Incy Wincy Spider

By Alex Focus

Louie Breccia, an ex-cop turned private investigator, is desperate for cash and is willing to take on an job that comes his way. When he receives a visit from a long-legged beauty with a dead husband he snaps up the job, not knowing what he is getting himself into.
Complete with murder and mystery, guns, women and cars, a serial killer on the loose and a plot to destroy the world as we know it, come along for the ride with Louie and his ex-partner Steve.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alex Focus
• Release date: Mar 10, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310170287

Alex Focus

I am a retired Science teacher and a father and a grandfather.My favorite author is Jack Vance.I really like birds, especially corvids and raptors.I believe animals communicate in ways we have not been able to understand, yet.Climate change? It's real and the Earth will be fine, and we will find a solution in the nick of time as we always do.

Book preview

Incy

Wincy

Spider

By Alex Focus

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 or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental and to be honest would be completely mad. The EMP effect used as part of the story line, however, is real.

Smashwords edition published in 2014 by Alex Focus, Killing for Pages.

Copyright © Alex Focus 2014, but

feel free to share it with friends or enemies alike.

Thank you for downloading this Smashwords book by Alex Focus. I would like to get feedback from you. Good, bad or indifferent; feel free to like my Facebook page or give me a review.

Copyright © 2012 Alex Focus

All rights reserved.

ISBN-13:

978-1478363552

ISBN-10:

147836355X

Dedication

For Adelise, Jimmy and Johnny.

Prologue

The computer screen was still. Thirteen names. Thirteen addresses. Thirteen men.

His anger, born of unbearable anguish, bloomed like the mushroom cloud of a nuclear explosion. The half-empty bottle in his hand sailed across the small room to smash against the opposite wall. Sharp fragments of glass exploded in every direction, while the yellow liquid calmly foamed its way down the wall, to pool onto the polished wood floor.

His anger, his guilt, his pain grew inside him like a forest fire. It scorched his rupturing heart until a guttural, inhuman scream erupted from his lips. As he screamed, he smashed his fists on the hardwood desk until his hands were numb from the pain and his voice was but a scratchy rasp.

When his calm had returned, he sought comfort in lining up the thirteen spiders he had carefully killed and prepared — one for each man. Next to each spider, he carefully placed two 0.22 calibre bullets. He counted them and then counted them again. As he counted, he checked that each one had been scored with eight deep cuts in the tip, like the legs of a spider.

He smiled, pleased with his preparation. Even though one bullet would be enough, two would be better. A few microseconds after entry, each one would break apart into eight messengers of death and destruction. The brain would look like a milk shake from hell.

Nevertheless, he was a careful man. He was going to use two, just to be sure, bang-bang, bang-bang, bang-bang, bang-bang … he repeated as a mantra.

He would make himself part of their lives and become the instrument of their death, one by one. Soon, soon … I will be coming for you, motherfuckers! Very, very soon! he promised them, screaming in the room filled with sadness and anger, filled with sharp glass and sharper hate.

He waited, immobile, for night to come. He was ready.

I am coming for you, he murmured to himself, over and over. I am coming for you motherfuckers, I am coming for you motherfuckers …

Then, he was there, in the house. The lovers were upstairs; he could hear their grunts and their sighs. He could hardly contain himself. His heart beat so fast and so loudly in his chest that he was sure that, they would hear him. His hands trembled and his body was covered with cold sweat. Yet, he waited for them to finish. In the dark he waited, and prepared himself. He slowly took cold and ruthless control of his mind and body

He waited for the three lovers to finish their disgusting orgy. When they were finally finished, he waited for two of them to leave. Then his man was all alone…

He entered the bedroom then, without knocking. The man was now standing and was moving toward the sumptuous ensuite. Startled, he turned around saying, Are you still here, Mark? Then he realised that it was not one of his lovers, What are you doing here? he asked, embarrassed by his nakedness. It was then that he saw the gun. What are you doing? he repeated, the first touch of fear in his voice.

Shut the fuck up, you motherfucking prick. The killer ordered, pointing the gun at his face.

Why? What is going on?

Shut Up! The killer screamed at him. Get down on your knees at the end of the bed, face the wall, your face makes me sick.

But why? What have I done to…?

DO IT! NOW! The killer shouted again, placing the gun a few centimetres from the man’s forehead.

Please…if it’s money that you want…you can have anything, please… the man begged.

I don’t want your filthy money, you motherfucker! I want you to remember what you did a year ago… do you remember? The killer gave the man a hard nudge with the end of his pistol, urging the man to answer. Well, do you?

I…I…we …never… please, he begged, sounding very afraid. His bladder emptied onto the expensive carpet, marking the onset of his naked, all embracing fear.

Please…please we did not mean any harm… the man said, hoping to be believed.

NO HARM? NO FUCKING HARM? You fucking pervert! I ought to kill you very slowly, shoot you in the guts and watch you squirm for hours… how would you like that, huh, Motherfucking pervert?

No, no … please I am sorry, I am so sorry ... please, I’ll never do it again … please oh please, he begged still, tears of despair forming in his eyes. The killer laughed then; he laughed loudly, but not at all nicely.

Oh, I know you will never do it again, arsehole, he reassured his victim. You will never do ANYTHING again. You, you are going to die tonight!

Please … please have mercy … please.

Ask mercy from God. I have none. Prepare to die, motherfucker, the killer said and moved his gun to the man’s temple, but he paused for a few moments. The man trembled as he waited for death. When it did not come, he turned to the killer hoping that there was to be a reprieve. The killer smiled at him, almost with kindness. No, no mercy, for you ... die now … the world is a much better place without you.

Bang, bang.

The little gun had coughed twice and the man was still. The smell of death — blood and released waste — filled the room.

The killer picked up the two spent cartridges and then checked the room for any trace of his presence. He found none. He removed a small jar from inside his pocket, he then transferred the little spider onto the dead-man’s back, and then he left as quickly and as quietly as he had come.

The small jumping spider was his only message to the world.

Chapter 1

Sydney – Tuesday: September 22

Someone is here to see you, Louie, Maria’s stern voice woke me from my midday nap.

Uh? I answered, as I stirred from a reclining position. My mouth felt like a microwaved gym sneaker, my brain somewhere between dreamtime and the worse hangover of all time. … Err … Maria, I'm much too…too, I searched in vain for the right words. Suddenly, one lonely neuron sparked and I found them. Err … too busy right now. Satisfied, I leaned back and prepared myself to return to dreamland.

It's a client, Louie, Maria said impatiently, emphasis on 'client'. She knew the current state of my workload and bank account - both of us had gone without pay for a couple of weeks.

Client? I repeated, startled. What an unusual idea!Thinking like greased lightning, I said, Okay Maria, please give me a few minutes to… err… finish up here.

Sure thing, Louie, I could sense in her tone the unspoken dream -on buster. She knew what I had to do.She had seen my office when she had come in this morning.I had entertained a bunch of the guys from the old days. We had been playing poker all night and had not stopped until sunrise. Now, if you think that you can imagine the result, do not even try. It was bad, very bad: it would need a new word in the English language, something lower down on the scale than ‘putrid’ might work.

But, always an optimist, I knew that I had it in me to succeed.I sprang up from the old desk chair as if I was on speed. The sudden impetus almost broke it in half. Undaunted, I looked around at the mess in deep thought. I moved around in a circle a bit, as dogs do, when looking for just the right position to curl up and lie down. Decision made, I quickly shoved everything, clean or dirty, rubbish or not into the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet - sometimes, my own brilliance even surprises me!

I sprayed a bit of that Aeroguard stuff around while I grabbed a file at random from the top drawer of the very same filing cabinet: always give the impression you are extremely busy is my motto.

I took off my three-day-old T-shirt and shoved it in a desk drawer; I had a quick shower-in-the-can with some Gillette Super-Dry and donned a reasonably fresh, microfiber short sleeve shirt over my jeans.

I was good to go! Thirty seconds max, what a performer!

I pressed the intercom, Maria, I am all finished here, please show them in, I said, proudly assuming a very professional tone.

You are? She asked incredulously, okay, if you say so, Louie.

A few seconds later she opened the office door, poked her head in to check for herself on the state of the office. Her eyes widened in disbelief. Did I note a hint of admiration? She pushed the door open fully and then ushered into my office a young woman, probably in her late twenties.My new, soon-to-be-client, wore a navy blue silk suit that fitted her like a second skin. A string of pearls adorned her neck, the necklace and her large brown eyes were highlighted by matching pearl earrings. She was tall, but not too tall, with a slim body having subtle curves that moved and shifted under the silk in all the right ways. Her face was reminiscent of the kind of rare beauty of a young Elizabeth Taylor. Her auburn hair was naturally wavy, glossy and thick. It had been expensively styled so that it complemented her face perfectly. In short, she was a knockout.

Louie, please meet Mrs. Lidia Harrison. Maria announced in her official tone, Mrs. Harrison, Louie Breccia, she added presenting me as if she had just performed a magic trick and conjured me from thin air. Introductions done, she looked at me once more. Her expression told me not to stuff this up and then she retreated to her office, closing the door behind her.

Lidia Harrison seemed to be stuck in the middle of the room, uncertain what to do next. Her expression told me that I had not been what she had expected. I am thirty-seven years old, but through a quirk of genetics, I look as if I am barely out of my twenties. About six foot tall and two hundred pounds, with a dark complexion – I have been told that I remind people of a young, sun burnt, hirsute Gene Hackman on steroids,but I am sure they were just being kind.

How do you do, Mrs. Harrison, I said offering my hand across the desk, making her next move easy for her. She moved toward me and placed her small hand into my huge and scarred paw. It was soft and cool but her grip was firm. I noticed that she wore no rings and that her nails were spotlessly manicured. A young girl’s gold bracelet was on her left wrist, perhaps a remnant of her teenage years.

Please, would you take a seat, I continued, pointing to the better one of the two old chairs that inhabits the space in front of my desk. She looked down uncertainly, probably wondering if she was likely to catch something terminal, like from a toilet seat. Bravely, she carefully lowered herself onto the lip of the chair – minimum contact might keep her safe from old chair coo-tees.

As she sat down, her short skirt rose up alarmingly high, revealing perfectly formed, bare legs. With some effort, I dragged my eyes up and smiled innocently at her. How can I help you, Mrs. Harrison? I asked, wondering if those were brown panties I glimpsed or maybe, no panties at all?

Mr. Breccia, my husband is Ian Peter Harrison Jr. Does that name mean anything to you? She said, completely ignoring my inner victory of self-control.

Ian Harrison of Harrison Industries? I asked. Panties forgotten, as I mentally reeled back: Harrison Industries were to manufacturing like Coles is to retailing… a very big company, a very rich man. Why me? I wondered, inwardly. Why choose a no-frills detective agency, with all her money?

Yes, Mr. Breccia, the very same, she confirmed.

I see … err … what brings you here, Mrs. Harrison, to see me? I asked.

A friend recommended you, I mean recommended your firm, to me … err … John Richards from Richards, Hawthorne and Cheng… the law firm?I believe you have worked for them in the past?

Yes I have I said. I had met Richards when I had worked for his large law firm just once. Fortunately, I had resolved their security problem to our mutual satisfaction.

I see, I said, but of course, I did not, not yet, Mrs. Harrison why don’t you tell me how I can help you? I added, helpfully.

Mr. Breccia, my husband is dead. He was shot, sometime on Sunday. The police will see me as the main suspect. I need you in my corner to prove to the Police that I had nothing to do with his murder. She spoke in short quick sentences, like from a Gatling gun, keeping her tone flat and sharp. She paused, out of ammunition.

She picked up her expensive looking purse and found a gold cigarette case, extracted a cigarette with trembling fingers. I jumped up to light it for her, fishing in my pocket for my trusty, but not gold, Bick lighter. I sat down again, looked for and found an ashtray in the top drawer of my desk. I carefully emptied the many butts it struggled to restrain, into the bin next to me. I moved it toward her on the desk.

She was trying hard to look calm and in control, but the tremor of her hands had let her down. Even her lips trembled a fraction as they parted for the first puff. She inhaled deeply. I must admit that I had lost some of my cool too. Her words had been entirely unexpected. I had been mentally prepared for some sordid divorce work, especially considering how rich Ian Harrison was. In my long career as a detective, I have found that people with lots of money often have the time and opportunity to play up, and they do so, invariably.

But I had not been mentally prepared for murder. I took a few minutes to regroup my thoughts: I followed her queue and looked for a smoke. I found a crumpled packet in the back pocket of my jeans with just a couple of sticks bent and squashed left in it. Carefully extracting one of them so that the paper would not crack open, I placed it in my mouth and lit it up, inhaled deeply and assumed a wise expression, trying not to cough and spoil the moment. Lighting a smoke is always a good cover when your brain is taking a short break.

I am really sorry for your loss, Mrs. Harrison, was the best I could do after a few moments of deep thought. I paused while she acknowledged my condolences and then I pressed on. You are right; the immediate family and friends are always the first on the list of suspects. That’s just how the statistics of murder turn out to be. Please don’t take it personally, I said. I paused again; trying to think of some more words to reassure her but, could find none.

First off, Mrs. Harrison, you’d better tell me everything that happened leading up to your husband’s … err … death. Everything you did and, as far as you know, everything your husband did … leave nothing out, no matter how insignificant it may seem to you, I said and feeling proud of myself, I sat back in my chair, adopting my ‘I am just like a doctor, you can trust me’ expression.

She, on the other hand, was not impressed. For a moment, she seemed startled at the mere thought of it. Then she shook her pretty head. Surely, you must be joking, Mr. Breccia. That will take hours. I have another appointment in fifteen minutes… she said, stabbing her half-smoked cigarette into the ashtray to punctuate her statement.

I knew it was too good to be true! It was time to turn the pressure on. I thought for a moment or two, I understand completely, I lied, shaking my head in turn. I then stood up and offering my hand, I continued. Well, it has been a pleasure meeting you, Mrs. Harrison.

She hesitated, not understanding what was happening.

You will help me? She asked, looking confused.

I am very sorry, Mrs. Harrison, but no, I can’t help you. I paused for effect, you see, Mrs. Harrison, I can’t take a case where I am working in the dark from the get-go, I added in a tone that reflected how truly sorry I was. Moreover, I was sorry - the job would have paid a motza! Look, Mrs. Harrison… if at present you have more important things to do, well… I paused thoughtfully, perhaps you can give me a call, after the police arrest you? I finished, speculatively, tongue-in-cheek.

Was that a killer move or what?

Again, she hesitated. I guessed that the idea that I would refuse the job was not one she could have imagined, let alone considered as a reality. An uncomfortable silence followed. I stood there looking down at her and said nothing, still holding out my hand, as if time had frozen us in this moment of indecision.

Finally, she huffed in annoyance. She briefly searched her Gucci purse, extracted a slim mobile phone from it, and then pressed a speed-dial digit. Her call was answered immediately; she spoke with a very annoyed tone. My extended hand drifted slowly to the desk’s surface as I listened.

Park the car somewhere Henry. I am going to be a while. Could you please call Dr Singh and postpone my appointment for this afternoon? Thanks, and Henry, you might as well go and get some lunch or something…I will call you when I am ready. Right. Thanks.

She then looked at me with the typical pissed-off-female body language working overtime. I was impressed.

Satisfied? She asked, arching a beautifully shaped eyebrow over her long brown lashes.

I retracted my hands from the desk, and with a sort of embarrassed gesture of peace-making I said in a tone dripping with apology, look , Mrs. Harrison, I am sorry, that we seem to have started off on the wrong foot…I do apologize if I have offended you. Please understand that my job is one that centres on information. Without it… there is no job, I explained, sitting back down. I leaned over the desk looking at her with all the sincerity I could muster so early in the day, and without a drink. Mrs. Harrison, I have been doing this sort of work for a long time. I was a cop in homicide for a few years and then a private investigator for a few more… trust me when I say that minute details are the lifeblood of this business. So, please bear with me and I’ll try to be as quick as possible, I said, trying to soothe her bruised feelings.

I am sorry, Mr. Breccia, of course… I understand. This, this… it all seems like a nightmare, she said. Her lovely body trembled briefly, as if a shiver had just journeyed down her back.

Please, there is no need to apologize at all, Mrs. Harrison; I cannot begin to understand how hard this must be for you. Please do relax, and think about the last few days. Meanwhile, if you don’t mind, I would like to ask Maria, my assistant, to come in and take down some notes as you talk. Is that okay with you? I asked. She seemed to relax a bit more and nodded her assent. I pressed the intercom, Maria could you please join us?

Sure Louie, I’ll be right in. Anyone want something to drink? She asked and I looked up at my guest.

"Would you like a cup of coffee or tea …