Finders Keepers

By John McCraw

Gone underground to avoid assassination, Jeffrey Mason encounters a no-win situation that leads him into a major power play involving elements of the rich and infamous, Hollywood, and organized crime.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Apr 20, 2011
• ISBN: 9781426959295

John McCraw

John McCraw is a native Texan with a severe case of the wanderlust; his travels have taken him to most states and multiple international destinations as a professional photographer and a diagnostic specialist in the field of ophthalmology. He is the author of a trilogy that begins with Chateau Pacific, continues with Finders Keepers, and concludes with Nobody Knows. He lives in Houston with his wife and family when not off on assignment.

Book preview

Finders

Keepers

By John McCraw

Cover Artwork provided by

Ronald Dykes of Art of the Eye

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© Copyright 2011 John McCraw.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author.

Printed in the United States of America.

isbn: 978-1-4269-5927-1 (sc)

isbn: 978-1-4269-5928-8 (hc)

isbn: 978-1-4269-5929-5 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2011902955

Trafford rev. 04/11/2011

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FINDERS KEEPERS

Table of Contents

1. A TIME TO LIVE…..

2. BOYS NIGHT OUT

3. HOME RUN

4. MORNING SONG

5. COASTAL DELIGHTS

6. HOT TUB TRAMA

7. JUDGMENT DAY

8. WAKE ME WHEN IT’S OVER

9. THE POWER OF PERSUASION

10. PHONE TAG

11. CASCADE CRAZIES

12. IN THE CUSTODY OF ANGELS

13. THE GREATEST GIFT

14. MEETING OF THE MINDS

15. PORTLAND’S POWER GROUP

16. LIVIN’ LA VIDA NADA

17. DAYS OF WHINE AND ROSIE

18. LODGE LOVERS

19. VIEW FROM THE PARK

20. CABIN COALITION

21. A LOADED PROPOSITION

22. SHELTER ISLAND SERENADE

23. SAIL AWAY

24. GAMES PEOPLE PLAY

25. HERE CUMS THE BRIDE

26. TOIL AND TROUBLE

27. YACHTS MAKE A DEAL

28. RAVE ON

29. KINGS OF CORONADO

30. CALIFORNIA DREAMIN’

31. MATTERS OF MONEY

32. MOONGLOW

33. DANCING WITH THE DEVIL

34. NIGHT CAP

35. BAD BOYS

36. CONCLUSION

37. THE PRIZE

38. POLO SOLO

39. HANALEI BAY, KAUAI

 1

A TIME TO LIVE…..

Markcellous Frazier Hartman sat in the back seat of the rented Ford Taurus and stared at the two-story house at the end of the cul-de-sac. White-bread suburbia was a far cry from the inner-city squalor he reveled in, but that only made tonight’s assignment even more appealing. Already well versed in armed robbery, assault and battery, car-jacking, and violent rape at gunpoint, Marky Boy was ready to step up to the next level of his chosen profession, murder. Not bad for someone just 13 years old. The driver and his associate in the front seat were of legal age so as not to attract attention, but Marky was the designated trigger man because he was a juvenile. The new Glock 17 he was holding and the five hundred dollars folded in his shirt pocket were living proof of the confidence his captain had in him, and of his commitment to the destruction of white America. Markcellous was an angry young black male with an attitude, a gun, and no conscious. Just what the doctor ordered.

The intended victim had arrived home only a few minutes ago, but the assassins were in no hurry. Too late at night to just knock on the front door selling candy to keep kids off drugs, their plan was to wait until the house was dark, kick in the back door, and blow the mother-fucker away. Why was irrelevant. Orders were orders. The fact that he was white was reason enough.

Ten full minutes after the light in the upstairs master bedroom finally went out, the driver started the Taurus and drove to the end of the cul-de-sac without turning on the headlights. Leaving the car running, the three young blacks moved swiftly into the back yard through the side gate and up to the back door. Pausing only long enough to check their weapons, Marky Boy nodded to the elder statesman of the group, and the seventeen year-old crashed the butt of his sawed-off Winchester pump through the expensive stained-glass window, unlocked the door, and they burst inside. Ready, willing, and able to perform his task, Marky Boy took the point and led his brothers up the stairs at a dead run. Bunched too closely in the enclosed stairwell, the first blast from the shotgun aiming down from the top of the stairs hit all three assailants, then the remaining four shells fired in rapid sequence cut them to pieces. Still shaking, the homeowner stopped only long enough to pick up the weapons from the bloody piles that used to be living flesh, then walked straight to the phone and dialed 911.

I just killed three armed men who broke into my house. Are they dead? God, I certainly hope so! My name? Mason. Jeffrey Mason.

 2

BOYS NIGHT OUT

My stage pass got me through the front door of The Place without having to pay their $10.00 cover charge, but even more important, no name had to be provided on anybody’s list for any future reference. I was only there to take some pictures of the band, not get up close and personal with anyone who might remember me as anything more than an obscure figure with a camera. There were a few open stools at the bar, so I cautiously worked my way through the total darkness that enveloped the tables and chairs and perched myself on the closest empty to the stage. I set my FM on the bar, ordered a glass of generic red wine, and tried not to think about how fucked my life had become.

I see you’re a Nikon man.

I turned to the female voice that came from my immediate right, and looked into the face of an angel wrapped up in men’s clothing. Wearing an old U.S. Navy P-Coat and hiding her hair under a black leather cap, I would never have noticed she was a female if she hadn’t spoken.

I used to have a classic F3HP, she said with pride, and a hint of a smile.

Stolen? I asked, trying to avoid sounding like a Texan.

Former life, she replied coldly, then changed the topic. Are you a photographer, or did you just decide to take your camera out for a drink?

Both. I’m doing some shots for the band tonight, so I thought I’d catch a buzz before they crank it up and I have to go to work.

My plan exactly, she exclaimed, then took a quick look around the room. I’m supposed to meet God’s gift to assholes here tonight, and I’m getting myself primed. He’s not going to like it, but what the fuck! He’s not going to like what I have to say, either.

I was already more involved in our conversation than I needed to be, but I couldn’t help but wonder why she was trying so hard to look so plain. Even through all her obvious cosmetic camouflage and the shitty lighting, I could tell she had the facial structure of an attractive woman, but why would she want to hide herself behind this Earth Mama facade? I reminded myself that I really didn’t give a shit, only boredom and idle curiosity led me to continue.

What makes you think Mr. Asshole will recognize you in your Longshoreman’s attire? Shouldn’t you be wearing a red carnation or something so you’ll stand out in the crowd?

That’s the last thing he would want, she offered, then tried to take her words back. He’s a very private person. I have no doubt he can find me. Besides, he’s the one who told me to be here.

Sounding like just another married man scenario, I decided to shut up and mind my own business when I was grabbed from behind and slammed into the bar face first. Whoever had me was strong and powerful, because after hammering me into the wooden bar, he kept his weight on me making it impossible to breathe.

Is this the piece of shit you left us for, a voice demanded. Who is he, and what have you been telling him!

He’s nothing! He’s a nobody! Her voice sounded desperate. He’s just some jerk trying to pick me up, you moron. Leave him alone and I’ll come with you.

You’re fucking right you’re coming with us. You’ve been gone for two weeks, and your in-laws want to know where you’ve been. My assailant grabbed a handful of hair on the back of my head and lifted me right up to his ugly black face. This is my pussy now, so you can kiss her white ass good-bye. I should kill you, but I’m only getting paid for her.

Just for good measure, he slammed me into the bar again with such force I bounced off and crumbled to the floor. Gasping for air and trying to stay conscious, I stayed there until the building stopped swirling and I could get my eyes to start working as a team.

Hey buddy, are you gonna be OK?

Yeah, I guess so, I replied, still trying to focus.

Sorry, but house rules say anybody that gets into a fight has to leave, answered the bouncer I’d met at the front door. I know you’re here to work, but rules are rules.

No problem. Help me up and I’ll sneak out the back door. Any idea who that big fucking black guy was?

Never seen any of them before. He flashed a gun and some ID as they escorted the bitch out the front door, then told me to forget everything that happened. Are you sure you’re OK?

I’ll live, I replied, then made my way up to my feet with some assistance from the bouncer and bartender. I slung my camera over my shoulder and was reaching for my wallet when the bartender shook his head at me.

On the house, he responded. From what I saw, you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. She wasn’t wearing a fucking ring, so how were you to know she was married! Her husband must have wanted her back real bad to send those three suits out to find her

Three armed men pulling a strong-arm snatch and grab in a public place sounds more like a hit team than investigators for an irate husband, but she seemed to know them, and she also volunteered to go with them. Bodyguards seemed to be the logical conclusion to all the possibilities, but again, as I let myself out the stage door into the un-lit back alley and parking lot, I reminded myself that I didn’t really give a shit. The girl was absolutely correct. I’m a nothing. A nobody. I don’t really exist.

The sounds of shoes on asphalt and an unforgettable voice interrupted my self-pity and revived what was left of my senses. I looked around the corner of the building to see the mother-fucker that nailed me and his entourage escorting their victim right towards me. A short Latino led the way, and the girl was holding her face while being tugged along by a blonde guy in the middle, but it was the big black dude bringing up the rear that was doing all the talking and strutting.

I hoped you enjoyed that, Mama, cause there’s a whole lot more coming your way. Your white-bread hubby says I can do anything I want to make you talk, then after I’m through with you, he’ll come say good-bye personally. Are you ready to beg, Cindy?

From deep within my gut, I began to feel a churning sensation as I realized they were walking straight towards me, and I had nowhere to go. The stage door only opens from the inside, so unless I wanted another confrontation with Godzilla and Company, I had to hide. All alone, unarmed, and trapped in the back corner of an L-shaped building wasn’t exactly where I wanted to spend the last few minutes of my life, but it appeared as if I didn’t have much choice. Hide like a coward, or die at the hands of a sadistic black mother-fucker with a violent ego; some choice! Then a calmness spread over me as I knew exactly what I was going to do.

You’re mine now, bitch, he continued, as they moved ever closer. We’re gonna find out all your secrets, then spend a little quality time together before we tell your husband where you are. You’ll be begging’ me to kill you, but we’ll still be fucking you, and fucking you, and fucking you until you tell us everything. Don’t that sound like fun, Cindy Baby.

I moved into the darkest shadows I could find, and did my best to flatten myself into the dark brick of the building. I looped the camera’s shoulder strap around my right wrist, then wrapped the rest around my hand until all that remained was 12 inches of leather and my weapon. An MD-12 motor drive attached to an FM body with a 105mm. lens should have enough weight and density to break bones on impact, and I intended to find out.

The Latino had a huge grin on his face as he walked past the corner of the building and didn’t even look my way. Two steps later, the blonde guy assigned to manhandle their victim passed with a firm grip on both her shoulders, then came my target. I paused to let my rage factor boil an extra second or two, then initiated my attack. I slashed around the corner and swung with both hands, connecting the flat handle of the motor drive exactly on the bridge of his ugly nose with such force blood exploded from his face and his feet went straight up in the air. The back of his shaved head was the first thing to impact the asphalt as he crash-landed in a pile, and never moved again. I spun around to see blondie throw the girl to the ground and reach for a gun in the small of his back. I leaped towards him and drove my right foot so deep into his solar plexus that I could feel the heel of my boot bounce off his spine. Unable to breathe or move, I nailed him with a two-handed overhead that took him out, but the real fun was just beginning. In less than a heartbeat, the Latino had a switchblade in his hand and was all over me. I was lucky enough to block his first lunges, but he was much quicker than I expected. Using JJ’s patented disarm maneuver, I finally got the knife away from him, but left myself wide open for two shots to the ribs and a flying foot to the side of my face that sent me reeling. I recovered enough to counter his next onslaught of fists and feet, and even got in a few blows of my own, but he was definitely winning the war. Old and slow doesn’t beat young and fast in anything but chess, and we weren’t playing anything that placid. He toyed with me to figure out my blocking technique, then blasted me with a blur of combinations that sent me stumbling backwards into a parked car. Sensing victory, my assailant took a split second to retrieve his blade, then stormed in for the kill. I set him up by leaning against the door of the car and not moving away, then blocked his kill-shot when he thrust the knife towards my heart and drove my right foot through the kneecap of his weight-bearing front leg. I kept him from falling by maintaining my hold on his right wrist, then took great pleasure in swinging his body around until he was airborne and smashing his face into the headlights of a Chevy Suburban. I picked up his switchblade off the street for a souvenir, grabbed what was left of my camera, and made my move towards the Cougar. The blonde stud was starting to come around, so I kicked him in the face for good measure and took away his big-frame automatic to prevent him from using it against me. The girl was still sitting on the street holding her face with both hands when I knelt down and gently grabbed her arm.

Come on, Cindy, I said softly. We gotta go.

I led her over to my car, set her in the passenger seat, and got the hell out of there as fast as I could without squealing my tires. I glanced in my rear-view mirror to make sure my three playmates were still down and out, then made a quick left and hit the accelerator. The girl was curled up against the door, but her eyes were wide open and staring at me. I flashed her a friendly smile and tried to be comforting.

Don’t worry about those guys, I said. You’re safe now.

You’re not! was her only reply.

Sitting in his idling sedan across the street, Special Agent Franklin Cates had seen the entire incident through the lens of his camcorder. From the time the three perpetrators stepped out of their car and entered the club to their demise in the alley, everything was on video tape, including the license plate number of the Cougar used for her getaway. Without wasting a moment, Cates screwed a silencer onto the barrel of his PPK-S as he walked over to the men laying motionless in the alley, then pumped two rounds into each of their heads.

 3

HOME RUN

I drove a zigzag course through the back streets of West Eugene to make sure we weren’t being followed or pursued, then made my way back home from the south. I tripped the garage door opener and doused my lights as soon as I turned off Willamette, eased the Cougar into my tiny garage and immediately closed the door behind us, so we were safe for now. The girl hadn’t said another word during our escape, but I could tell she was still really shaken up from her encounter with the hit squad.

Come on in, I said, and offered her my hand. We’ll clean up and try to get all this figured out.

There’s nothing to figure out, she replied without looking at me. I’m dead, and so are you.

Not yet! I’m still a stranger here in town, so very few people know me. You can stay in the car if you want, but I’ve got to go wash off this stench, and it looks like both of us could use some first-aid. You’re safer here than out there on the streets, so come on in and try to relax.

She looked at me for the first time and nodded her head in agreement. We made our way through the garage and into the kitchen before I turned on any lights, then I saw why she had been holding her face. That big black shit must have tagged her more than once while his buddies held her for both sides of her face to be so puffy and bruised. My fine Texas upbringing would never allow me to strike a woman, unless she was trying to kill me, of course, but he was obviously raised in a different manner. Even through all my own bruises, I still had to smile at the thought of his face exploding on impact with my camera. He’ll be in a heap of hurt for a long time, and deserves every second of it.

You’re welcome to first shot at the bathroom, I said, after giving her the five second tour of my small dwelling. There’s a terrycloth bathrobe hanging behind the door that’s soft and warm, and I’ll find you some sweats to hang around in. They’ll be too big, but I guarantee they’ll be clean and comfortable.

Thanks, she replied. After everything I’ve put you through, I don’t know why you’re being so nice to me, but I do appreciate it. I feel like I’ve been in these clothes for two days, so a shower does sound wonderful.

Terrific. I’ll take care of business out here, so just let me get a few things out of the bathroom, then you can take your time. I’ve got a couple of bottles of pinot noir stashed for any kind of an occasion, so at least we’ll have something to sip on while we patch ourselves up. It may not be Cote de Beaune-Henri, but what the Hell.

I waited until I heard the shower running, then stepped back out into the garage to retrieve my new-found automatic from under the front seat. Another high-tech Beretta clone, what made this 10mm. even more interesting was its lack of markings. No name, no serial number, no nothing. The 16-shot magazine was staggered with an equal complement of Black Talon-like spirals to maximize internal damage and armor-piercing Cop Killers to defeat even second generation body armor, both of which are illegal for civilians to even possess. I put everything in a large food storage bag and stashed it on the top shelf of my pantry for the time being, then got down to washing all the blood off of me and doing a little personal damage assessment.

By the time my guest finally joined me in the living room, I had a nice fire going in the fireplace to take the chill out of the Oregon night, and was well into my half of the first bottle of wine. Dressed in my newest cotton sweats, with wet hair and no make-up, I guessed her age to be around 30 as she sat down on the floor and waited for me to make the next move. I passed her a glass of pinot noir and tried to sound comforting.

This should warm you up on the inside, I began, and the fire should take care the rest. If you’re hungry, there’s meat, cheese, and other stuff in the refrigerator. I cook just for myself, so the bill-of-fare is pretty basic.

Just some wine, she replied, then brought her left hand up to her face. I don’t think I could chew anything right now.

I understand completely. The ice in that bucket is for us, not the wine, so help yourself. My face ran into a wooden bar as well as a few flying hands and feet, but I doubt if we’re in as bad of shape as your three playmates, especially that big black guy. I paused for effect, then led her into the conversation I wanted. He wasn’t the asshole you were expecting to meet, was he?

Not at all. My asshole was supposed to protect me from those people, but they found me first. Funny thing is that he’s probably the main reason my in-laws want me dead.

Trying to be nonchalant, I refilled her wine glass first, then wrapped a few ice cubes in a hand towel and held it against the side of her face. She responded as expected and took control of the towel, but I could tell she liked the way it made her feel.

Thank you, she said without any attempt at eye contact. I’ve never been hit before.

I wish I could say the same, but at least it’s been quite a while. I hate to be so blunt, but will you please tell me what I’ve gotten myself involved in.

It’s a long story, but since you truly are involved now, where would you like for me to start?

How about with your name, I said with a smile. Your real one, please.

She looked straight at me for the first time, thought deeply, then sighed.

Oh, what the fuck. My name is Collins, Cynthia Collins, she said, then waited for me to react. You know, the multi-millionaire Collins’ that live in that huge mansion overlooking Mohawk Valley?

Sorry! Like I said, I’m a stranger around here.

Not anymore! You just beat the crap out of the family’s number one bad ass and two of his hired guns, so I wouldn’t count on being a stranger for very much longer. Anyhow, they’ve made millions in the log trucking business since the very beginning, and my husband is the third generation and heir-apparent to it all. Back in the seventies, Randy got bored with hauling around dead trees so he became involved with the entertainment industry, and now a good portion of their trucks haul everything from film crews to road shows all up and down the West Coast. He gets to party with the stars and feed his massive ego while making another fortune for his beloved father. I met Randy when I was a sophomore here at the university, and was blown away by all the limos, gifts, and other perks that go along with being courted by the pampered son of a multi-millionaire. He literally swept me off my feet, and we were married in less than three months. My husband is twenty-three years older than I am, and my father-in-law has been pushing us for grandchildren since the day we got back from our honeymoon ten years ago, but I’m still not willing until Randy curbs his excessive habits. I’ve told him in no uncertain terms that I have no intentions of being locked away in that mansion caring for some poor child with drug-induced birth defects while its father continues to whore around with his so-called friends. I’ve tolerated his lifestyle for all the obvious reasons, and even grown to enjoy certain aspects of it, but I refuse to be incarcerated like his mother was all her life.

Is that why you left?

"Oh no. Even with all his self-induced problems, I know in my heart that Randy truly loves me, or used to. Around six months

Reviews for Finders Keepers

[johnmccraw · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

A story full of intense adventure and action so this is a must to read book.