Pandora's Succession (36 page)

Fox took a pocket-sized photograph from his breast pocket and held it out for Marx to see. “This is Warrant Officer Pat Hiller. He was a good friend of mine. A little over a year ago he died while serving his country and protecting the free world. This was after he and his SEAL unit were cowardly set up to die from a weapon you developed.” He tossed the picture on top of her and looked at Parris. “Shall we go, Dr. Nita Parris?”

He tossed the R5 back into the main laboratory.

“Yes, we shall, Warrant Officer Ridley Fox.”

In the same dramatic fashion, she too, tossed her sniper rifle back into the laboratory. They walked away, leaving Dr. Tabitha Marx just as she breathed her last breath.

***

As Fox and Parris got to the top of the staircase and headed towards the helicopter, Fox took out a Canadian one-dollar coin. “Heads or tails?”

“Heads.”

Fox tossed the coin in the air, caught it on the back of his hand and looked at it. He pocketed the coin, took out a small black box from inside his jacket and handed it to Parris as his satellite phone rang. “Yes?”

“Not too much trouble, I gather.” It was Tanaka.

“No, just a quick in and out.”

“Will you require anything else from the Boeisho right now?”

“Not right now. Your supplier was more than helpful. Thanks again. We both owe you one.”

“Take care, and give my best wishes to Dr. Parris.”

“I’ll let her know.” Fox pressed the off button and climbed into the Bell 407 helicopter with Parris. When the propellers were at full speed, he lifted it up and cleared the barbwire fence.

Parris held the black box up in front of her, extended its antenna, and pressed the button. There was a loud explosion and a bright fiery ball erupted from the open air entrance to the facility.

The End

New from Russell Brooks

Following is an excerpt from

Chill Run

Available now.

Prologue

North Hatley, Quebec

Eddie Barrow, Jr. didn’t remember feeling the bullet tear into his shoulder. From where he lay on the hardwood floor, the ceiling spun in and out of focus. God, I can’t even lift my arms and legs, let alone move my wrists. The bullet may have been small, but he felt that it had blown a hole in him the size of a golf ball. Now a chunk of his shoulder was gone. It was surely splattered on the wall somewhere, oozing towards the floor and leaving a trail of blood and tissue.

Eddie could barely open his eyes, but he heard several voices all at once. It wasn’t too long after, that he felt himself lifted onto a slightly softer surface and tied down. The frost gnashed into his cheeks and chin as he felt a wintery wind-chill seconds after being wheeled outside. He caught glimpses of men and women in burgundy jackets, shouting orders and calling out words in French that he barely caught. Eddie soon felt himself being jerked upwards and hoisted into the belly of the ambulance, the doors slammed shut.

The warm air inside was a welcome relief as it chased away the chill on his face. This was followed by the jarring, unpleasant screaming of the siren. Although he was strapped in, he still rocked from side to side as the ambulance raced off.

Through partially opened eyes, he saw one of the burgundy jackets—a woman in her forties—staring down at him.

“Ca va?” You’re doing all right? But Eddie was too weak and drowsy to answer. He guessed that’s what morphine did to a person. “Soyez fort, mon grand. On est presque là.” Be strong, buddy. We’re almost there. He felt the patting on his forearm from the paramedic, which gave him some comfort.

It was only supposed to be a stupid and harmless publicity stunt. No one was supposed to die. How was he supposed to know that he’d be involved in the biggest investment-fraud scandal in Canadian history? As of now, three people were dead and his best friend had been shot. He’d dreamed of making it big in the world with his first novel. For now, he’d settle to live long enough to see tomorrow’s sunrise.

Chapter 1

Montreal, Quebec. Four days earlier.

This shit-storm of a day has to end!

There wasn’t a pleasant thought in Eddie’s mind at the time, as puffs of vapor disappeared nearly as fast as he breathed out. He unbuckled his seatbelt and got out of his car, pulling his wool hat over his ears leaving the tips of his cornrows hanging out the back.

He deliberately parked two blocks away from the strip club so that no one there would know that he drove around in a piece of crap. Not only was it old, had rust stains on the bumper and around the wheels, but lately it had started backfiring. He was sure an art dealer would claim that bird drop stains would increase its value. Boy, how he regretted giving $4000 cash to that salesman. He should’ve known the man was a snake.

But the car was the least of Eddie’s problems. Earlier in the day, he’d lost both his girlfriend and his job. His roommate and best friend, Corey, still hadn’t paid his share of the rent. This had been going on for weeks, and every time Corey kept telling him that he’d pay him.

Bullshit!

Corey always kept blowing his money on liquor and video lottery terminals. Corey had spent the last three weeks integrating with the other lowlifes at the strip joint his girlfriend, Jordyn, worked at as a barmaid. Eddie knew that she must be getting fed up with him. It was a miracle that she put up with his crap for so long. Eddie figured that it was the thick skin Jordyn developed from serving winos and other lowlifes every night.

He splashed his way through the mixture of gray, inch-high slush and gravel that covered the sidewalk. He couldn’t believe that it was already November—meaning that there was another four to five more months in this freezer box. Why’d my parents leave Barbados for this? What the hell were they thinking—giving up the hot sun, and the beach, just so that I could be born in this? After all, the Barbadian economy’s strong enough, there’s no damn snow to shovel and no icy roads and sidewalks to throw him down. And he didn’t have to put the snow tires on the car every year—a law that was recently enacted in this province.

Eddie didn’t make it five feet inside the joint when a human cement truck blocked him.

“Ton identification,” said the bald-headed bouncer.

Eddie made a face. “What?” He’d only been asked the same question by this bastard the last dozen times he’d come to this strip joint.

“I said, hi want to see your hidee. You make me repeat in henglish, so show it.”

“Boy, move aside. You’ve seen me come here before. You know I’m twenty-four.”

“Rules are rules. I want to see your hidee.”

Screw my ID, I don’t have time for this. “Man, move aside. I’m not in the mood.”

“Patrick.” A young woman’s voice came from the bar. Eddie glanced around the bouncer and saw Jordyn behind the bar counter. He gazed at her, forgetting about the cement truck. Corey sure knew how to pick them. It must have been so easy for him since the best ones were always attracted to him. But Jordyn was somewhat unique, being born to an Italian father and a Jamaican mother. There wasn’t a place that Corey went with her where they didn’t draw stares. She preferred her dark hair to be in locks, showing off her Caribbean roots. And her arms were just as toned as Michelle Obama’s, which she loved to expose. Eddie didn’t recall her ever having mentioned playing any sports while in high school, but she sure knew how to take care of herself.

She finished wiping off a glass with the towel and put it back beneath the counter. “Come on, stop teasing Eddie and let him in.”

“You heard the woman. Move your ass,” said Eddie.

Patrick grumbled. “You’re lucky you ‘ave friends that work here.”

“Yeah, and you’re lucky I ain’t a foot taller with the same steroid supplier.” That’s when two gorilla-sized hands grabbed him by the collar.

“Hey!” Jordyn’s yell would’ve put every female police officer to shame. “Let go of him.”

Eddie narrowed his gaze as he looked into Patrick’s crimson-colored face as he was released. Eddie then shot him a smirk, as though to say, “You can’t mess with me.”

“Eddie,” Jordyn yelled again. “Get your ass over here and stop antagonizing him.”

Eddie’s mouth dropped as he looked at her. “What did I do?”

“Don’t give me that puppy dog stare. Get your ass over here. Now!” She emphasized the now with an index finger pointed downwards at the empty barstool that was beside where Corey slouched over the counter.

Eddie walked over, lowering his head, too embarrassed to look at the winos that stared at him. Damn, why’d she have to go dissing me in front of everyone?

There wasn’t any music playing at the moment, which was unusual since the jukebox was usually blaring. Then again, there weren’t any strippers performing at this time—meaning that they were either in the back smoking or giving private shows. At the bar, sat the four regulars that he saw each time he passed by. Now Corey was becoming one of them. Three weeks was all it took for him to blend in.

Eddie walked up behind and stared at his best friend. He wondered if Corey knew that he was standing next to him. Eddie slapped him on the back of his bald head, jolting him up and making him nearly fall off his barstool.

“Get up. Where’s the money?” Eddie’s Barbadian accent erupted.

“Damn, why you have to lash me so?” Corey answered, rubbing the back of his head.

“You were supposed to leave the money for me, remember? Where is it?”

“Money for what?”

“The rent. You do remember what that is, don’t you?”

Corey sighed and mumbled into his arm. “I’ll get you the money, don’t worry about it.”

“Don’t give me that shit again,” Eddie yelled, only to lower his voice when he saw Jordyn give him a cold stare. “I came home from work half hour ago to find nothing but bills on the table—and not the type you can buy things with. You ain’t in Trinidad. You think we can survive without electricity in this cold weather?”

Corey’s head dropped back down into his arms on the counter. “I’ll come up with the money. Don’t worry.” Corey then fumbled for the glass, grabbed it, and stretched his arm out across the counter banging the glass twice. “Baby-girl, pour me another one.”

“You ain’t getting one,” Jordyn replied as she cleared the counter of some empty beer bottles. Yup, she still had some of the Italian-sister attitude.

Corey looked up at her. “Oh come on, just one more for your boy.”

“I said, no. You’ve had enough.” She then narrowed her eyes, clearly annoyed. “I don’t even know why I bothered giving you those two drinks earlier.” She then looked at Eddie. “Let me pour you one. It’ll help calm you down.”

Eddie shook his head. “I’m good.”

“Suit yourself.” Jordyn swiped some tip money off the counter and dropped the bills and coins into her pocket. Eddie missed the clinking sound of coins, something he wished he had more of at this moment.

“Will you talk to Corey, please? He’s had a rough day,” asked Jordyn.

Who the hell am I, his psychologist? Eddie sat down on the stool next to him. “Let me guess. You got fired again, didn’t you?” Corey groaned and looked away from him.

“Goddamn it! When are you going to stop this nonsense? I ain’t here to bail your ass out for the rest of your life. You owe me at least eight hundred in rent back-payments now. You’re pulling me down with your Canadian Idol trauma. But I ain’t going to put up with this much longer. You hear me?”

“What happened to your friend?” asked one of the regulars.

“He auditioned for Canadian Idol last year when they were in town,” Jordyn answered. “He was good to go up until he stood in front of the judges and saw that the British guy—I can’t remember his name—paid a surprise visit.”

“I know who you’re talking about,” he slurred.

“He was so freaked out that he lost his concentration,” Jordyn said. “It was a complete disaster. Long story short, his audition was broadcast on national TV last summer and he’s been named the worst singer ever. He can’t walk down the street without someone recognizing him.”

“Poor kid,” the man said covering a cough with his hand. “So can I have another drink?”

“No.”

“How about a lap dance?” Jordyn flashed her middle finger to him before she walked away.

Eddie then leaned closer to Corey. “You got to let this go. If you can’t pull yourself together, you’re on your own. You’ll be lucky if Jordyn doesn’t leave you too.” Corey groaned and put his head back down on the counter. Whatever. In one ear and out the other, as they say.

“Hang on a few minutes, guys. Marie-Eve just arrived to take over my shift,” said Jordyn referring to the other barmaid who just walked in. Marie-Eve pecked Eddie on both cheeks and ran her hand across the top of Corey’s head as she walked by. Jordyn disappeared behind a set of swinging doors. When she re-emerged a few minutes later, she was wearing a fake fur coat, carrying her purse in one hand with Corey’s jacket hanging on the other.

Eddie watched the way the blackness of her coat reflected the light. She only wore fake fur, and he was always careful not to bring up any animal abuse cases around her because she’d rant for hours about it. Jordyn put Corey’s jacket on the bar stool next to his. “Help me get him up?”