A Cold Reception

By Ross Durrer

What kind of a traumatic event makes a person break and go against his ideals? Explore two lives in one person as you travel with a rookie contract killer starting his life over in Europe and trying to forget his past.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Dec 20, 2007
• ISBN: 9781467078610

Ross Durrer

Ross Durrer, born and raised in the Washington, DC metropolitan area now makes his home in Indiana.  Although a young author, Durrer has already begun to lead an interesting albeit diverse life.  Durrer draws on his experiences in technology and law enforcement, two fields of which will also influence his future works.  Although Durrer grew up in a large metropolitan area, his main character is centered around the childhood of his father growing up in Virginia.  With many more books to come, he hopes this novel will help him break into a career of writing that he has dreamed about for so long.

Book preview

AuthorHouse™

1663 Liberty Drive, Suite 200

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.authorhouse.com

Phone: [phone]

This book is a work of fiction. People, places, events, and situations

are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual

persons, living or dead, or historical events, is purely coincidental.

© 2010 Ross Durrer. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or

transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 6/23/2010

ISBN: 978-1-4343-2963-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4670-7861-0 (ebk)

Printed in the United States of America

Bloomington, Indiana

Contents

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

For

Melody,

Jaime,

and Andrew

I WOKE UP TO THE sound of the second floor door closing. It sounded like two people had come onto the floor, most likely the Japanese couple I had met yesterday. I could hear them talking, but of course couldn’t understand them since my Japanese fluency was limited to restaurant menus. They seemed very nice when I met them yesterday; their English wasn’t great, but I was able to give them directions to an art gallery.

As I lay in bed, I realized that this was the smallest hostel I had ever been in, or perhaps it was just the fact that I had never had a room this small before. Maybe I was just unfortunate enough to reserve the smallest room in Berlin, Germany. I felt like I was in a matchbox, and the bed was about that comfortable. Noises seemed to echo a great deal on my floor as well. I could still hear water dripping from the sink I had used to brush my teeth an hour ago, yet the bathroom was on the other side of the floor. The hall that led to the bathroom was very narrow and only one person could walk down the hall at a time. Fortunately, I could see all the way down to the bathroom from my room, so I could judge when I had a chance to make it through the hall. Of course then I was at risk of someone opening their door and slamming it into me, which happened the first night I was here, so I tended to walk very briskly back and forth and make some measure of noise hoping that the people in their rooms would be at least slight observant and not knock me down. Other than the first night, I had escaped injury thus far.

Now if only I could get a good night’s sleep in my bed. Sleeping seemed like its own adventure considering that the springs in the mattress almost penetrated the material and were only hidden by the two blankets I had placed on top of the bed. The pillows were stuffed with some kind of paper, most likely newspaper and I didn’t think they were rated to withstand the weight of my head. I still had on the clothes that I had worn that day, except for my shoes. I never got into bed with my shoes on and I turned up my nose at people who did that. I liked my bed to be clean and shoes just always struck me as being dirty, even if they were new. My feet hung off the bed and my right sock seemed much more relaxed and ready for bed than my left one. I really needed to get some sleep instead of analyzing the relaxation principles of my socks. I had a meeting with my second client at eleven in the morning and I wanted to be prepared. My eyes slowly began to close as my mind caught up with my favorite dream.

Damn, damn, damn. I wanted to wake up at 8:30am and I was running late. I stripped down to my boxer shorts and a towel. I hurried down the narrow hall in my flip-flops, well as fast as anyone can walk in those shoes, with my toiletries in hand. As I expected, no one among a hostel of tourists was up this early on a Saturday morning so I got to use all the hot water. For some reason I always felt cold in the morning, even in the summertime so I loved taking hot showers. As I stood in the shower and let the warm water drown my hair, I tried to calm my nerves. This was the first time that I had set up this kind of meeting, and it was only my second job, but I told myself to calm down and not let the inexperience show. After my shower, I got dressed, and made sure I had everything I needed. I adjusted my coat, and took my Bersa .380 Thunder out of my bag, chambered a round, put the safety on, and stuck in the back of my pants in the small of my back. I looked at myself in my small wall-mounted mirror, adjusted my hair and then left.

I was meeting my client at a pizza parlor in downtown Berlin. I had observed this location for three days and selected it because I had only seen tourists go into it and there were two exits. I felt comfortable that since it was always so busy with tourists, I would be able to pick out my client’s bodyguards if a problem arose. I arrived at the pizza parlor early and got a booth in the middle of the restaurant away from the windows. I placed my bag on my seat, got up and placed an order for two slices of breakfast pizza and a Coke at the counter. I paid and then sat back down. About twenty minutes later a man came into the restaurant in a suit. He ordered a cup of coffee, paid cash from a money clip from his right pocket, then sat down at table near the counter and door and read a newspaper. I knew that this man was definitely not a tourist. He glanced up at me for second, and then went back to reading his paper. Occasionally he would scratch his left ankle. I saw that my pizza was ready so I got up and went to the counter. I grabbed my pizza and Coke, looked at the man for a second and then went back to my table. After I sat down, I scratched my back and at the same time took my gun off safety.

As I began to sprinkle pepper on my second piece of pizza, my client walked in the door with a very muscular man behind him, no doubts his bodyguard. They both sat down at my table. My client placed a torn half of a U.S. one dollar bill on the table and I placed the missing piece next to it. Our meeting had been setup by a mutual friend who gave each of us a half of the dollar bill. This mutual friend also told my client where I would be and what I would be eating so he could find me. Of course there were about twenty other people in the restaurant at the time, but I was the only one alone, besides the man in the suit.

My name is Charles Wainwright, I am a diamond dealer in Berlin and I have an important job for you, the man said in a thick British accent as his muscular friend stared at me with unknown intent. Before he could continue, I put my hand up and cleared my throat.

Before you go any further, I think that a certain measure of trust needs to be established. I am not very comfortable with three men in this restaurant having five guns between them, I said as I quickly shifted my eyes from Wainwright to his counterparts. He looked shocked as he turned to the muscular man, gave him a glare, and then turned back to me as if waiting for an explanation. Your friend at the front of the restaurant is welcome to join us unless he wants to remain where he is playing with the gun on his ankle. I have been here for a while and I know he is with you, I said in a stern voice looking Wainwright straight in the eye.

"Look Mr. Wainwright, please don’t think that I am the type of person that doesn’t notice his surroundings. Your man over there is the only one in here that is not a tourist besides us. He is the only one in here reading a German newspaper from the day before and the only one