Dead Man's Hand
Authors: Luke Murphy
Dead Man
’
s Hand
Luke Murphy
DEAD MAN
’
S HAND
Copyright © 2012 by Luke Murphy. All Rights Reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission from the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author
’
s imagination or are used fictitiously. And any resemblance to actual persons, living, dead (or in any other form), business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
FIRST EDITION ebook
Imajin Books
-
www.imajinboo
k
s.com
Octo
ber 12
, 2012
ISBN:
978-1-926997-88-9
Cover designed by Ryan Doan
-
www.ryan
d
oan.com
Praise for
D
ead
M
an
’
s
H
and
“Luke Murphy’s
Dead Man’s Hand
is a pleasure, a debut novel that doesn’t read like one, but still presents original characters and a fresh new voice.” —Thomas Perry,
New York Times
bestselling author of
Poison Flower
“It’s always a pleasure to welcome a new voice to the ranks of mystery-thriller authors. So welcome Luke Murphy, who delivers plenty of both in his debut novel,
Dead Man’s Hand
. Give it an evening and you may want to give it the whole night, just to see how it turns out.” —William Martin,
New York Times
bestselling author of
Back Bay
and
The Lincoln Letter
“Part police procedural, part crime fiction,
Dead Man’s Hand
is a fast, gritty ride.” —Anne Frasier,
USA Today
bestselling author of
Hush
“Luke Murphy writes in a clean, mean style, as compelling as a switchblade to your throat. Murphy’s the real deal.” —Rick Mofina, award-winning author of
Six Seconds
“
Dead Man’s Hand
is a pedal-to-the-metal thriller. Luke Murphy pours a load of talent into his first novel, and it takes off on the first page. Vivid characters and wire-taut plotting make Murphy’s novel a five star read. Don’t begin
Dead Man’s Hand
if you need to do anything else today.” —James Thayer, author of
White Star
“What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas? Be glad. Be very glad. Luke Murphy puts on display the seedy underbelly of Sin City, where deceit, treachery, vengeance and the double cross are practiced like an art form. For a tight taut thriller, bet on a
Dead Man’s Hand
.” —Anthony Bidulka, award-winning author of
Dos Equis
“Calvin Watters is an anti-hero you will cheer in this solid debut that poses twisted questions about crime and punishment.” —Julie Kramer, award-winning author of
Shunning Sarah
“
Dead Man’s Hand
gripped me with terror from the first sentence. Tense! Thrilling! Terrifying! Luke Murphy is a great mood-builder on the order of Dean Koontz!” —Betty Dravis, award-winning author of
Six-Pack of Blood
For Mélanie, Addison and Nève—the girls who keep me going.
A
cknowledgements
The most important people in my life: my wife Mélanie, my rock and number one supporter. My daughters, Addison and Nève, who didn
’
t always realize that Daddy had to write, but took my mind off things with frequent games of Ring-Around-The-Rosie.
I
’
m the first to admit that this novel was not a solo effort. I
’
ve relied on many generous and intelligent people to turn this book into a reality. I
’
d like to thank the following people who had a hand in making this novel what it is today. I
’
m indebted to you all.
(The Conception) I need to thank the creative and very brilliant:
Mrs. Joan Conrod
Mr. John Stevens
Professor Paul McCarthy
(The Touch-ups) A special thanks for those last minute edits and details, as well as the final nod to:
My agent, Ms. Jennifer Lyons
Dr. Robert Clark
(The Research) For their professional expertise, knowledge in their field and valuable information, thanks to:
Ms. Joanna Pozzulo (Institute of Criminology and Criminal Justice)
Keith MacLellan, M.D.
Officer Laura Meltzer (Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department)
Constable Keith Cummings (Ottawa Police Department)
Employees of Treasure Island Hotel in Las Vegas
(The end result) For the final look and read, a special thanks to:
My publisher, Cheryl Tardif, and the editors at Imajin Books.
Any procedural, geographical, or other errors pertaining to this story are of no fault to the names mentioned above, but entirely my own, as at times I took many creative liberties.
And last but not least, I
’
d like to thank you, the readers. You make it all worthwhile.
Prologue
At exactly 6:15
p.m. on a
Sunday, Calvin Watters parked his rusted Ford Taurus across the street from a
vacant
house. Climbing out, he
put
on a pair of sunglasses and scanned the neighborhood for any
movement or potential hazards.
He
moved to the back of the car and opened the dented trunk. It creaked in the still night as it slowly swung up. He pulled out a worn black leather case and slid it under his vest. Then he closed the trunk and headed for the door.
He
’
d been usi
ng the rundown house in the red-
light district of Las Vegas as his workshop for three years.
It suited his purpose.
No interruptions, no inquisitive neighbors. Even the local police avoided the area.
He checked the perimeter again. A
t
six-five
and
220
pound
s,
with tattooed arms and gold chains dangling around his thick, muscular neck,
a
black man
like him
just
didn
’
t go unnoticed
in Las Vegas
.
The street was silent as he approached the house.
Weeds sprang from cracks in the sidewalk and shattered liquor bottles blocked the entrance.
The barred windows were broken and the screen door had been ripped off its hinges. His sense of smell no longer reacted to the stench of urine and vomit.
Calvin surveyed the area one last time. Extreme caution was one of the reasons he had succeeded in the business for so long. His habits had kept him alive.
Satisfied no one had seen him,
he trudged his way up the walk.
Even though he was the best in the business and had once enjoyed the adrenaline rush that came with the trade, the next part of the job made his skin crawl.
His goal was to save
the
money
he needed
to get away,
start over,
but h
e didn
’
t know if he could last on the job long enou
gh.
That uncertainty made his life even harder.
He unlocked the d
oor, stepped inside and
shut it behind him. He
ading for
the basement,
he took
a narrow set of wooden stairs that creaked as he descended into darkness.
Hi
s dreadlocks scraped cobwebs along the rough ceiling.
He flicked the switch and a low-
watt bulb cast dim light.
The tiny room had almost no furniture
.
The
bare concrete floor was
dirty
and stained with dried blood. In the middle of the room, a lone wooden chair—double nailed to the floor—was occupied.
“
Hello, James,
”
Calvin said, his face expressionless.
James Pierce
stared at
him
through bulging, fear-
filled
eyes.
“
Sorry about the bump on the head, but I couldn
’
t have you conscious when I moved you here.
”
When Calvin removed the case from his vest, he saw Pierce
’
s pant
leg moisten.
“
I
’
m sure you
’
re
wondering why your shoes
and socks
are off and your pant
leg
s rolled up. We
’
ll get to that.
”
He
laid the case on a small table, strategically placed next to the chai
r.
“
T
here
’
s only one way out,
”
he said, snapping open the lid. He knew his hostage saw one thing when he looked at him—professionally trained
brutality.
He
checked his watch. Pierce had been
t
here for four hours. The waiting and anticipation alone
were
more than most men could handle. They often begged for their lives.
It was a very effective method.
He stared at Pierce for a long moment and then turned away, his stomach churning.
Get a grip, Calvin! Hurry up and get it over with before you change your mind.
And lose the reputation he
’
d spent three years building.
He
ripped the duct tape from the man
’
s mouth and pulled out the old rag.
“
Time for me to collect.
”
Pierce
gasped
, breathing in air
greedily
.
“
Please, Calvin. I beg you. Don
’
t do this.
”
“
You
’
re a degenerate gambler, James. Your expensive hobby and inability to pay has put you here. You knew the rules. They were laid out
well
in advance.
”
“
No!
Please…
”
Calvin tried to block out the man
’
s cries. A sudden dizziness overwhelmed him and he grabbed the chair to steady himself.
Finish the job.
“
You know how this works
.
”
H
e
stared at
Pierce.
“
I promise I
’
ll pay
. Just give me one more day. Please.
”
“
You knew the rules.
You
’
ve already had an extra week, James. You
’
re lucky Mr. Pitt is a forgiving man, more forgiving than I am
.
He
’
s only
counting that week as one day late. But if you aren
’
t in his office tomorrow morning with all the money, you
’
ll be seeing me again. Every late day will count as two. And I won
’
t be so nice next time.
”
“
I
’
ll pay.
”
Pierce
sobbed.
Calvin heaved a sigh.
“
Relax. It
’
ll all be over soon.
”
He leaned over the table
.
F
or effect,
he
took his time
as he
open
ed
the leather case and remov
ed
the tools of his trade.
“
One day, one joint.
”
This was when mo
st of them broke down all the way
. And Pierce didn
’
t disappoint him. A scream boiled from the man
’
s belly and erupted like a relentless siren.
Calvin
i
gnor
ed
Pierce
as best he could. There were
206
bones in the human skeleton.
A pro had
trained
him
to use them all.
“
Hammer or pipe cutter?
”
“
God, no!
”
“
Hammer or pipe cutter?
”
He
threw a punch
at
Pierce
’
s
jaw, sending bloody spit into the air.
“
Hammer!
”
Pierce screamed.
“
Finger or toe?
”
Pierce
squeezed his eyes shut.
“
Toe.
”
Calvin stuffed the dirty rag back into
the man
’
s mouth. He turned and pressed
p
lay on the radio resting on the table,
turning the volume up a few notches
, careful not to bring attention to the house. The pounding, vibrating beat from Metallica not only drowned out his prey
’
s moans of pain, but the sound took
him
b
ack to his glory days. He
removed a ball-peen hammer from the pouch and moved in on his quarry
’
s bare feet.
“
Toe it is then.
”
He
got down on one knee and lifted the hammer above his head.
After Pierce had passed out from the pain, Calvin checked the man
’
s breathing and then entered an adjoining room that could be locked from the inside. On one side, the shelves were piled with canned
or
packaged food and beverage containers.
He
had stored several months
’
worth of supplies in case
he
ever
came
under siege and
was
trapped.
His
complete arsenal hung on the other side.
He
’
d been collecting weapons for three years, purchasing them where he could when he had saved some money. Now the arsenal was almost complete and in
hi
s mind
,
quite impressive. The arsenal had been developed for
defensive purposes only.
He
had never carried a gun as a collector, but now he selected a weap
on for his trip
. Something small enough to conceal, but at his ready in
case he ran into a nosy cop or former client.
He checked on Pierce again as he left the bomb shelter and moved upstairs to his computer. Once
the computer
booted up, he
hacked into a couple of restricted sites,
trying to find
any mention of his name by a babbling client or angry competitor. Seeing nothing, he switched over to the LVMPD site to make sure Rachel was staying clean. He checked up on her three times a week. He wouldn
’
t let her slip up.
He logged off and documented his latest collection, noting the methods that worked with Pierce,
as well as times and techniques
.
All of the information was
added to
a file that spanned
three
year
s
.
S
hut
ting
down the computer
,
he
returned to the basement.
He
transported Pierc
e to the gambler
’
s blood-
red sedan
,
which Calvin had
parked by the river. He knew
that within the hour James would
wake up and drive home. What would he tell his wife? There was no worry about Pierce ever relaying this incident to anyone else. Calvin was sure of that.
As he drove back to his workshop,
he
let out a soft groan.
“
I need out.
”