Out of Promises: Out of Promises, #1

By Simon Leigh

Valerie Lambert had given everything to the business and now she wants out. After being sent on a job that went wrong, her world is turned upside down once again and a man's life depends on her actions.

With the city's police hot on her tail, Valerie teams up with a private detective and together they span the city hunting for clues while others have their own agenda. Can she trust this private detective? She doesn't know and doesn't really want to.

 

This action packed thriller is full of twists and turns that promise to keep you engaged until the very end. It's a story of loyalty, trust and betrayal.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Simon Leigh
• Release date: Jun 14, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223622741

Book preview

Prologue

1950 s Southbrook. A city of a million stories. A city with what felt like a million problems. Crime organizations ruled the streets fighting over territory and control with gang wars overrunning the peace hungry communities. Anything from beatings in back alleys to full on gang warfare shattered the lives of anyone caught in its net. Officials were bent and money was power and the honest, hardworking cops were powerless to do anything. Crime was high, which was the life back then. The life of freeloading. The life of looking over your shoulder whenever you left your house. The life of always being afraid of what awaits you around the corner. Smart people moved away while other naive unsuspecting people replaced them in a never ending circle. The city was the food in which crime was free to feed and it spread to neighbouring cities like an uncontrollable rash in need of a cure.

During the 60s and 70s, when the authorities finally realized things were out of hand, a major crackdown on crime was initiated. The plan was well-executed and would go down in Southbrook’s history as a turning point for peace. Many people died as protesters became violent, clashing with police in the streets. Many inhabitants were brainwashed and intimidated into wanting a completely free city with no rules, clueless of what would happen if their wish came true while anarchy smothered the city.

Eventually, after much bloodshed, crime rates lowered and crime organizations were driven underground. The Southbrook Police Department was changed and restructured. Bent cops were put away with the cons and new officers were drafted in and recruited from nearby cities. Southbrook was to become the clean haven it was meant to be.

Decades of low crime rates were a welcome break and people grew more confident to roam the streets, even at night.

Crime still existed, but overall it was a happier time.

Through the 80s and 90s, or the quiet period as it became known, there was time for crime organizations to grow again as people became complacent, unaware of the gradual increase in crime creeping up from the shadows. Many crimes went unreported allowing certain organizations to gain the upper hand. Extortion was the key. If the police didn’t know, how could they act? People went about their day blissfully unaware of their peace soon coming to an end with the authorities heading for an uphill struggle of which they could not anticipate.

The city of Southbrook was fast becoming the nightmare it once was.

Tuesday, December 7th, 22:00

Chapter One

Dishevelled and hunched over while kneeling on the cold and wet stony floor of Saint Patrick’s church on the edge of the city, a lone man wearing a rain spattered black suit stared vacantly at the ground, his arms limp by his side as if all blood had vanished from them.

‘Please forgive me,’ he whispered.

The church was deprived, cold and hollow. Dull and pale stained glass windows high up on the walls kept the wind and rain at bay, separating the wild outside world from this lonely one hiding away. Few remaining candles on the walls desperately clutched onto their lives with every draft caught.

‘Shall I go after him?’ A tired man of twenty seven years, he remained slumped in his motionless state.

Above him were two crosses: one, eight feet tall and made of oak hanging ten feet up the wall behind the altar; the second was a smaller replica with a figure of Jesus still attached, lying on its back staring up into the heavens. To his left stood a pulpit, while in the far right corner were steps feeding down to the crypt below.

The man came alive, lifting his tear filled eyes and tired arms to the smaller cross on the altar. Trembling all over, he lifted it and gazed into the face of Jesus. ‘What shall I do? Where shall I go?’ he begged. ‘Give me an idea. Please.’ The words coming as nothing but a tense and needy whisper.

Not a religious man, he was way out of his comfort zone. He always felt there was nothing to gain from religion, that all it brought was war and death. He used to say: What had religion done for him?

Well now he needed it.

The howling on the windows made him nervous. It made him think of cheap movies made for TV. His imagination had always been a vivid one. He recalled how, as a child lying in bed after being tucked in at night, the howls of the wind would keep him awake with the images of sickening creatures creeping towards his bed, inching ever closer until he dared to switch on the light.

Still clenching the figure, he looked around at the empty church hall: the dancing candles, some old pews, and a door to another room, just left of the entrance. Rain dripped from the ceiling and splashed into the overflowing font at the entrance.

He felt a shiver.

Burying his head in his hands, he started to think of how things came to be, thinking of how he had endangered his loved ones with the realization that he may never see his daughter’s smiling face again.

In a car across the street was Valerie Lambert. With a long black coat, blue jeans, and a dark blue scarf around her aching neck, she was sitting in the driver’s side of a well-used sedan from the late 90s watching an SUV parked askew outside the church through a waterfall of battering rain that cascaded down the windshield.

Of all the cars we have, why did I get this piece of shit?

Unlike the man in the church, Valerie didn’t disagree with religion; she kept an open mind. But that’s not to say she agreed with it either. She respected it. She’d never hurt anyone in a church and wasn’t about to start now. The possibility that someone or something was out there was enough for her.

For warmth on this cold December evening, she started the engine and turned on the car’s heater and gazed into the rear view mirror. Looking back at her was a pale skinned thirty four year old. Far from unattractive, she still held a youthful face and body that many men had drooled over in the past, but right now, she felt old. Maybe it was the cold, or maybe it was the fact she had nothing to show a meaningful life.

What have I done with my life? Where have all the years gone?

A long time ago, she was a strong woman. Nothing could affect her. But after everything she’d been through, she’d found it increasingly difficult to rely on anyone, leaving her isolated and alone with only a few select people she trusted. With no family and no friends outside of the business – something she desperately wanted before her time ran out – she knew for certain she wouldn’t find what she was looking for while in this line of work.

So she wanted out, and she wasn’t the only one.

The main problem was: once you’re in, you’re in.

It had been a long evening and she hadn’t slept for a very long time, so fighting her heavy eyes to stay awake was one of the hardest things for her to do right now. For comfort, she removed her scarf and used it as a makeshift pillow while the warm air from the vents filled the car. She didn’t know how long she could wait like this, and with the rain blurring her view to the church doors, she felt the weight of her eyes pulling closer until her world went black.

She never saw the dark figure enter the church. She should have seen it. It was her job to keep track of her target currently kneeling at the altar.

Chapter Two

The heavy rain masked the creak as the church door gently caressed the stony ground. A small gust of air brushed passed the newcomer sending the candlelight dancing in the dark.

He entered without a sound and checked around before limping his way gradually to the altar with his weapon cocked and ready, heavy in his gloved hand. The weapon was a revolver, a twenty year old Colt Python .357 Magnum with a six inch barrel and six round capacity. The grip was engraved with a picture of an open winged eagle, worn away slightly through overuse.

The man at the altar had his eyes closed, unaware of his new company. His mind was set on his daughter’s giggling face. She looked happy, running around a park near where they used to live, begging for him to chase her. But he couldn’t move; he could only watch, like he was frozen in time. He was afraid. The mother of his daughter walked into his field of vision and looked him in the eye, her long brown hair blowing in the breeze. At first she sent out a beaming smile. The same smile that made him fall in love with her, the smile to melt any man. The smile that faded as she looked down into her arms. She began to cry. ‘Look,’ she said, tearfully. He lowered his eyes to a bundle of cloth nestled in her arms. ‘Look what you did!’ She moved closer to him. He tried to back away.

Then he felt the hard barrel of a gun being jammed into the back of his head, returning him to the church.

‘Don't turn around,’ said the stranger, his voice smoky and full of phlegm.

‘I know your voice,’ replied the man on his knees.

‘I’d be surprised if you didn’t, Freddie.’

‘What do you want?’

No answer from the stranger.

‘Whatever you want, just take it,’ Freddie said, turning his head to look at the man.

A broad smile appeared. The stranger yelled: ‘I told you not to turn around!’ He swung the revolver hard into the side of Freddie’s head, sending him spinning to the cold stone floor.

Freddie felt the warm ooze of blood trickle from his head as he focussed on the face of his attacker. It was only then that he knew that his life was just about over. ‘You!’ he said. ‘Haven’t you done enough?’

The stranger stood over him, looked down into his eyes and raised the revolver. ‘Goodbye, Freddie.’

Chapter Three

Valerie didn’t hear the shot; she’d fallen asleep, waking only to the dull sound of a truck’s horn and water spraying across the car’s hood.

She looked at the clock.

Shit.

She’d been asleep for well over two hours. During that time, the rain had subsided to a light pour with the moonlight reflecting each droplet as it fell onto the pale illuminated road.

Looking out at the deadly quiet church and gazing up at the silhouette of the spire standing out against the gloomy sky, she wondered if Freddie was still inside. After all, his SUV was still there.

She had to find out.

The icy night air skated across her skin as she stepped out. The place was silent apart from the patter of raindrops.

Houses sat opposite the church with the city lights blinking beyond. Right now, she wished she was back there, back to normality, whatever that was. The area around the church reminded her of English country villages she’d seen on TV, the kind of places the elderly came to retire. She didn’t like it. It was all too foreign from the security and comfort of the city.

Heaving a sigh, she walked past Freddie’s silver SUV, and on to the ten feet tall decaying oak doors. Gently opening them, the wind smothered her like a vacuum, pushing her inside.

She stood in the darkness waiting for her eyes to focus. The few candles that were still burning didn’t help at all.

Everything was silent apart from water splashing from the dripping roof into the font beside her.

As she readied herself to venture farther into the shadowy church, she was startled by the slam of a door shutting from inside the room to her left.

What the hell was that?

She approached the door and pressed her ear to the cold wood, hearing nothing but the persistent howling wind clawing the church walls.

God dammit.

She pulled the door a few inches and peered inside. She could see a dim light, possibly a lighter or a match, accompanied by a shadow.

‘Freddie?’ she asked.

A grunt came from the shadow before it lunged for the door. She panicked, and seconds later, the shadowy figure barged into the door, sending her to the ground with a fearful moan.

The stranger stood before her, roaming his menacing eyes across her body with a broad grin on his face that showed rank yellow teeth in a rough, scarred face.

With his perverted gaze, he limped towards her.

She kicked away, desperately searching for grip with her feet sliding on the rain dampened ground. She reached for her gun, which was in the car.

Stupid mistake.

Her heart beat faster. He moved closer. Frozen with fear and absolutely terrified, she couldn’t pick herself up from the ground no matter how hard she tried. She closed her eyes, hoping he would just go away. But he didn’t go away, not right away. Instead, he bent down to her with his rancid breath touching her skin and entering her body, forcing its way into her lungs. With a searching hand, he firmly grabbed her right breast. She wanted to hit it away, but he wasn’t some frisky clubber trying it on; he was a creature from another world slowly stroking her breast in a clockwise motion. Taking great pleasure from her humiliation, he squeezed hard, hurting her. She cried out for him to leave her alone, fearful of him pinning her down and violating her in ways she had never been. But he didn’t do any of that. He just let out another grunt, released her breast and walked past her to the exit and out of the church leaving her breathless and alone.

At first, she didn’t move, opting to stay on the cold floor to catch her breath for a few minutes. She wanted to run, flee from this nightmare she’d entered. But her boss wouldn’t accept that. His rage was far more terrifying than anything she’d known before. She had to find Freddie and that was all he would care about.

When she finally had the courage to stand up, she composed herself and entered the room from which the stranger had come. The room was used for storage and contained a spiral staircase leading up to the bell tower. There was another locked door inside that she figured must be a cupboard. Not wanting to brave the spiral staircase just yet, she turned and moved back into the hall.

Shaking, she walked slowly along the centre aisle, pissed off for both seizing up, and for falling asleep.

She passed each pew with her arms folded over her breasts for comfort while the ticking of water hitting the ground grew louder, like a clock counting down to something. She was afraid. The dark was increasing her discomfort, and with what just happened playing over in her mind, she just wanted out of there, Freddie or no Freddie.

With each step taking her farther away from the exit, she used her foot to feel in front of her like a blind man without a stick. A shiver raced down her spine as a fluttering noise came from the rafters. Looking up at the blackness through squinting eyes, her foot caught on something and she stumbled to the floor.

‘Shit,’ she muttered.

Picking up the item, she moved her fingers around it, feeling the wet wooden cross with a Jesus figure attached.

She looked around. ‘Freddie?’

Nothing but an empty echo.

With watering eyes and trembling limbs, she walked to a candle on the wall for a better look.

‘What the hell?’ she said, looking at her blood covered hands. She let go of the cross and it hit the ground with a thud.

Is this Freddie’s blood?

‘Freddie!?’ she bellowed, wiping her hands on her clothes and wiping her tears away.

More flutters came from above.

She was a wreck, but carried on regardless.

Minutes later at the front of the church, she wasn’t thinking clearly. Fear had taken over and nullified the logical part of her mind making her see all manner of things in the shadows, convincing her that she could see a body on the large cross behind the altar. On a normal day, this wouldn’t be anything out of place, but this was the source of the dripping sound. With her gut telling her something was terribly wrong, she approached the hanging cross where she could make out a body. As her eyes cleared, she could see it was tied with rope around the neck, arms, and legs. Blood dripped from a bullet hole in the skull, trickling along the body to the shoes and on to the floor, pooling at her feet.

‘Freddie!?’ she yelled, holding her hand to her mouth and questioning the sight before her.

With haste, she turned and ran for the exit, scooping up the smaller cross on her way out while slipping on the blood along the centre aisles.

Chapter Four

There are many ways to describe Jackson Matherson. Tall. Confident. Mouthy. But the one that he was most well-known for was: reliable. Thirty six years old, having spent the most important years of his life as a friend to Valerie Lambert, he had a terrible habit of speaking his mind, bringing with it unwanted attention. He stole his first car at the age of eight, which his father beat him for. ‘You’re attracting the wrong kind of attention,’ his father would shout. At the time, Jackson didn’t know what it meant, but over the years he learned of what his father did for a living, eventually being brought into the business at sixteen.

‘Why did you order Valerie to kill him?’ he asked his father.

They were on the twelfth floor of their headquarters building at Hellman’s Business Centre. Smaller office buildings surrounded them with a large parking lot out front that ended at a road with shops lined up opposite. The place became larger as the business grew, erected in this location for a fast escape to the freeway leading out of town. There had been a debate as to why they’d picked the top floor for the main office as the means of escape were slim (just an elevator and a stairwell) but in the end Jackson had to back down. He thought his father had too much confidence; his father thought it showed power.

The office was spacious with a high ceiling and large windows covering the entire outside wall showing a stunning view of the city. Long blue blinds fluttered in the wind on a clear sunny day, but tonight they were static and lifeless. To the right of where Jackson was sitting was a door to a meeting room and a bathroom beside it.

Across a large mahogany desk was Jackson’s father, Julius Matherson. A rich, powerful, distinguished looking man in a navy shirt with no tie and glasses almost falling from his nose. He was fifty nine years old now with greying hair. Still fit and sharp, he saw the aging process as a weakness. That was how he saw life: strong or weak. Yin and yang. Black and white.

Of late, things had started to turn sour. Some of his men had deserted him and his influence was diminishing like a wall crumbling. Over the years, the police had come on strongly, desperate to pin something on him, but no evidence means no conviction.

‘Are you questioning my judgment?’ he asked Jackson.

‘No. Of course not. I just thought he was a good asset to have around. He’s been with us seventeen years and he’s a good guy.’ Jackson paused to think before asking his next question. ‘Would you do this to me?’

‘I don’t pay you to think, I pay you to follow orders.’ He stood up and put his hands on the desk. ‘You are my son, but you’re nothing if you cross me. People are replaceable. Don’t let your feelings get in the way of your work.’

‘Right, right, sorry.’

Matherson ignored Jackson’s tone. ‘Valerie should have called by now.’

‘I’ll call her.’

‘I’ll do it. I’m not too old to dial a phone.’ He picked up the receiver. ‘Leave and send Sharpe in.’

Jackson saw the stern, cold eyes of his father and felt sadness for the man who once had everything. He looked older somehow, showing his age.

He stood up and walked to the door.

Matherson said, ‘Before you go, Jackson, remember your place.’

The door closed and the room fell silent.

The reception area was a lot like the office: clean and modern. A glass coffee table with a coffee machine sat in a waiting area in front of a large red sofa. Two elevators stood in the centre of the back wall with the fire exit to the left.

‘He wants you,’ Jackson said to Sharpe, who was sitting behind the desk.

Sharpe was Matherson’s lapdog. At thirty nine years old, he was an obnoxious, smug looking son of a bitch who always wore a suit, no matter the situation.

He stood up from behind the desk, nodded to Jackson and walked past him, nudging his shoulder as he did. ‘Watch it asshole,’ he said.

Jackson wanted him to just leave. He had a phone call to make.

Chapter Five

Sitting in her car looking at her bloodied hands, the events of tonight played over in her mind and she was making herself angry. The feeling of the stranger’s grip was still on her breast and the taste of his breath that was bad enough to turn milk sour was still on her taste buds.

She snapped out of it when her phone rang.

‘Jackson, thank God.’

He said, ‘Please tell me you didn’t kill Freddie.’

‘Of course I didn’t kill him!’ she shouted. ‘He was like a brother.’

‘Good. I mean, since when did we turn on our own people? This business used to be about honour, now it’s just about greed and murder.’ He listened to her sobs through the phone and said, ‘You know my father is trying to call you right now? Tell me what happened. Where’s Freddie?’

‘I was trying to follow an order,’ she cried. ‘None of us want to do this kind of thing, you know. I wanted to help him get out and escape, leave this business.’ She waited a second before saying, ‘Jackson. He touched me.’

‘Who touched you? Freddie?’

‘He’s dead. My closest friend is dead, gone.’

‘But you said you didn’t kill him. What the hell are you talking about?’

She explained what happened, that she waited outside the church and fell asleep, not knowing if he came out, and that she went looking for him and met the stranger with scars on his face. She told of what he did to her and how she found Freddie on the cross.

Jackson fell silent while trying to make sense of it all.

‘Say something,’ Valerie cried.

‘You know my father won’t be happy when he finds out. He’ll see this as a failure.’

‘That’s your response? Fuck him. Freddie is dead.’

Jackson paused again in thought. Valerie could almost hear the cogs of his mind turning. He said, ‘He doesn’t need to know the truth, right? All he wanted was Freddie out of the way. You could say you killed him and nobody has to know.’

‘What about the man I saw?’

‘We’ll deal with that later. He doesn’t need to know.’

‘He won’t buy that. We need to tell him the truth.’

‘Valerie, just come in and we can sort something.’

She didn’t respond.

‘Please. This is the only way.

With a heavy sigh, she agreed. She hung up the phone, leaned back in her seat and let out a long breath.

Jackson thought about the words to use to explain Freddie’s death when he saw a red light flashing on the desk’s phone. A line open light.

Shit.

His father was listening.

Feet moved inside the office. He had to get out of there, fast.

With only seconds to spare, he swiftly made his way to the elevators. Both of them were on different floors. He tried the fire exit, but the door wouldn’t budge.

Behind him, the office door opened and Matherson stormed out. ‘You fucking little prick,’ he yelled.

Jackson stopped in his tracks, caked in fear.

His father stood in front of him with nothing but anger on his face.

Jackson looked back at him. The old man he had seen not so long ago had disappeared, replaced by the face of a man he hated to see; the face that made this organization what it is.

Sharpe came out and stood behind Jackson.

Matherson moved towards him. ‘Trying to undermine me at every point. My own son.’

Stepping backwards and waving his hands in protest, Jackson prayed for the elevators to arrive. ‘Dad, wait. I can explain.’

Sharpe grabbed him, holding him tight.

‘You call this remembering your place?’ Clenching his fist, Matherson swung it hard into his son’s face.

He let out a painful grunt and would have hit the floor if it wasn’t for Sharpe. Blood poured from the newly formed cut above his eye.

Matherson hit him again, this time in the stomach, knocking the wind from him. Sharpe kept a tight hold.

As he gasped for air, Jackson felt his father’s love vanish along with the years of loyalty.

Matherson took a tissue from his pocket and dropped it on the floor before nodding to Sharpe to let him go.

‘Clean up your mess,’ Matherson said. He turned to Sharpe: ‘Take this piece of shit into the meeting room and have some fun with him, but keep him alive. Valerie will be here soon. We have to make the place look nice for her.’

Jackson stood up with the tissue pressed to his eye, wiping away the tears of blood trickling down his face. ‘You’re nothing but a paranoid, pathetic old man.’

Sharpe pushed him into the office and Matherson followed, closing the door behind.

Chapter Six

In her car and driving herself crazy, Valerie was staring at her blood stained hands, turning them over and over, hypnotized. Never before had she ever experienced anything like tonight. She’d done some unforgivable things in the course of her life, but nothing had ever made her feel so insecure, so weak.

She started the engine and began her journey back to the city. Back to the office.

Along the way, she smiled. Not a smile of happiness; a smile of relief that there was still someone to look out for her. Ever since they first met, she’d respected Jackson. She trusted him and knew he’d come through for her.

The journey to Hellman’s took her twenty five minutes. She was driving like she was in a trance. A zombie on autopilot. Did she run a red light? She had no idea. She could’ve run someone over and not had a clue.

As she pulled into the parking lot, she let out a long breath. She didn’t want to go through with this. Even the slightest hint that she was lying and Matherson would know.

She found a space in the almost empty lot near the entrance and organized her thoughts. Through the rear view mirror, she noticed a smudge