In Plain Sight , livre ebook

Ecw Press - Mike Knowles

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195 pages

English

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? You set me loose. Everything that happened was because you saw fit to use me as bait. And what was I on the hook for? You just wanted a bust you could attach your name to so you could get ahead. Don t try to pretend that you re Dudley Do-Right. You re just an opportunist with a badge. They should have known better than to look for him. Wilson had been gone for two years until his old boss forced him to come home to be a grinder again. Wilson did the job he was blackmailed into doing and settled things, his way, with everyone. He was free for two minutes. A random car

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Publié par	Ecw Press
Date de parution	01 octobre 2010
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781554909483
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0600€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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IN PLAIN SIGHT

MIKEKNOWLES ECW Press

Published by ECW Press 2120Queen Street East, Suite200, Toronto, Ontario, Canadam4e 1e2 416.694.3348 /info@ecwpress.com

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any process — electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise — without the prior written permission of the copyright owners and ECW Press.

library and archives canada cataloguing in publication

Knowles, Mike In plain sight / Mike Knowles.

isbn 978-1-55022-948-6

I. Title.

ps8621.n67i5 2010 c813'.6 c2010-901259-3

Cover and Text Design: Tania Craan Cover Image © Peeter Viisimaa Typesetting: Mary Bowness Production: Troy Cunningham Printing: Solisco - Tri-Graphic1 2 3 4 5

The publication ofIn Plain Sighthas been generously supported by the Canada Council for the Arts which last year invested$20.1million in writing and publishing throughout Canada, by the Ontario Arts Council, by the Government of Ontario through Ontario Book Publishing Tax Credit, by the OMDC Book Fund, an initiative of the Ontario Media Development Corporation, and by the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund.

printed and bound in canada

For Andrea. It could be for no one else.

CHAPTERONE

he beeping woke me up. It was a steady drone, pound-ing out beat after beat. It was my heart I heard being bTeside the bed was monitoring its uniform spasms. I lay digitally reproduced for an audience. The machine with my eyes closed, ignoring the beeps, focusing on the other sound that erupted intermittently. I waited for what felt like ten minutes until the eruption happened again. A wet phlegmy cough started low in someone’s gut and fought gravity all the way up. In the midst of the coughing fit, I opened my eyes and looked around the room. A second later, I closed them and tried to re-create the scene in my mind while the coughing subsided. The room was white, as were the machine and the bed rails. Handcuffs joined my wrist to the bed. The chair by the door was overflowing with a lot of bad suit. The fabric was worn and out of style. Every pocket on the jacket brimmed with papers and the tops of pens. There was also an angular bulge on the right side of the coat, visible under the thinning material. The suit and the gun bulge had cop written all over it.

Almost4,000beeps later, the cop got up from the chair. He had to take a few seconds to get his wind back from the exercise. “Don’t go anywhere,” he chuckled. The door creaked twice, open then closed, and my eyes opened. I was in a windowless box of a room. Fluorescent lighting showed every imperfection on the walls and the floor. Every scuff and scratch stood out and showed the age of the hospital room. I breathed deep and felt the air rush into my nostrils. The antiseptic scent made me nau-seous. The sudden pang of discomfort tuned me in to every other pain I was feeling. A wash of anguish rolled over me. My head ached and my ribs hurt. I tried to reach up to my face, but the shackles held me solid. The chains slammed against the bed frame with a loud metal-on-plas-tic crack. The sound was an explosion in the small white room. I lay back and closed my eyes — expecting com-pany, but no one came in. I opened my eyes again and stared at the ceiling think-ing back to the last thing I could remember. I had been forced to work a job for a mob boss. I had told Paolo Donati that I was done being his problem solver, but no one quit on Paolo. He used my friends to force me into finding who had kidnapped his nephews. I became a fixer again and found out that Paolo’s nephews were kidnapped as part of a coup. His former right hand, Julian, wanted the brass ring and thought going after the boss’s nephews would unhinge Paolo enough to knock him off his throne. The two mob heavies were on a collision course with me in the middle. I did the only thing that would keep me above ground. I led Paolo into his enemies’ web and let nature take its course — after I got Julian admitting on tape that he killed the two kids. The info was enough to keep Julian away from me forever: the kids had powerful

2 MIKEKNOWLES

relatives in the States who would be honour bound to settle up with Julian if they found out what he did. I remembered walking away from Domenica’s, Julian’s restaurant, a free man. Then I remembered leaving the pavement. Everything after that was blank. I took the alone time in the hospital room to research. There was nothing nearby that I could get my hands on, nothing to use against the cuffs holding me down. Everything I could touch was flimsy and soft. I kept look-ing for an option until I heard the doorknob twist. The door swung in, and the wheezing cop wedged himself back into his chair. I fake slept to the tune of beeping and coughing with crinkling plastic on drums. The cop ate at a rapid pace, pausing only to unwrap the snack on deck. It was as though he thought someone might burst through the door and take the food right out of his mouth. After about a minute, my nose picked up the scent of stale ciga-rettes. The cop was a smoker and enough of an addict to leave his post to sneak a smoke break. I tried to run through scenarios in which I could get my hands on the cop and out of the cuffs, but my arms had barely enough slack to reach the thin mattress. My lack of options took my hands out of my equations. My feet were free, but there was no guarantee that I could kick the cop in a way that would still leave me access to his keys or his gun. I couldn’t lift his piece or pick his pockets with my toes anyway, so I let the idea drift out of my mind. I had to play the waiting game until a new opportunity presented itself. I lay chained to the bed for two days feigning uncon-sciousness. Every time the fat cop took off to sneak a cigarette, I stretched out as best I could and looked for anything I overlooked before that would help me escape. I was always disappointed. On the third day, I was counting the perforations in the

3 IN PLAINSIGHT

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