandoned alley.
I was so enraged at the attempt, I wanted to send a message. So, I shipped Rance’s scalp to Oren as a warning. Was that the ‘revealing evidence’ discovered by police? Didn’t make sense.
I spared Ilsa those details. Her emotional waters just started to calm. I didn’t want to splash them with a heavy load of worry. When she asked what happened in Orlando, I simply said I took care of things.
Another knock on the door.
“Mr. Asher?”
The doorknob jiggled. Locked.
“Call my lawyer,” I said.
“Don only handles intellectual property,” she said.
“Call your guy. Russ.”
“His specialty is corporate.”
Good point. She used him to help with her bar business.
I sighed with reservation. But, there was only one call to make.
“Call DG. I’m sure he has all kinds of legal resources.”
She hesitated.
“What?”
“You haven’t spoken to DG since….”
“Just call him. He’ll understand.”
I took a deep breath and opened the door.
“Hello.”
“Mr. Asher?”
“Yes.”
“Step outside, please. You’re under arrest.”
One last look to Ilsa…and out the door I went.
3
NO NEIGHBORS WATCHING. A minor relief.
The officers cuffed me quickly. Too tight. But in front of my body, not behind the back. Their nametags read Culpepper and Treat.
Ilsa watched from the window. Her phone was pressed to her ear. I forced a smile. She didn’t return it.
The officers grabbed my arms and led me to the car.
The detective stepped into view. Average size, fit, African American, pocked cheeks.
“I didn’t kill Oren. And, I have an alibi to back it up.” At least, I thought I did. I hadn’t left the river house, or Ilsa’s side, in weeks.
“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say—,”
“I got it. Just telling you I didn’t do it.”
“Share that with your lawyer.”
The boys pushed me into the car and slammed the door.
Nice job, Walt. Way to take control of your life.
Handcuffed, locked in a patrol car, facing life in prison…where I’d be an easy target for the Kith. They had enough connections to get at me anytime they wanted. That’s how all this got started; they knew the damn state executioners.
Now, I was scared.
My best hope was DG. Maybe.
He’d had murder raps put on him before. And, he knew how to get out of them. He also had connections. His bike ga
I didn’t know where things stood now. We’d had a falling out, after he set me up as a bait to draw out a pair of bikers he himself then killed. It wasn’t cool. And, it almost got me killed by a gang of savage landscapers. We parted on bad terms. I did most of the parting.
But, I’d have to douse my anger and get over my disappointment in him. I needed DG’s help. If I could get it, then there was hope. Enough to keep me from panicking. For now. If not….
The police car drove away from the house. Dappled light flickered between the trees. I loved this part of Florida. Would I ever see it again?
What about Ilsa? Would she be okay? Yes, she had a business and money. Would she be safe? Yes, as long as the Kith didn’t go cartel style and take out my friends and family.
How did this work? They take me downtown, put me in a cell, I eventually get a phone call. That call would be to Ilsa to check in on her and make sure the lawyer was working on getting me out of jail. Bail? We had money. Was it enough? No clue. I’d had a modest-sized infomercial hit recently. The first check arrived while I was helping to destroy the Kith’s modern-day slave ranch down near Sebring.
Forget money. They were dragging me to jail for a murder that happened hundreds of miles away. Something strange was going on.
If I didn’t kill Oren, who did? And, why? It wasn’t some random psycho. What’s that statistic? 80-plus percent of the time a killer knows their victim? I had read that somewhere.
No, I could only think of two likely options. The first, it was Kith business. He’d wronged them. He’d been responsible for the disaster down at the Grove Lake Ranch. Maybe he was Rogers Aufderheide’s handler. And, he didn’t handle things very well. So, they were going to handle him.
The second? What if someone else was trying to take out the Kith? Perhaps one of its victims. Or, their relatives. An angry father. A murderous mother out for vengeance. What if they killed Oren? It was refreshing to imagine I wasn’t so alone in this battle. If I had an ally, I’d love to know who they were and help them.
I thought the battle in Sebring was going to strike a lethal blow against the Kith. But, they always seemed to slip away and ahead. Proof of this: last month’s gubernatorial elections. The Kith’s man didn’t win. But, they had a player on both teams. Rance Williams, before he died—before I scalped him—revealed the Lieutenant Governor on the Republican ticket was also Kith. Henry Hoyt. Didn’t know much about him. But, if he were Kith, he was trouble. And, that trouble was whisper close to the most powerful position in the state.
Rance never revealed why they wanted to get into the Governor’s office. I presumed it had to do with power, privilege, and connections. The kind of connections that would help the Kith recruit members and get away with their abundant illegal activities.
Shit. I hadn’t made a dent, had I?
Wait.
Oren had actually been part of the Abrantes/Simon campaign. The Democratic ticket. Was that why he was killed? Because they lost? Talk about a demotion. It seemed the Kith were an all or nothing proposition.
No. By all appearances, Oren held substantial rank within the Kith. He was in the executive offices at Aufderheide’s ranch. He was overseeing the Buddy Simon replacement ticket announcement in Orlando. He was tight with Rance. Oren had been important to the Kith. And, that meant he’d have a hand in influencing both the Republican and Democratic tickets. The Republican ticket had won. And, now their man was Lieutenant Governor. No small feat. Oren couldn’t have been killed for that.
So, why was he wiped out?
The cruiser hit a pothole and jostled my attention back to the present. The two patrolmen sat silent up front. Dunnellon PD. Small town, small force. I assumed they were arresting me on behalf of the Palm Beach County Sheriff, who had jurisdiction where Oren lived and was murdered.
We reached the edge of downtown. A cough from the front seat. Officer Treat in the passenger seat glanced back at me then to Officer Culpepper behind the wheel. Culpepper picked up on it and nodded. He opened the small hatch in the protective grate dividing the front from the back seat of the car. Treat pushed a manila envelope through it.
“For you,” said the cop.
“What?”
He shook the package.
So, that’s why my arms weren’t cuffed behind my back. This was all planned.
I took the package and held it in my lap. A white label affixed to it. Black type. My name. Something solid inside.
I tore into the package and pulled out a book. Hardback, slim, professional, slick. My hopes sank.
I had seen this book before. The title was Sinless: Anything Goes. Its author was the leader of the Kith, Razook.
They tracked me down. They finally got me. Handcuffed and locked in a police car. Murder charges looming. No Ilsa, No DG, no nobody to help.
I was fucked.
The squad car cruised along the small downtown as if everything was routine. A pedestrian waved. The driver cop waved back. Everything’s fine.
But, it wasn’t.
Not for me.
I flipped the book open. Table of contents. Copyright. Chapter listing.
The title page was inscribed:
Dear Walt,
Oren loved the scalp you sent. Too bad he didn’t have more time to enjoy it. Doesn’t it feel good to be bad?
Yours in Freedom,
Razook
4
I WASN’T SURE what a handwriting specialist would say about it. But, the way Razook had scrawled his name with a double-twist on the ‘k’ making it look like a cross told me he was a flamboyant, arrogant asshole. That was my non-professional assessment.
Forget the signature, Walt.
The book was the message. And, the message was loud and clear: the Kith set me up for Oren’s murder. It was a bloody, merciless massacre, their signature. Me sending that scalp was their inspiration. Despite no return address, they knew I was the only one who would have done it.
Oren received the package and must have sensed right away this was the perfect opportunity to get rid of me. I had priority mailed evidence right into their hands. All the Kith needed to do was make the evidence matter and then give it to the authorities.
Now, there were two teams hunting me, the Kith and the cops. Didn’t matter who found me first, I’d be toast either way. Instead of spooking Oren, the package must have delighted him.
But, Razook had other plans. He must have wanted Oren out of the picture. Why? What was their relationship? Were they partners in the Kith? Didn’t matter. Razook had the perfect opportunity to eliminate Oren and pin it on me. That way, he’d get away clean and no one in the Kith would know. I bet he laughed when he thought of it, the sick prick.
Now they had me. In “police” custody, if you could call it that. The fact that my present escorts gave me Razook’s book was all the proof I needed to know they were in Razook’s pocket. Were they do-boys making extra cash on the side? Or, was the whole department dirty? The Kith had plenty of money to persuade.
And, where were they taking me? Would I even make it to the station? Would I get my call and my lawyer?
Questions answered. The car veered off Main Street and drove down a tight two-lane highway. West, towards the Gulf of Mexico. Great place to hide a body. Plenty of water, deep mangroves.
I was a dead man.
“Where we going?”
“Don’t worry about it,” said Treat.
“You guys friends of Razook?”
It got a funny look. “Who?”
“I figured you knew him from the book you gave me.”
“Just passing it along,” said Culpepper. His first words of the drive.
“Who asked you to do that?
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Well, I’m gonna worry about it. Because I don’t think you’re taking me to the jail. Dunnellon’s back that way. And, Marion County Sheriff’s is back in.…”
