Michael Montana ~ The Consultant (Preview of Upcoming Series)

Five long nerve-wracking minutes passed before the phone in front of him rang. Picking up the receiver, “$500,000, half of the ransom amount.”

“We’ll do it for half that in cash, and we only collect if we get your husband back.”

“I want the bastards arrested and prosecuted too.”

Taking only a moment’s thought, he agreed to the added stipulation.

“We’ll be in touch.”

Starting to hang up the phone, he thought of one more question.

“One more thing, is the million dollar ransom the extent of your wealth?”

“No,” the lady said matter-of-factly. “We could have easily come up with ten times that amount.”

“Ok, keep an eye on the news later.”

With that said, he hung up the phone. Turning on his heel, he quickly started making his way back to the diner, letting out a nervous breath as he walked.

Still wearing a smile, it wasn’t quite as confident as it had once been.

As a large part of his mind spun on automatic working out the details of his plan, the rest of it was anxious. He had never given a thought to anything such as this before, and the fact that the bold plan had spewed out of his mouth on the phone amazed him.

Pulling his shoulders back, he picked up his pace a little more, thinking of his next step. Reaching the door to the diner, he hesitated but a moment before pushing through it. As he saw the target of the next stage of the plan, he let his smile broaden as he took the first steps toward the man, muttering to himself, “You’re on.”

***

Sliding into the booth across from the sloppy looking man, Bill smiled confidently.

“You’re a detective, right? Or you used to be?”

Blowing smoke out his nose in reply, the man glared at Bill through bushy eyebrows.

“That’s what you think, eh?”

Bill had been seeing this man every day for weeks. He would come in after lunch, and order a cup of coffee. He would then spend the rest of the afternoon there, drinking free refills of coffee and smoking cigarettes.

The bulge under his coat, though slight, had alerted Bill to the fact that he was armed. Further observation over the weeks had led Bill to believe that he was at the very least, an ex cop. The intense attention that the man paid to the people walking by the diner had Bill believing that he was indeed a detective. That he no longer worked actively at it was apparent from the time he spent in the diner, as well his constant irritable mood.

He believed that the man had been forced out of the only job he had ever known. He wasn’t sure yet of the reason. It could have been forced retirement Bill conceded, but he was betting the man didn’t like playing by the rules.

“That’s what I believe, yes,” said Bill with confidence.

“So what?” the man said before bringing the menthol cigarette’s filter to his mouth and taking a drag through his dark bushy mustache.

“So do you have any pressing cases at the moment?”

Shoving his cigarette into the ashtray like he was trying to force it through the table, he looked at Bill with anger in his eyes.

“You got a point to this interrogation smartass?”

“Yeah, I do. You need something to do, and I need help.”