Hard Case VII - Red Waves (John Harding Series Book 7) (50 page)

“Hey… you’re John Harding! I’ve seen all your fights.” The balding, middle-aged guy looked in good shape, and had a strong grip when he shook my hand. “I saw the YouTube video of you shaking hands with Costigan. I thought he was going to start crying!”

“Thank you. Rock came by to see me. He says no title shot, but he was going to hire me to help him train for the ‘Berserker’ rematch.”

“I’m Mike Davies. You’re not going to do it, are you?” The man motioned for the other readers to bypass him in the line. The kids were entertained by the sudden notoriety, so that was good.

“Nope. I have a business to run, but Rock was real nice about everything except the handshake, Mike. He wanted to test me out. It didn’t go well for him.”

Mike laughed. “I saw that. So, you’re friends with Nick McCarty, huh? Damn… my favorite UFC fighter and my favorite author. Maybe I can help with the Rock situation back in the states. Can you sign a note in my book too, John?”

“Sure.” I wrote a note to my friend Mike in his Dark Interlude, Nick McCarty novel, and signed it. I didn’t know how he figured to help me with Rock but he left happy.

“I’ve seen your fights too,” Jean whispered to me. “My Mom doesn’t want me watching anything like that, but she’s given up. Dad doesn’t mind. He blocked me from doing it until I rolled Mom.”

Al and Sonny were enjoying Jean’s down low UFC fight trek to viewing permission. “The fights are very brutal, Jean. I can understand your Mom’s reluctance to let you watch them.”

Jean leaned into Al as she drew nearer so no one could hear her but us. “Rock Costigan almost made a bad mistake the other night, huh?”

“Yeah, but he’ll be fine,” I assured her. “He was confused about how much I’d care about his outrage over the video. Once he understood, Rock left without any hard feelings.”

Jean giggled. “Yeah, I’ll bet.” She stopped suddenly, grabbing Al’s arm. “Don’t look straight at him, but there’s a book killer in the crowd. He’s standing behind the blonde woman in the sundress.”

“You mean the fat guy in the yellow tank top and pale blue shorts with his hair tied in a ponytail?” Al immediately went into coconspirator action, only glancing in the direction Jean indicated as did Sonny. “He needs someone to buy him a nose and ear hair trimmer. Eeeeoooohhh… that’s gross. Why do you think he’s a book killer? That’s the kind of reader that you explained slams books with one and two star hit pieces just to kill sales, right?”

“Yep. He’s not holding a book by my Dad. He’s clutching pages of notes, nervously shifting them from one pudgy hand to the other.” Jean stared over at her Dad, until both Nick and John grinned back at her, nodding imperceptibly. “Yep, Dad and Uncle John saw him. Don’t tip him off. Dad handles these guys really good. Sometimes though… he kills them.”

“But they were bad, Jean… I mean… you know… the ones he had to deal with after the signings,” I whispered, reminding her for Al’s perception too.

“Oh… yeah, Al… they were killers. Dad found a weird connection between people doing petty hit piece reviews and serial killers, terrorists, and even child predators. It’s really weird.”

“Mr. McCarty is very dangerous,” Sonny added. “He can spot dangerous people almost at a glance. I’ll bet you can too, Mr. Harding.”

“Sometimes, Sonny. I may not be as good at it as Nick though.” I shifted to a whisper. “You kids have me looking forward to this confrontation.”

“No matter what though,” Jean cautioned, “don’t interfere.”

“Got it.” I watched the line moving along. The closer the guy Jean picked out came, the more red-faced and impatient he became. “Wow… he’s really revved. He’s on a luxurious cruise ship. Why would he bother?”

“No one knows,” Jean answered. “Amazon has a ‘Look Inside’ free preview anyone who can read with comprehension would be able to find a novel that suits them easily. Dad calls them drive-by book killers. He says sometimes they’re doing it at the bidding of other authors and sometimes they’re goofballs who love being book trolls. Sometimes, they’re really freaky idiots who get off on trying to kill an author’s novel sales on a lark. It’s really funny when they show up at a book signing because then Dad gets to meet them. He loves it, except when they try and stalk us. That’s not a good idea.”

I nodded. “Yeah, I get that.”

As the man moved along next to where the kids and I sat, he stared at us with disdain while muttering to himself. “Well isn’t this the cutest thing… the fraud drags along little kids and bodyguards.”

Jean immediately forgot the ‘don’t interfere’ advice she gave me. “My Dad doesn’t need a bodyguard for trolls like you!”

He started to lean towards Jean, checking me for movement as he did. She smiled while leaning closer to meet him with hands clasped on the table. “You have a smart mouth, girlie.”

“Would you like my autograph too?”

I enjoyed Jean’s line as did Sonny and Al. I leaned over the table too. He straightened and moved along in the line across from Kabong, who watched him with more interest than before.

“This book signing business is more entertaining than I thought,” I whispered to the kids.

* * *

“The BK Jean spotted is very intense, Muerto, even when next to John Harding,” Kabong whispered to Nick between signings.

“Compared to what we have lying ahead of us, it’s a small thing, brother.”

Kabong nodded. “Gus would love this. I hope he is doing well on the Valkyrie.”

“He’s at home on any boat, especially with Issac helping him pilot the Valkyrie,” Nick answered. “Here comes our special guest.”

The yellow tank topped guy put both hands on the table, trapping the papers he brought along under them. “Do you know what I have here, you fraud?”

The man’s angry voice carried. The small amount of chatter amongst the people waiting ceased. Nick held out his hand, half standing away from his seat with a big smile. “Hi, I’m Nick McCarty. Nope, I don’t know what you have here.”

The man ignored Nick’s handshake gesture with obvious disdain. “These are lists of categories each of your novels is listed in on Amazon. You are a disgrace! History and Fiction? Really? This is a shameful misuse of the Amazon category listing! Where do you get the nerve to mislead readers?”

Nick’s face brightened, glancing at Kabong, and then over at John Harding and the kids at the table. “Dolta Charlie? Oh my goodness. It’s great to meet you. I’ve enjoyed the heck out of your ‘Category Police’ one star hit pieces. That was truly inspirational book killing. Are you enjoying your cruise?”

Nick’s instant recognition threw Dolta Charlie off his game for a moment as the people in line and the audience tittered in confused amusement. “That’s not my name!”

“Oh, now Dolta,” Nick admonished, “out of all the reviews I’ve received, there’s only been one reviewer citing category complaints. As you know, I mentioned you have to bypass Amazon’s ‘Look Inside’ free preview, the blurb describing the book, and all the reviews to even get to the list of categories.”

Dolta’s mouth worked for a moment without anything audible emerging.

“Ah… Charlie…” Nick sighed. “It’s okay. Look. I don’t want to ruin your cruise. Run along now or would you like me to sign your ‘Category Police’ notes for you? One question though before you go – do you even know what I do write?”

“Sure…sure I do,” Dolta Charlie stammered. “It…It’s some kind of pulp crap fiction.”

The woman behind him gasped in surprise and then giggled. “You don’t even read his books, but you do one star hit pieces on the categories the books are placed in? Why, you sad little man.”

The woman’s comment drew more laughter. That was it for Dolta Charlie. He scooped his papers off the table and did a red faced shuffle away from the line.

“Bye Charlie!” Nick waved at his retreating reviewer before turning to the woman after him in line. “Hi. I see you have ‘Dark Interlude’. Have you read it yet?”

“Yes… three times. I loved the romantic thread woven into this new Diego adventure. I have a few places in the novel I’d like to discuss. You used ran and run incorrectly, and you had two quotation mark typos.”

Kabong stifled muffled amusement as Nick elbowed him while sitting down. The woman glowered at Nick’s Unholy Trio partner with brows knitted in annoyance. “Excuse me, Sir. Grammar is not a joke.”

“You are right, madam,” Kabong replied stoically. “I am very sorry you thought I took your grammar comments lightly. I have criticized Mr. McCarty many times over his light hearted use of grammar rules. He is a bit of a rebel… the cad.”

This time Nick stifled himself over Kabong’s accusations. He returned his attention to the woman. To make sure his reading fan didn’t get the wrong impression, Nick went over her criticisms with diligence, thanking her for bringing the errors to his attention.

“Good one, Kabong.”

“A book killer and a Grammar Nazi, one after the other,” Kabong whispered. “Gus is going to be so jealous. I must remember my line to repeat for him.”

“Absolutely.”

* * *

Laredo landed the team’s UH-60M Blackhawk aboard the Starlight’s helicopter pad with the precision of a veteran pilot who had landed helicopter assault craft and rescue vessels in the midst of danger from one end of the world to the other. Jafar, Cala, and Samira would be the only active personnel remaining aboard the Starlight other than Nick. I exchanged a parting smile and word with Chuck and Sal. It was party time. Perry had received his orders from Ali Khan. The only fly in the ointment was Tonto getting antsy after being at sea so long. He was ready for action too.

“There may be ship’s crew interested in our helicopter LZ, guys. You know the old cliché about unexpected consequences.”

“Anything that can go wrong does go wrong,” Chuck stated.

“Combat is an inexact science,” Sal added with a grin. “We’ll hold the LZ, or we’ll be dead, John.”

Chuck and Sal glanced at each other before hitting the finale high note variation from Nick’s favorite Western, ‘The Outlaw Josie Wales’, he laid on them the night before.

“Sand legs?”

“Yep,” Sal nodded at his partner.

“You’ll find them on the horizon. They’re with Isis,” Chuck added.

“And we’re going up thar’ to set things right!” I finished with a pumped fist. “See you guys on the other side.”

“We want souvenirs from Chabahar, John!” Chuck called out as I boarded our UH-60M.

“Absolutely!” I yelled back.

* * *

“Hello, Captain Larsen,” Cala greeted the Captain in a dress uniform as did Samira next to her. Both women held side-bags over their shoulders containing silenced MP5’s. “Lynn told you what our job is… correct?”

Larsen’s lips tightened, but he nodded. “She told me you two would kill me and everyone on my bridge if I didn’t hold course.”

“Very good,” Samira said. “This will all be over soon, and you can again be the captain of a luxury cruise vessel.”

“I pray it be true,” Larsen replied.

* * *

Nick smiled, hearing Chuck’s voice from the helicopter pad.

“You see it, right Nick?”

“Yep. The first of our enemy’s small unexpected additions. I have a lot better view than you guys. It’s an Iranian patrol boat.” Nick chuckled while watching the boat flying the Iranian flag through his range finders.

“What’s so funny, kid,” Sal asked. He and Chuck had served multiple tours in Vietnam in addition to combat hotspots over the decades since then.

“It’s the same kind of Iranian gun boat they took those Navy sailors with some time ago. I’m wondering if any of the same crew might be aboard.”

“Nick!” Chuck’s strident voice drew a sigh from Nick.

“Calm down. I know it’s a scout vessel, but do you think I’m not going to kill them all if they begin slicing towards us?”

Sal smiled over at Chuck. His partner nodded.

“We don’t give a fuck if you pick off the entire Iranian Navy, Nick,” Chuck said. “Sal and I will watch. Picture us with big smiles when the shootin’ starts.”

“On it, brother.” All levity left Nick’s countenance. He had watched the travesty of American Navy enlisted knelt on the deck of their own ship with the Iranian jackals playing out a game they never should have had an opportunity to perform on a world stage. His features relaxed in gradual increments as a final decision etched into his being.

Nick looked over at Rachel, silently using her own range finders as his spotter. She felt his attention, glanced over at him and nodded. “I feel you, Muerto. Let’s do this. I know you’re thinking about those kids captured off a Navy vessel. Those that kill together, stay together, right?”

It took many moments before Nick could answer. “Good one, Rach.”

Rachel recited all that Nick had trained her for, including every digital reading from wind speed and direction to her ship’s digital readout of speed. She included the many factors automatically relayed to her with variation of ocean pitch. “Jesus, Nick. Don’t even think about it. I’m getting sea sick just watching the bridge of that damn gunboat.”

Nick grimly processed everything Rachel relayed to him, the M107 flowing into his consciousness as if it were sensations from an arm or leg. He took aim at the man in the captain’s uniform of highest ranking officer on the bridge. It no longer mattered about communications, warnings, or the approaching assault craft. Nick decided the vanguard of this assault would die now while he honed his weapon’s capabilities. The pad of his forefinger squeezed gently and a spent uranium tipped .50 caliber bullet sped across the nearly quarter mile distance to sear through the bridge window, and fragment the head of the Iranian vessel’s chief officer on deck.