Piranha (The Falau Files Book 4) Read online

  “Sir I can’t. This is so much.”

  “It is for you and your family from the church. Just remember our deal.”

  The girl smiled and scurried away placing the money into her pocket.

  Falau brought his hand up to rub his starting beard and could smell the whisky on his fingers. He ran them lightly under his nose disgusted by this desire to lick them to get any taste of the drink he loved so much. He put his hand down and placed it into his pocket where it could do no harm. The server came back and handed him his drink with a smile and a wink.

  “Just the way you like it, sir.”

  Falau brought the drink up and immediately noticed the lack of alcohol coming from the glass. Disappointment crossed over him as he admitted to himself that he had wanted the young girl to make a mistake and give him what his body wanted.

  “Thank you.” he said sending the girl on her way.

  Whitmore worked his way through the crowd topping off the glasses with champagne. As he walked the servers flowed in and out of the entryway bringing more food and drinks all along the way. The man who was known to be as hard as nails was gregarious and outgoing with his guests catering to their every need.

  With a slap on the back of a man laughing hard Whitmore made eye contact with Falau and smiled. “You look wonderful. I am sorry I don’t have your official clothing, but we did the best we could to match it.”

  “I am very grateful. It was nice to get out of those old things for awhile.”

  “Well, you just keep that outfit and enjoy it. I will make sure we get you supplied with more clothing. We cannot have a man of God looking like a pauper.” said Whitmore followed by a long drink of his glass. “I need to introduce you to some people. They will be helpful to you and I am sure some can help you the way I will.”

  Falau smiled and nodded his head.

  “Oh hell, there are too many people here to just go around.” snapped Whitmore in frustration. “Can I have your attention please!”

  The crowd came to a hush and all eyes were upon Whitmore and Falau.

  “This is Father Billings. He is taking over for Father Locke.” Said Whitmore joined by a smattering of applause by some of the guests. “I have a fine working relationship with this very upstanding man and I encourage you to talk with him about issues you could have. He is a friend to the management of the mines and the facilities around it. So I ask you to raise your glasses and toast our new friend, Father Billings!”

  The guests all raised their glasses and let out a cheer for their new approved friend.

  “Hold it. We need a drink for Father Billings.” Whitmore reached out and took a glass from the closest guest and placed it in Falau’s hand. “Now let’s drink the glasses dry with this toast to the new man that we welcome to our land.” Whitmore raised his glass and the guests followed.

  Falau lifted the glass looking up to the liquid in it. He never much cared for champagne. It felt like the drink of the rich to him.

  “Father, you first and we will all follow!” called out Whitmore to the delight of the guests.

  “Thank you all.” said Falau as he raised the glass to his lip and looked down inside. He caught his reflection in the bottom of the glass as he tipped it back running the bubbly drink onto his tongue and down his throat. Lowering the glass all of the contents were gone as was his sobriety.

  Chapter 34

  THE PARTY MOVED FROM the entryway to the different rooms of the house. People split off into groups to talk about business and politics. The ladies gathered together and swapped stories about how much control they had over their men. The power struggle was alive even in their own homes of who was in charge.

  As two in the morning approached some guests had left while others were finding a place to sleep for the night. A few of the men stayed with Whitmore and barked at one another over rounds of hard liquor. Falau walked over to the men with a smile.

  “Mr. Whitmore I am going to retire for the evening. A bit too much to drink for me.” said Falau appearing drunk despite only having the one glass of champagne that filled him with remorse and disgust.

  “Okay, son. You go to that same room. It’s yours. If anyone is in there just kick them in the ass.” said Whitmore causing abrupt laughter from the men one of which banged the bar with his hand.

  “Thank you, sir.” said Falau and he turned and walked away.

  As the big man got to the door he turned, but not before hearing Whitmore say in not so hushed tones “He is my new religion bitch. No need to clip his nuts like I did with Locke. He is on the take for himself.” The men again broke into laughter and Falau kept moving getting to the entryway the young server girl approached him with another drink.

  “Sir, for you.”

  “Thank you. I was wondering if you could do me a favor. I have given some things to Mr. Whitmore and he said he placed them in his study. Could you show me the way, so I could get them”

  “Oh, it is quite simple, sir. It is the door after your room on the same side of the hallway. I am not permitted into that part of the house. I hope you understand if I don’t show you the way.”

  “That is fine. I want to thank you for your help today. I have a little something for you.” Falau reached into his pocket and took out five ten dollar bills and gave them to the girl. “To help with your family and to our new friendship.”

  The girl smiled and placed the money in her pocket before leaning in and kissing the cheek of the big man “God bless you, Father.” she said before walking away.

  Moving down the hallway Falau got to the study door and turned the knob finding it unLocked. A fire was lit on the far side of the room despite nobody being there. Falau scanned the room taking in all it had looking for anything out of place.

  There was no safe for private documents but there was a filing cabinet. The room had a high ceiling and looked similar to Falau’s guest room but instead of a bed it had a desk. The room was short on decoration or style in stark contrast to the rest of the house. A gas fireplace was lit on the far side of the room. The room was utilitarian in every way and lacked any warmth.

  Falau slid behind the desk pulling out various drawers finding most empty other than the occasional pens and pencils. On the top of the desk was an outline of a future land acquisition that Whitmore had filed for. Turning to the file cabinet he opened the first drawer labeled A - D. The drawer produced overflowing charts with drilling samples of where the gold was on the property, investigation files on people he felt he needed more information on, including most of the people that were guests at his party, ownership papers for equipment, and the financial information for the mine as a whole. Reaching into the back of the drawer he pulled out one last file that had “deeds” written across the top of it. Falau opened the file and saw a half a dozen deeds and mining rights to the land that Whitmore held. He had become so arrogant and had so much control of the local government and people, he saw no need to protect something so valuable.

  Falau folded the papers and placed them into his pocket. Taking stacks of files he placed them into the fire letting the flame build up and consume all there was. The big man did not have the time to inspect all the files, so he felt that Whitmore was a man who was not going to have anything that would benefit anyone other than himself, so it was safe to dispose of all of it.

  Placing the last file on the fire Falau left the study and returned to his room. He checked his weapons again and found them snugly in place.

  The false priest cracked the door to his room making sure he could hear the occasional cheering from the other side of the home. He propped himself up in the bed and kept listening. Once the sounds stopped and remained that way for an extended period of time he would know that the party was over and that it was time to go on the hunt. He would have to kill Whitmore in cold blood face to face. His soul tore at itself knowing it was both the right and wrong thing to do. His hand drifted up and fingered at the priest’s collar that he wore around his neck. He thought abo
ut Father Locke and the people of the mine. If they were to get any relief and freedom then Whitmore had to die. He would never leave willingly. But to kill a man outside of a fight was a different thing than he had ever done. To look down on Whitmore as he sleeps and plunge a knife into him would be the hardest thing he ever had to do but if he didn’t do it hundreds would suffer.

  Falau leaned his head back and banged it against the wall softly and closed his eyes and thought It will all be over soon.

  Chapter 35

  THE ENGINE OF THE PORSCHE 911 came to life in sequence with its headlights flashing on. The high whine of the turbo charged engine jumped through the darkness of the night. Watching out the window Falau could see the car swerving its way up the driveway and just about hitting the guard shack at the entrance. It was the final car. The front of the house was now empty. None of the guests took Whitmore up on his offer to stay over.

  Falau smiled knowing they wanted to recuperate in the comfort of their own homes knowing that the hangover they were going to have in the morning was nothing they wanted a business associate to see. They also had no fear of drunk driving. Sure they could wrap their expensive cars around a tree or put them in a ditch, but the police were no problem for people of this magnitude. If pulled over they were likely to get an escort home rather than being brought into the local jail.

  The tail lights reached the end of the drive and disappeared as the car turned to the right. The driver stomped on the gas causing the 911 to fishtail slightly before the performance tires did their thing and grabbed the road.

  Turning back to the room the curtain fell over to its rightful place. The room was dark. No TV or light on. Anyone looking to the house or outside the door would assume the room was empty or the person in it was asleep.

  The clock on the nightstand blazed the numbers 3:47 am through the dark.

  Getting to the side of the bed Falau sat down and pulled the leg of his pants up. The stiletto that Tyler had given him was taped to his leg using basic medical tape. Ripping it off quickly caused a sting but nothing that made him give away his location. He held the stiletto in his hands and felt it. The darkness of the room impeded his sight despite his eyes adjusting fully. The knife felt like a killing machine in his hands. It had little esthetic value to anyone other than a killer. It was not flashy or impressive in any way other than to do its job. It was long and smooth until it came to its four blades that were razor sharp.

  Falau moved his wrist side to side imitating a fighting motion as he sat on the bed. The knife had done its job before for him and it would need to do it again. The weapon just felt right. Despite the fact that Falau knew that a shot with a high powered rifle from far away would be simpler and easier on his mind the stiletto was more appropriate for the mission at hand. With a snap of his wrist and a shove from his arm the stiletto would slide though skin and enter the heart of his prey making the kill fast and somewhat painless.

  Gazing at the clock over and over Falau stood up from the bed after thirty minutes had passed. He slid the stiletto into his jacket pocket and pulled the flap over the top. He patted it checking once more that it was there before moving out the door.

  A slow creak called out as the door opened. Falau had not noticed the sound the other times he had been in and out. The night had a way of accentuating the slightest noises in a house this size. The hall was lit every ten feet with a soft light that shined against the wall like a child’s night light. Falau’s eyes adjusted in just moments as he made his way to the entryway of the home.

  Standing at the bottom of the stairs the big man looked them over. There were at least forty that made their way up to the second floor and they were all wood.

  These things are going to creak up a shit storm for me, thought Falau assessing the impact a man his size would have on stairs this old. The big man moved himself as close to the wall as he could far from the banister. His best guess was that going up the edge was where most of the support would be from when the stairs were framed. Sinking his big size 14 foot into the middle of the stairs was asking for the wood to scream out in pain. The edge was a better bet, but not guaranteed.

  The first few stairs went without incident and the next few more as well. As the stairs curved to work their way with the wall the creaks started to happen. No matter how small the sound it bounced off the walls of the two story entryway. It was a cacophony to Falau’s ears, but he didn’t know if Whitmore was used to this from the servants walking around the house at all hours of the day and night.

  Reaching the top of the stairs Falau kept his movement low and slow entering the hallway. At the end of the thirty foot hallway a door was ajar with the light still on. A cough sounded out having Falau freeze in his tracks.

  “God damn allergies” said Whitmore’s voice from behind the open door.

  The right hand of Falau dipped into the pocket of his jacket and removed the stiletto. Holding the knife in front of him but still in its sheath the man wearing the priest’s clothing crept forward closing the gap between himself and the door. Each foot step was light and nimble. Landing first on his toes and then gently rolling the rest of the foot to the floor. The big man reached out and gently touched the door ready to swing it open and go on the attack, ready to finish the job in one fast swoop that would take care of everything.

  Before his hand could push the door it swung open revealing Whitmore standing and staring straight ahead. His eyes Locked on Falau’s and then they looked down to the stiletto and then back up to Falau’s eyes. Pushing the button on the stiletto out of surprise caused the blade to fire out and Whitmore to attempt to slam the door shut.

  Falau thrust his right foot forward and bLocked the door from closing. There was little pressure from the far side of the door and Falau was sure that Whitmore was on the move. Falau kicked the door open no longer concerned about the noise revealing Whitmore making a move for the phone that sat next to his bed. It was the smart bet. If he could get in contact with the guards Falau would have to make a run for it.

  Falau ran right at Whitmore causing him to drop the phone and dart to a door on the closed wall. The old man was dressed in all white pajamas that looked like they were made of satin or silk. His bedroom was ornate for a man of his background. Gold leafed design in his headboard of his bed. A mural of the ocean on the wall behind the bed. Dressers and bureaus that were all free from clutter. For Lawrence Whitmore everything has its place.

  Falau grabbed the phone cord and cut it eliminating it from possible later use by Whitmore. The old man pulled the door open and slipped inside closing it behind him. Falau moved to the side of the door and approached it quickly not knowing where the door led. Falau turned the handle to the door and pulled it ajar as he pulled himself away in the opposite direction

  BANG!

  A shotgun blast from short range blew a wide hole in the door causing it to swing open void of its doorknob. Falau pulled himself behind a full back sitting chair that rested in the corner of the room ten feet from the door that had just been destroyed.

  Whitmore came through the door with the shotgun raise high. Falau watched the older man sweeping the room and looking down the steel sights of the double barrel. He knew the kind it was just like the farmer had back when Tyler took him to the training area. Only two shots per load and then he would need to reload. Falau looked at Whitmore seeing his nightshirt had front pockets that flapped with his movement. Nothing was weighing them down. No shells were in there.

  Hitting the door Whitmore backed through it and Falau came to his feet and moved to the door. Looking around the corner he saw Whitmore at the top of the stairs and the two men made eye contact over the thirty feet. Whitmore pulled the trigger and the shot rang out and Falau dove for cover behind the wall covering his head. Buck shot poked its way through the plaster of the walls and the wood of the door. Pulling himself to his feet slowly Falau peeked out again from the corner. Whitmore was gone but the sound of metal banging off the tile floor of the en
tryway let Falau know that the shotgun was no longer an issue.

  Clearing the doorway of the bedroom Falau was at a full run when he got to the top of the stairs. He took them two at a time covering the ground quickly. His eyes shifted over and looked to the front door seeing it was still closed. Whitmore had to have taken a right that went deeper into the back of the house. Falau followed moving through the dining room and then into the den. Slowing his pace he checked each room looking to see if Whitmore was hiding.

  The sound of the sliding glass door scraping metal on metal hit Falau’s ears leaving no doubt what it was. Falau moved faster getting to the back porch and pulling the slider open himself.

  Half way across the yard an image in white was making its way to the tall grass. Falau ran hard and closed the distance, but Whitmore entered the grass that was well above his head giving him a place to hide. Falau did not lose stride and powered his way into the grass following the footprints the best he could, but the grass made the trail run cold. The only indications of movement were some of the grass had been pushed over. The moon lit the yard giving the big man just enough light to see the change in the high grass. Falau held still and listened.

  A grunt let out and then the sound of heavy breathing and then another grunt. Falau followed the noise and the sound of rustling grass.

  “Hoo-hah” called out Whitmore with a large thud. Several birds were woken from their rest in the grass and took off into the air giving Falau a line to follow. The sound of the grass moving stopped but the grunts and heavy breathing continued, but were louder.

  Falau held himself low and crept through the grass waiting for an ambush. Moving through the grass he saw the white pajamas laying out on the ground and Whitmore was still in them. One leg had extended below the knee into the ground probably falling into the den of an animal. The old man was flopped on his back and reaching down to his leg.