In the Dark: The Shadowboxer Files

By Chris Lowry

They almost had him in Los Angeles.

The world's luckiest hitman was laying low in the city of Angels, doing wet work for bad men by taking out guys who were worse.

Until they found him.

Now he's on the run again and hiding in the van life on the edge of a National Forest in the least populated state in the country.

But he's not alone.

A serial killer is stalking the woods, and Brill plans to take him out before the killer's actions draw the wrong kind of attention.

Can a hitman help a small town cop stop the killer before he strikes again?

Find out in this action packed installment of The Shadowboxer Files.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Chris Lowry
• Release date: Jan 5, 2024
• ISBN: 9798223118206

Chris Lowry

Chris Lowry is an author and adventure seeker who has traveled the globe exploring new worlds and writing about his thrilling experiences. With over one hundred thrillers, science fiction, and urban fantasy novels to his name, as well as more than a thousand articles published across various publications, Chris has established himself as a master storyteller and a leading voice in the world of action and adventure. Whether he's fighting off hordes of undead in a post-apocalyptic wasteland or braving the depths of outer space, Chris is always ready for his next thrilling adventure. Follow his journey as he battles against impossible odds and becomes the hero that the world needs.

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Chris Lowry

In The Dark - a Shadowboxer File action adventure

Copyright © 2024 by Chris Lowry

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

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Contents

1. IN THE DARK

2. CHAPTER TWO

3. CHAPTER THREE

4. CHAPTER FOUR

5. CHAPTER FIVE

6. CHAPTER SIX

7. CHAPTER SEVEN

8. CHAPTER EIGHT

9. CHAPTER

10. CHAPTER NINE

11. CHAPTER TEN

12. CHAPTER ELEVEN

13. CHAPTER TWELVE

14. CHAPTER THIRTEEN

15. CHAPTER FOURTEEN

16. CHAPTER FIFTEEN

17. CHAPTER SIXTEEN

18. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

19. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

20. CHAPTER NINETEEN

21. CHAPTER TWENTY

22. CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

23. CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

24. CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

25. CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

26. CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

1

IN THE DARK

He stopped at a gas station/general store combo on the edge of the National Forest that bordered the Needles in South Dakota. Even though it was a popular destination for climbers and hikers, the general populace had yet to discover the untamed beauty within. It was perfect for what he wanted.

The plan was to go off grid and under radar for a while. The van he had acquired in Los Angeles worked well enough, and the modifications he had made to the interior would make for very comfortable camping. After years in the dirt, the soft memory foam mattress on a raised dais in the back would feel like a pillow. Space was a little tight, at least until he could clear some of the gear out and inspect it.

Still as far as camping went, it wasn’t glamping, but it definitely wasn’t cramping either. A couple of chairs in the cargo hold would set up nicely by a campfire and there was even a hammock he could string between two trees.

It had been a good purchase from a vanlife climber who needed quick cash.

It had left him a little light on funds though.

He wrestled his wallet out of a pocket and inspected the contents. When he left LA, he didn’t get a chance to visit the bank to clean out accounts, and the $10,000 he kept in a go bag went to buying the van, and escaping from the men chasing him.

A lone twenty dollar bill rested in the creases, the weathered visage of Andrew Jackson looking as tired as he felt.

Still, it would buy gas and food, enough to get him into the park and to a remote location, plus simple food stock to last a couple of weeks.

Sure, there would be no feasts, but with the fishing gear in one of the boxes, and foraging, he could supplement dry goods.

2

CHAPTER TWO

He walked through the door, chimes announcing his entry and stepped back into the past.

The General Store had paneled walls covered with stuffed animal trophies. Deer, Elk, a Moose all watched the eight packed aisles. A freezer took up one wall, and each aisle was dedicated to select goods.

One for dry goods, one for canned goods, one for camping supplies, one for pre-packaged food. Beer took up one lower shelf and looked to be the most travelled section besides the sacks of rice and beans.

The man behind the counter was between sixty and seventy, weathered skin from years in the sun made a map of wrinkles across his brow. He watched Brill with alert eyes and nodded with a tight smile.

Morning, he said.

Brill smiled back and returned the nod as he made his way to the dry goods aisle.

He selected the cheapest items he could find. Ramen noodles and plain oatmeal.

He counted out eight dollars’ worth in his head, which would feed him for a couple of weeks and carried it back to the counter.

That going to be it? the old man raised an eyebrow at the narrow choice of food.

Ten on unleaded, Brill said.

The man began ringing it all up on a cast iron register that looked like it belonged in the last century.

The door swung open, tinkled the windchimes above the frame and they both glanced over.

Two men rushed in, bandanas covering their lower faces, beanies tugged low over their heads almost obscuring their eyes.

The first man was about Brill’s height, rail thin and twitchy. He held a grimy .38 revolver in a shaky hand that wavered in front of Brill’s nose.

Don’t move, the robber squeaked.

Brill held up his hands. The old man did the same.

The robber’s buddy stood by the door, another ancient pistol swinging back and forth to cover the empty aisles.

Squeaky moved his gun from Brill to the owner and licked his chapped lips.

Give me-

Brill grabbed him by the back of his head and slammed his face into the counter.

The robber’s nose crunched and fountained a stream of blood across the floor as he slid into a crumpled pile.

Brill jerked the pistol from his hand as he fell and aimed it at the second gunman.

Drop it, he warned.

The man ignored him or couldn’t hear, so lost and hopped on something that made his pupils the size of saucers.

He lifted the pistol in a slow arc.

Brill thought about shooting him. It would be easy enough. He could tell by the weight of the pistol that it was loaded.

There was the real chance that the weapon would explode in his hand due to negligent care, but he took the chance and pulled the trigger.

The pop of the bullet was loud in the confined space of the general store and made the robber flinch. The bullet thudded into the doorframe where Brill aimed, showering splinters of wood across the gunman.

He made a noise between a grunt and a shriek, fell backwards out of the door and disappeared, leaving his partner to face the owner and the erstwhile hero.

Should I shoot him? Brill shrugged and glanced at the old man behind the counter.

Probably, the old man sighed. But that’d be more trouble for you than for him.

Brill slipped the pistol into the waistband of his pants and searched through the rack of camping supplies. He grabbed a pack of zip ties and secured the unconscious robber’s wrists and feet.

How long before the police respond? he asked.

We’ve got a Deputy that routes out here, said the owner as he watched Brill truss up their prisoner.

Take her about twenty, maybe thirty minutes to get here.

Make the call, said Brill. I can’t wait that long.

Yup, said the owner.

He scrutinized the man who saved him from being robbed.

He was forgettable, with a plain face, average height, average hair. The only thing that set him apart from any of the hundreds of other visitors he got a week was the extreme musculature in his forearms and development under his clothes. The man exuded fitness, like an endurance athlete to the extreme.

That was saying something, thought the owner.

He saw dozens of hardened climbers and runners each week, so he knew an athlete when he saw one.

There was something about his eyes though. The face was lined, there were scars on his cheeks, and knuckles, but the eyes were bright and dark, like a predator’s.

They studied the room, studied the owner, studied the robber on the floor.

The owner felt measured and like he came up short.

You said eighteen dollars, Brill pushed the twenty dollar bill across the counter.

The owner pushed it back.

Fill up your tank, and fill up a couple of bags of chow, he said. Just my way of saying thanks.

Brill nodded and put the twenty back into his thin wallet.

Thanks, he grunted.