Bad Apples: Victor Storm, #4

By Terry F. Torrey

Innocent victims plagued by a thug, and a vigilante with a target on his back

 

Victor Storm has finally stopped looking for trouble, and he feels ready to leave violence behind at last.

 

But when he finds himself being stalked, and his class profiles a brutal cop killing with impunity, he knows he must act.

 

Now, Victor has become enmeshed in his most dangerous snare yet, trying to shake the bounty off himself while facing down a trained killer who would love to shoot him first.

 

If you like troubled heroes with nothing to lose bringing the hammer of justice down on punks who deserve it, you'll love the page-turning suspense of Bad Apples.

 

Page-turning vigilante action stories, the Victor Storm books contain graphic violence, strong language, and intense themes. They can be read and enjoyed in any order.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Provocative Press
• Release date: Feb 24, 2024
• ISBN: 9781961042230

Terry F. Torrey

Born and raised in upstate New York, Terry F. Torrey now lives in Arizona with his amazing wife and awesome daughter. A lifelong learner, his most prized accomplishment is completing the acclaimed Creative Writing program at Phoenix College. Now, Terry spends his days writing page-turning vigilante action novels, riveting suspense novels with shades of noir, campy but realistic pop-culture monster novels, and an assortment of other quirky, compelling, and heartfelt books and shorts. Be sure to join his e-mail list to be notified of promotions, special events, and new releases of things worth reading, and find all of his work online at terryftorrey.com.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Victor Storm looked across the table at Janine Callahan and tried to smile. They were on a dinner date at Maurice’s, a jazz club in downtown St. Louis, and Victor was having a good time. Kind of.

If Janine noticed that his smile was forced, she didn’t let on. So, she said with a big smile herself, her blue eyes glittering, what do you do with your friend Louie when you come here?

It’s ‘Lou’, Victor said, trying to keep from frowning. He looked around the room with a shrug. "And we don’t do anything, really. We drink some beers and smoke some cigarettes." He took the pack of cigarettes from his pocket and held it between his hands on the table. The fresh tobacco smelled good.

Janine gave him a mock pout, having a good time despite his stuffiness. Okay, she said, "when you and Lou are here, do you ever eat, or do you spend all your time smoking cigarettes and drinking beer and … She waved her hand with a grin. … farting, I imagine?"

With a smile, Victor shook his head and took a deep breath. Of course, we eat sometimes, and we can get some food now, too, if you like, he said, unless you’d rather just light up a smoke and let ’em rip …

Janine laughed. I need to eat something first, she said. I can rip a few later.

Victor chuckled and looked at her, happy that she was in a good mood despite his grumpiness. He had first met Janine a few months earlier, at the beginning of his ethics class at St. Louis Community College, and they had become intimate companions. In fact, to his chagrin, he had recently called her his girlfriend. Almost immediately, he had regretted it. It wasn’t that he didn’t find her attractive; he did. She was in her mid-thirties, several years younger than he was, and she was very pretty, with a slender build, blue eyes, and long blond hair. More than that, she was intelligent, energetic, and fun to be around. In other circumstances, she might have been a good catch. Once his divorce was final, that is.

No, the problem was not her, it was him.

He had retired three years earlier after twenty years in the Special Forces, and he had spent much of that time deployed overseas, fighting dirty wars. Now, he spent most of his nights plagued by bad dreams and his days looking for trouble. He was bad news, and he knew it. He was trying to change, but he wasn’t there yet.

And he wasn’t getting closer tonight.

Entering through the front door of Maurice’s, there was a long bar on the right, a row of booths on the left, and a walkway between them to the back room where there was a space for a band, a dance floor, and a number of small, tall tables. Victor and Janine were sitting in the booth at the end, and Victor was sitting on the back side, where he could see the entryway in front of him and the music room to his left. Because of the strategic position, he noticed immediately when the skinny punk came in.

He was young and very thin, with short brown hair and a scowl that suggested that he, too, was looking for trouble.

Can we get a menu? Janine asked. I don’t see the waitress.

Victor felt himself scowling and tried to relax. He tried to convince himself that he might be mistaken, but he wasn’t very successful at it. He took another deliberate deep breath and turned his head to look into the darkened dance room. It was a little after seven in the evening, and a jazz band of at least five guys wearing suits was setting up their equipment on the stage. The kitchen area was behind the bar, and around the corner at the end of the bar was a drink station for the servers and a window into the kitchen. She’s right over there, Victor said, nodding at the waitress at the kitchen window. She looks like she’s picking up an order.

I’m sorry, Janine said. "I just haven’t eaten since this morning, and I’m starving."

Victor turned back to her, gave her another awkward smile, then looked past her in the direction of the front door. The punk had moved to the stool nearest the door, and he was trying to get the attention of the bartender. Victor wondered if maybe he was simply overreacting.

It’s weird that Chandler canceled our class tonight, Janine said, referring to the philosophy ethics class she and Victor were taking together at St. Louis Community College. I mean, I’m glad he did, because we get to do this— She waved a hand at the bar in general. —but why do you think he canceled it?

Chandler was Garland Chandler, their instructor in the ethics class.

Victor shook his head. No idea, he said, "but it is kind of nice having the night off."

Only four weeks of class left after this week, Janine said.

Already? Victor said, genuinely incredulous. Wow.

I know, Janine said. Spring Break was two weeks ago. It will be summer before we know it.

Victor nodded but said nothing. Right now, he and Janine were guaranteed to see each other at least two nights a week—for the class. They had met in this class, and though they had developed a relationship outside the class, he knew she’d be wondering how the end of the class might affect it, and he didn’t have an answer for that yet. In fact, he was wondering about it himself.

What case do you think Chandler will come up with this time? Janine asked.

On their first day of class, he had literally dropped the traditional ethics textbooks into the trash can, where they’d landed with a thud that got the class’s attention. He’d told them that he considered the standard practice to be using circular logic, with the result of being essentially worthless. Instead, he’d been showing them crime stories from newspapers, having them research the details, and having the class talk about how ethics might come into play. Victor had found the class intriguing.

So far, every perpetrator they had studied had wound up dead, with help from Victor. Nobody knew that he’d had a hand in their demise, however. Nobody except Janine, that is, and even she didn’t know any details.

Victor shrugged. I hope it’s something simple this time, he said. The first two subjects were really draining.

Maybe he’ll go quietly to wrap it up, Janine said, or maybe he’s saving the best for last.

"If best means worst, I hope not, Victor said. I’m not sure how much worse I could take."

Janine studied his face, worried. You told me you were done with that, she said.

Victor met her eyes, then shook his head again. I’m trying to be more selective, and less impulsive, he said, but I have a certain set of skills, and if I can use them to make the world a better place, I think I should.

Janine’s expression darkened in thought, and she bit her lower lip.

The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil, Victor said, and paused.

Is for good men to do nothing, Janine said, finishing the paraphrased quote. She wanted to say more, but the waitress was coming by, and Janine got her attention and asked for some menus.

Victor took advantage of the distraction to check on the punk. The young man was holding a pint glass of beer, and he’d already finished most of it. Victor thought he might be lubricating his courage for something. Unfortunately, he was also looking into the bar at the patrons as though looking for someone. It didn’t seem like he was looking for a date, so that left Victor’s other guess: trouble.

I was thinking I’d get a cob salad, Janine was saying, but now I’m so hungry that I think I’d like to get a burger. Do they have good burgers here?

Victor turned his attention back to her. She seemed to realize that he’d been distracted. He took a deep breath and looked down at the laminated menu on the table in front of him. Sure, yeah, he said. I mean, how could they mess up a burger?

Well, they could put something stupid on it, Janine said, like avocado.

No, no, Victor said, shaking his head. Just normal burgers.

I’m thinking I might like an appetizer, too, Janine said, looking back at the menu.

Sure, sure, Victor said. He turned his menu over as though following her lead, but he looked back to see what the punk was doing.

The punk, who was now taking a long pull of a fresh beer, was looking right at Victor.

And it seemed like he’d recognized what he was looking for.

The young man’s mouth twisted into a wry smile. He raised his glass to his lips, drained the last of his beer in one drink, and returned the glass to the bar without breaking eye contact with Victor. Then he gave Victor a curt nod, slid off the stool, and went out the front door.

What is it? Janine asked. She had turned in her seat to look down the aisle to try to see what he was looking at. What’s going on?

I have no idea, Victor said.

In the dream, Victor is fully armed, yet completely defenseless.

He is in a small city in the Middle East, nowhere specific, but with pockmarked buildings and battered houses and dusty streets with distressed people in tattered vehicles and sad animals all around. Nowhere, but everywhere.

And an attack was coming.

A blast erupts in the street, spinning out a car and spraying the air with bits of meat and fur.

Screams rent the air. Screams of horror. Screams of pain.

Victor ducks reflexively. His hand holds a pistol and he can feel a pack on his back and a webbed belt around his waist. He has to get to cover, but where? He doesn’t know if the blast has come from a friend or a foe. He doesn’t know if it matters.

He hears shouting. American. Familiar. A command, but unintelligible among the sounds of the spray of shrapnel from the explosion and people somewhere close responding with small arms fire.

He feels the presence of a team around him. They have heard the command, and they are moving.

He moves to stay with them, but he doesn’t know where they are going.

It seems they are moving into the maw of the gunfire.

He shouts, tries to warn them. He can feel a gunship overhead, more hellfire coming. He struggles, at first to keep up with them, then to get them to turn back.

The gunship gets closer, seemingly right at his team.

Gunfire erupts around him, halting him in his tracks, forcing him to duck low.

Suddenly, he senses a shift.

The gunship has turned, and from the change in the pitch of its engines, he can tell it is coming straight at him.

Ahead, he sees his team slip away through a door, safely into the cover of a building.

He’s still in the open.

More gunfire erupts around him, trapping him in the street.

Suddenly, he feels the air pressure change in a shock. The pitch of the gunship changes again, going almost silent for a moment as it veers away as it does after making a run.

With a chill of panic, he realizes he is directly in the line of fire.

Then he feels the ground thump against his feet as a blast rips apart the street beneath him.

Through it all, he has realized that it is a dream, but the recognition has done nothing to diminish the pounding of his heart or the white terror screaming in his head.

CHAPTER TWO

Victor woke with a start, gasping for breath, his legs churning against the sheets, his arm flailing for balance.

Hey! a woman’s voice said.

Victor inhaled sharply, caught his breath, and pulled his limbs back to his body. He was in Janine’s bed, in her apartment. Everything was fine, though his heart was still thumping in his chest. Sorry, he said, his voice thick with sleep.

It’s okay, Janine said. I just—I mean, I think it’s worse for you than it is for me.

Until my elbow finds your nose, or I get my hands on your throat, Victor thought. He said, I hope so.

Victor sat up in the bed, and his senses came back to him quickly. Only the faint glow of the overhead lights in the parking lot of Janine’s apartment showed from behind the curtains in her bedroom windows, but his body told him it was almost five in the morning, the time he’d awoken ever since first entering the army twenty-odd years earlier. He sat up in the bed and swung his feet down to the floor.

Janine rolled onto her side and propped her head up on one elbow, looking at him. That man at the bar last night, she said. Did you know who he was?

Victor looked at her with a slight frown. The dim light from outside revealed only the faintest details of her curves. No.

He wasn’t— Janine said, then cut herself off. It’s just that you said you sometimes go to bars at night and sometimes people want to fight you … She was having a hard time finding the words. I thought maybe he knew you from that.

Victor shook his head. No, he said. He must have mistaken me for someone else. That probably wasn’t true, but he felt comfortable saying it because he hoped it was true.

Janine said nothing, thinking. It’s just, she said finally, it seems like everything would be better if you could put all that behind you.

I know, Victor said, giving her a grim smile. Trust me, I know.

She returned his smile, and he could see genuine concern in her eyes.

He held her gaze for a moment, then took a deep breath and reached for his pants on the chair beside the bed.

You don’t have to get up, Janine said, stretching her arms and legs. Stay with me for a while.

He turned to her. Outside, spring had begun to arrive, but the nights were still cold. Inside, Janine had her thermostat set warm, and she had kicked the comforter off, leaving her only covered with a sheet, more or less. I can’t go back to sleep now, he said. My body won’t let me.

Who said anything about sleep? she asked, a purr in her voice. She ran her hand down the sheet between them on the bed, and the movement pulled the sheet down off her chest.

Victor paused, his hand on his clothes, looking back at her. He could see her hair pooled around her head on the pillow, her body pale against the dark satin sheets. Well, he said, I guess I could stay a bit longer.

The sun had climbed midway through the blue morning by the time Victor stepped off the bus back at the downtown St. Louis tower housing the condominium that had belonged to his parents until their murder the previous fall. Even now, it was hard for him to arrive without the thought in his head that he was about to see them. With practice, he pushed the notion aside, stepped off the bus, and walked to the corner.

Janine, as always, had offered to drive him home, and he, as always, had politely declined her offer. Truth be told,