The Promise (An Elvis Cole and Joe Pike Novel, Band 16) - Softcover

Crais, Robert

Softcover

ISBN 10: 0425272850 ISBN 13: 9780425272855

Verlag: Penguin Publishing Group, 2016

Inhaltsangabe

Elvis Cole and Joe Pike are joined by Suspect heroes LAPD K-9 Officer Scott James and his German shepherd, Maggie, in this heart-stopping thriller from #1 New York Times bestselling author Robert Crais.
 
Elvis Cole and Joe Pike keep their promises. Even if it could get them killed...
 
Elvis Cole is hired to find a woman who’s disappeared, a seemingly ordinary case, until he learns the missing woman is an explosives expert and worked for a Defense Department contractor. Meanwhile, LAPD K-9 Officer Scott James and his patrol dog, Maggie, track a fugitive to a house filled with explosives—and a dead body. As the two cases intertwine, they all find themselves up against shadowy arms dealers and corrupt officials, and the very woman they promised to save may be the cause of their own deaths.

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Robert Crais is the #1 New York Times bestselling author of more than twenty novels, many of them featuring private investigator Elvis Cole and his laconic ex-cop partner, Joe Pike. Before writing his first novel, Crais spent several years writing scripts for such major television series as Hill Street Blues, Cagney & Lacey, Miami Vice, Quincy, Baretta, and L.A. Law. He received an Emmy nomination for his work on Hill Street Blues, and one of his standalone novels, Hostage, was made into a movie starring Bruce Willis. His novels have been translated into forty-two languages and are bestsellers around the world. A native of Louisiana, he lives in Los Angeles.

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CHAPTER 1: Mr. Rollins

The woman stood in the far corner of the dimly lit room, hiding in shadows like a fish in gray water. She was small, round,  and dumpy. The fringed leather jacket probably made her seem rounder,  but she’d never been a looker.  She reminded  Mr. Rollins of an overripe peach, and the peach was clearly afraid.
A steady rain fell from the overcast night. The dingy, one-bedroom bungalow west of Echo Park reeked of bleach and ammonia, but the windows  were closed, the shades were  down, and the doors were locked. A single yellow twenty-five-watt lamp provided the only light. The chemical smell gave Mr. Rollins  a headache, but he could not open the windows. They were screwed shut.
Rollins wasn’t his real name, but the man and the woman probably weren’t using their true names, either. Amy and Charles. Amy hadn’t  said three words since they arrived. Charles did the talking and Charles was getting impatient.
“How long does this take?”
The chemist’s answer was resentful.
“Two minutes,  dude. Relax. Science takes time.”
The chemist was a juiced-up, sleeved-out rock pile hunched over the coffee table. A hiker’s LED headlamp blazed on his forehead. He was heating the contents of a glass jar with a small torch while watching two meters  that looked like swollen  TV remotes. Rollins had found him cooking  meth  eight years ago and used him often.
Charles  was a trim man in his forties with neat brown hair and the tight build of a tennis player. Mr. Rollins had made three buys off Charles in the past year, and all had gone well. This was why Mr. Rollins let him bring the woman,  only now, seeing her, Rollins wondered why she wanted to come. She damned near pissed herself when Rol- lins searched her and made them put on the gloves. He made everyone who entered the house wear vinyl gloves. Rollins did not allow food or drinks. No one could chew gum or smoke cigarettes. The list was pretty long. Mr. Rollins had rules.
He smiled as he adjusted  his gloves.
“They make your hands sweat, don’t they, Amy? I know it’s a pain, but we’re almost finished.”
Charles answered for her.
“She’s fine. Tell your man to finish up so we can get out of here.” The chemist mumbled without looking up.
“Fuck off.”
Rollins smiled at Amy again and glanced at the round plastic container beside the chemist. It was filled with a material that looked like yogurt and felt like modeling clay.
“Where’d you get this?”
Charles stepped on her answer again. “I told you where we got it.”
Rollins considered pushing his pistol up Charles’s ass and popping a cap, but he did not let his feelings show.
“I’m just making conversation. Amy seems nervous.” Charles glanced at Amy.
“She’s fine.”
Amy’s voice was whisper-soft when she finally  spoke. “I made it.”
The chemist snorted. “Yeah. Right.”
Then the chemist sat up and gazed at Rollins.
“Whoever made it did a righteous job. It’s the real deal, brother.” Charles crossed his arms. Smug.
“You see?”
Rollins was impressed. The material in the Tupperware was not easy to come by. Charles claimed the woman had two hundred kilo- grams.
“What about tags?”
The chemist turned off the torch and unplugged the meters. “Ethylene test shows zero. I’ll know parts per million when I run a sample at home, but the stuff is clean, bro. No tags. Untraceable.” Rollins thanked the chemist, who packed his equipment into a green backpack and let himself out through the kitchen. A light win- ter shower pattered the roof.
Charles said, “So now what? Are we in business?” Rollins  sealed the lid on the Tupperware.
“The buyer will test it himself. If his results are the same, we’re golden.”
Amy spoke again and this time she sounded anxious.
“I’ll make more for the right buyer. I can make all they want.” Charles took her arm, trying to turn her away.
“Let’s see their money first.” Amy did not move.
“I have to meet them, you know. That’s a requirement.” “Not now.”
Charles steered her toward the front door like a shopping  cart. Rollins quickly stopped them.
“Back door, Charles. Never the front.”
Charles swung  the woman around and aimed her toward  the kitchen. After insisting she come, Charles couldn’t get her out of the house fast enough.
Rollins opened the back door and asked for their gloves. He gave Amy a gentle smile.
“Buyers don’t like to be met, but they’ll make an exception for you, Amy. I promise.”
She seemed ready to cry, but Charles pulled her out and they dis- appeared into the rain.
Rollins locked the kitchen door and hurried  to the front door, where he peered through  a peephole. When Charles and Amy reached the street, he returned to the kitchen and opened the back door to air the place out. The tiny backyard was dark and hidden from neighbors by overgrown bushes and a sprawling  avocado tree.
Rollins stood in the door breathing air that didn’t stink of ammo- nia and called his buyer.
“Good news.”
A coded way of saying the tests were positive. “Very good. I will send someone.”
“Tonight.” “Yes. Now.”
“You have the other things here, too. I’ve told you for a week to come get this stuff.”
“I am sending someone.” “I want it gone. All of it.” “He will take it.”
Rollins put the Tupperware in the bedroom with the other things and returned to the kitchen. He still wore his gloves and would wear them until he left. He took a one-liter spray bottle from beneath the sink and sprayed bleach on the kitchen counters and floor and door. He sprayed the coffee table where the chemist had done his work and the stool on which the chemist had sat. He sprayed the living room floor and the doorjamb between the kitchen and living room. Rollins believed the bleach would destroy the enzymes and oils left in fingerprints or spit and erase DNA evidence. He wasn’t convinced this was true, but it seemed sensible, so he bleached out the house whenever he used it.
When Mr. Rollins acquired the house, he made several changes to better serve his needs, like screwing shut the windows and installing peepholes. Nothing  fancy, nothing  expensive, and nothing  to attract the neighbors’ attention, none of whom knew him, had met him or, hopefully, seen him.  Rollins did only enough maintenance  to prevent the house from becoming an eyesore. He let people stay from time to time, never anyone he personally knew and only long enough so the neighbors would think the house was a rental.  Mr. Rollins had not built a fortress when he acquired the house, just a place of relative safety from which to do his crime.
Rollins put away the bleach, returned  to the living room, and turned off the lamp. He sat in the darkness, nose burning  as he lis- tened to the rain.
9:42 p.m.
2142 hours.
1742 Zulu Time.
Mr. Rollins hated to wait, but there was big money at stake if Charles and Amy were real. Rollins wondered if Charles beat her. He seemed like the type.  She seemed like the type, too. Rollins’s older sister married  a man who abused her for years until  Rollins  killed  him.
Rollins checked the time again.
9:51.
Rollins put his pistol on the couch....

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Penguin Publishing Group
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2016
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 0425272850
• ISBN 13: 9780425272855
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Anzahl der Seiten: 448
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: G.P. Putnam's Sons; https://www.penguin.com/putnam/; ; 1745 BROADWAY Attn: Madison Forsander; NEW YORK; NY; 10019; USA
• Verantwortliche Person: gpsr@libri.de; gpsr@libri.de; ; Europaallee 1; Bad Hersfeld; 36244; Deutschland