The Extractor

By B.J. Kenneth

"Women are nothing but trouble. Married women are nothing but trouble piled on top of trouble."

If there was one lesson that Mick Michael learned from his ignoble father, that was it. Even with that pounded into his head, Mick still liked the ladies. Married ladies, especially. Though he'd begun branching out into the separated and recently divorced ladies.

While Mick might hate to admit it, his father was often proven right. No more so than when his estranged niece shows up at his door, begging for his help. Simply being within one hundred yards of his niece was enough to put him in prison. But she's family.

"You take care of your own."

That's another lesson, courtesy of Mick's father. Taking care of his niece was what started Mick's trouble in the first place. It was the reason why he had no job, no money, no long-term relationships, and only a single friend.

"That others may live."

It's the creed Mick has lived by for years. There will no doubt be trouble in store, but Mick is incapable of turning his niece away in her hour of need. Sure, he's an ex-con that no one trusts, but he's also ex-military, and entirely capable of taking care of himself.

This time, the trouble ends with a gun pointed at Mick's head and a trigger being pulled. And that was a good day.

• Language: English
• Publisher: B.J. Kenneth
• Release date: Jul 10, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301058051

B.J. Kenneth

B.J. Kenneth is a life-long Chicago native. As a long-suffering Cubs fan living on the South Side, B.J. is no stranger to disappointment, nor the harsh realities of a city that could best be described as bipolar. B.J. is the author of the Man of Constant Sorrow series of Suspense novels, featuring former government assassin Bill Fairing and Chicago Police Detective Lilly Montgomery. The first novel, A Killer Past, was released in April 2011. The second novel, A Killer Present, was released in June 2012. B.J. is also working on a second series, The Extractor, featuring Mick Michael, an ex-military, ex-convict. He's just a guy like any other, focused on making money, meeting women, and keeping close to his family. Only problem is, he can't hold down a job, can't keep a woman, and he can't contact his family. That's what happens when you kill your brother-in-law. The first novel of the series was published in July 2013. B.J. loves feedback from readers, and is a firm believer than every story can be made better. If something B.J. writes is wrong, B.J. wants to hear about it. B.J. prefers to fix errors, or at the very least, prevent them from occurring again. Don't be afraid to call B.J. out on something, you just may get a thanks in the next book.

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The Extractor

By B.J. Kenneth

Copyright © 2013 B.J. Kenneth

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This book is also available in print.

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This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

Prologue

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Epilogue

About The Author

Also By B.J. Kenneth

Connect With B.J. Online

Prologue

I paused a moment before picking up the handset, wondering what I was going to say. It wasn't that I planned to hold anything back, but there was so much to tell and only a very limited time to say it. The handset felt slightly sticky, no doubt a remnant from its last user. Its metal cord could have stood to be a bit longer.

Dad, I said, which was enough of a greeting for both of us.

Son, he replied in kind. Been a while. Was starting to think you were done with me.

Been busy. Things have gotten... complicated.

You in trouble with the law again?

No more than usual.

Women, then, he surmised.

There were other things involved, but...

Yeah.

Son, women are nothing but trouble. And married women are nothing but trouble piled on top of trouble.

It was a statement he'd made plenty of times in the past. It was hard for me to disagree with him, after the two months I'd just been through. Still...

They have their redeeming qualities.

Sure, my father grunted. And you always did want the things you shouldn't have. Ever since you were a boy. All your mother and I had to do was tell you that you weren't allowed something, and you'd be on it like a heat-seeking missile. Never could figure out what to do with it once you had it, though. Like a dog with two bones.

This is how my father talked. He rambled, from one memory to the next, from one clichéd saying to the next.

You talk to your sister lately? he asked, as he always did.

Yes.

Really? The surprise was evident in his voice. How is she? How's my granddaughter?

It's... complicated.

I'd like to see them. It would be nice to meet my granddaughter.

I doubt that's going to happen, Dad.

It was the same thing every time we talked. With a heavy sigh, he dropped the subject.

Okay, so tell me about what's been keeping you busy. Why is your life so complicated now?

I had to kill again. I was trying to help somebody, and things got...

Complicated, my father finished. Tell me about it.

Part 1

I awoke with an extra leg between my own. Glancing down, I saw the offending appendage and forgave the intrusion. Admiringly, I ran my hand up the milky white thigh. When an appreciative squeeze of the accompanying orb didn't elicit a response, I figured the woman was deep into slumber.

A look to my right showed a mass of kinky red hair, splayed out on the pillow next to me. She was lying on her stomach, face down in the pillow. That was okay, though. I could remember her face from the night before. The problem was her name. It just wouldn't come to me. There had been so many, one just blurred into the next.

I once again let my hand wander; taking in what tactile details I could, while I could. Her flesh was soft, but beneath the surface, I could feel a layer of muscle. She wasn't slim, but she wasn't chubby, either. I could tell she took care of herself, but didn't obsess.

But I still couldn't remember her name. Oh well.

I raised my hand off her, then brought it quickly down on her backside. The sound was like a firecracker going off. She shot immediately off of me, rolling away to the side. My bed wasn't that big. She rolled off.

Oh good, you're awake, I said.

What the hell was that? she hissed. She was rubbing her ass with one hand, while trying to cover herself with the other. Did ye... slap my ass?

I find it works well to counteract the hangover.

The woman was, in fact, looking hung-over. Her blue eyes were squinting at the morning light shining through the window. She was also looking confused.

No doubt, she didn't remember all of the details of the night before. She probably remembered putting a few drinks away last night. She probably remembered flirting with the guy at the bar. She might even remember going back to his place.

But she clearly did not remember where she put her clothes. As she sat on the floor next to the bed, trying--but mostly failing--to preserve some sense of dignity, her head was on a swivel, looking for them. I pointed to the door in the corner of the room.

You left your clothes in the bathroom.

The woman looked to where I pointed. The half-bath was located in the opposite corner of the room from where she sat. I could see her doing the math in her head. If she had to walk across the room, how much of her would be exposed, and for how long?

Do ye mind? she asked, dryly.

Not at all, I said, waving toward the bathroom.

I hadn't moved from my position in bed yet, but now I did. I grabbed my second pillow, the one she'd been using, and slid it behind me. I'd need to get the pillowcase washed. I could feel the drool, but ignored it for now. Propped up a bit, I waved again toward the bathroom.

Be my guest, I told her. I'll just enjoy the view.

The woman pulled a disapproving face. She glanced at the bathroom again, then came to a decision. Dropping all pretenses toward modesty, she pushed herself off the floor.

For a second or two, she stood backlit by the window. The sunlight passing through her hair gave the illusion of a halo of fire behind her. She was a beautiful woman; I didn't think she had any reason to feel embarrassed by her nudity. She was a beautiful woman who had no business being in my bed.

I remembered the thought I'd had at the bar the night before. A glance down confirmed that the carpet matched the drapes. A little fire down below, too.

She made her way across the room at an unhurried pace. Apparently, she'd also come to the conclusion that she had nothing to be embarrassed about. I did enjoy the view. Everything moved just the way it should.

When she entered the bathroom, she closed the door behind her. I could hear her use the toilet--thin walls, even thinner door--then wash her hands.

Ye asshole, she called through the door. I'm going to have a handprint bruise on my ass.

Something to remember me by, I replied.

She came out dressed, which was disappointing, though not surprising. I could have gone for another round. I was certainly up for it.

It's missing a finger, she declared.

So am I, I said, waving my left hand at her.

She squinted at me.

What happened to your finger? she asked.

What happened to yours? I retorted.

She seemed taken aback by this question. Perhaps, for just a moment, she thought maybe, just maybe, I was some sort of freak who lured women back to his place and chopped off their fingers. I saw her glance down and count. Yep, all ten were still there. Her relief was palpable.

Nothing happened to mine, she replied, wiggling her fingers at me. All ten accounted for.

But you're missing something on one of them, I told her.

She looked down, confused.

Your wedding ring, I helpfully supplied.

Again she seemed taken aback.

What's your husband going to think about that handprint on your ass? I asked.

What makes ye think I'm married? she asked defensively.

Your nice milky white skin is just a bit milkier on your ring finger, I observed. And there's the indentation you get from wearing a ring for years. I don't know where you put your ring, but it hasn't been missing for long.

She fiddled with her ring finger, rotating the ghost of the ring.

Where does your husband think you were last night? I asked. Out drinking with the gals?

There was fire in those blue eyes. I remembered that from the night before. The eyes wandered away from my own, down the bed. When they got about to my midsection, those eyes took on a mischievous glint and so did her lips.

Hey, maybe I would get to go another round.

She slowly walked to the bed and climbed on, crawling up on her hands and knees. Laying one hand on my chest, she leaned in and kissed me. I closed my eyes, taking in the feel of her lips, the scent of her hair, all of it.

That's why I never saw the slap coming.

"There, now ye've got a handprint to remember me by! she said, springing off the bed. As she hurried out the door, she left with one parting word. Asshole!"

* * *

She was a loud one, Millie said, as I sat down at the kitchen table.

Mildred Darinkle was my landlady. She owned the house where I rented the room upstairs in the attic. She was a widow, pushing eighty. But if I could look as good as she does at eighty, I'd consider myself blessed.

Sorry, Millie, I apologized. I'll try to keep it down next time.

You'll do no such thing! she declared. How would I get my jollies?

Millie was a dirty old woman and I was immensely fond of her for it. Two or three nights a week, when I'd come back with strange women, she'd never complain about it. And not a day went by when she didn't try propositioning me.

If I were thirty years younger... she said, giving me a mischievous look not too dissimilar to the one the woman had before storming out. The things I'd do to you...

The things we'd do to each other, I corrected.

And the things we'd do to that redhead... she continued.

I laughed. Millie was dead serious, though. That made me laugh harder.

Speaking of the things we do to each other, I said, changing the subject. How are your feet?

They're fine today. Thank you for asking.

Millie had poor circulation. That sometimes led to swelling in her extremities. Every once in a while, I would spend some time with her, massaging her legs and feet.

I know how disappointed you are, Millie added with a wink, not being able to paw all over me.

However will I get through my day? I asked.

Millie's expression turned sour.

Don't get old, Mick. It takes the fun out of everything.

Sound advice, I replied.

Her expression switched again to mischievous.

I really would have blown your mind, she said. Another wink. Among other things.

We had breakfast and made small talk. At some point, the topic turned to finances.

Rent next week, Mr Michael she said, serious again.

I know, Millie. I'll have it for you.

I hope so. I'd hate to have to get rid of you.

And I'd hate for it to come to that, too.

Despite my assurances to her, I wondered where I'd be coming up with the rent money. I had a week to come up with the three-hundred and fifty dollars to pay for the next month's lodging.

Your friend called here looking for you last night while you were out. Maybe he's got some work for you.

I only had one friend. He did occasionally throw the odd job my way. Never enough to live off, and never anything permanent. But money was money. I'd take it where I could get it.

I'll call him, I assured Millie.

Any luck on the job front? Millie asked.

I struck out yesterday, I replied, shaking my head.

I don't know. Sounded to me like you got lucky.

Alright. I struck out during the day but got lucky at night, I amended.

Hunting again today? she asked.

Yep. As soon as I shower and get dressed.

Do forget the towel this time, Millie responded, that glint in her eye again.

On two occasions, I had forgotten to grab a towel from the linen closet outside the downstairs bathroom. Dripping wet, I had been forced to exit the bathroom to retrieve one. Millie, of course, was happy to watch.

Maybe if I'm a little short next week, I said, giving her a wink of my own.

Mick, I'm sorry to say, while an eyeful of you is nice, it's not worth much. I can go on the internet for that, and it doesn't cost me a penny.

Duly noted, I said, rising from the table, collecting our dirty dishes.

I cleaned up after our breakfast then hit the shower. Despite Millie's suggestion to the contrary, I remembered to grab a towel. I wasn't entirely kidding about shamelessly forgetting my towel next week if I happened to come up short on the rent. I didn't want to dilute whatever effect that trick may have.

After showering and shaving, I went back upstairs to dress. My clothing selection was limited, so I took a clean polo shirt and paired it with the same khaki pants I'd worn the day before. I would look presentable enough. It's not like I was trying to get a bank job, or an interview with a CEO. At that point, I'd have accepted a day job on a landscaping crew.

The doorbell rang as I pulled my shoes on. Millie didn't usually get many visitors. Certainly none so early. It was also too early for a delivery.

Mick, it's for you! Millie called up the stairs.

I looked around the room, wondering if the redhead had forgotten something. My room wasn't big enough for things to get lost in.

I went down the stairs. The front door was out of view around a bend. It wasn't until I was mere feet from the door that I realized what trouble I was in. It wasn't until I saw the girl standing outside.

Nicki? I said. What are you doing here? You can't be here. I could get arrested!

Uncle Mick, Nicki said plaintively. I need your help!

* * *

You can't be here, I repeated. Or if you are, I can't be.

Millie was still standing at the door, equidistant between me and my niece. She looked back and forth from me to the girl.

Well don't just stand there, girl, Millie said. Get in here before somebody sees you.

Nicole dipped her head in acknowledgment and stepped inside. I backed away from her, almost tripping over the stairs. Maintaining whatever distance I could seemed like my best option. At least Millie was there as a witness.

They moved into the living room. I stayed where I was, at the base of the stairs.

I'm not trying to get you in trouble, Nicki said to me.

You don't have to try, I replied from across the room. Just being here is enough.

I know. I wouldn't be here if it wasn't important.

Spit it out then, Millie said, a bit harshly.

Millie knew my situation. Despite my assurances otherwise, Millie clearly thought Nicole bore some responsibility.

Nicole was flustered by this stranger speaking to her like this. In an attempt to calm both of them, and perhaps myself as well, I decided to break the tension with formal introductions.

Mildred Darinkle, this is my niece, Nicole Wagner. Nicki, my landlady, Millie.

They nodded to one another. They were curt nods, so I figured I was less than entirely effective in my goal.

Do you want something to drink? I asked. There should be some coffee left. Do you drink coffee? No. Juice? Millie, we have some orange juice, right? I'll get you some orange juice.

I didn't even wait for Nicki's answer. I just wanted to get out of the room. In the fridge, I found the pitcher of juice. As I poured some into a glass, I wondered how I'd give the thing to Nicki without getting near her.

In the end, the matter was taken entirely out of my hands. When I heard Millie call my name, I turned, and suddenly there were arms wrapped around my torso and a face buried in my chest. I held my arms out to my sides as Nicki sobbed into my shirt.

I'm sorry, she kept repeating.

Millie came to the kitchen wearing a dubious expression. She was the chaperone here, and I made sure my hands remained visible to her at all times. I wanted to hug Nicole, to comfort her, but knew that could lead to trouble. After a minute or so of this, Millie raised an eyebrow and I nodded.

Come on, Nicole, Millie said. Let's go back into the living room. We can all sit down and talk.

Nicole disengaged a bit. My shirt stuck to her face where tears, or maybe snot had leaked out.

I'm sorry, she said once more, looking up at me.

Okay, I replied. Why don't you grab your juice and we'll go and talk a bit.

Nicki looked dejected as she nodded and backed away from me. She grabbed the glass off the kitchen counter and went back to the living room. I took a deep breath and settled my nerves as I gave her a few seconds head start. Then I followed her.

When Millie and Nicki were once again seated around the coffee table, and I was once again standing near the stairs, Millie got right to the point.

You shouldn't be here, Millie said. I like your uncle, and this could cause him a lot of grief if anyone ever finds out that you were here. You understand this?

Nicki nodded. She looked to me, pleading with her eyes again. I looked away, to Millie.

How did you find me? I asked.

Mom keeps track of you. I got your address from her book.

You said you need help, Millie continued. Tell us why.

My friend is in trouble.

Your friend? I asked, holding her eye now. Not you?

My friend, Nicki confirmed.

She didn't look away, didn't hesitate. I believed her. It wouldn't have been the first time I was wrong, though.

What's your friend's name? I asked.

Lexi. Alexis Tusky.

And what kind of trouble is she in? I asked.

I think she's been kidnapped.

Kidnapped? I asked, incredulous. Call the cops!

I can't, Nicki replied. It's not that simple.

How much more simple could it get? Your friend has been kidnapped, you call the cops!

I can't! Nicki repeated forcefully.

Why not? Millie interjected in a reasonable tone.

Lexi... She might be involved in some things that could get her in trouble if I called the cops.

Things? I asked.

Nicki looked to me, eyes pleading again.

Can we talk in private? she asked.

No, Millie and I answered simultaneously.

"I don't want there to be any mistake about what happened while you