Shadow Target (A Shadow Target Thriller Book 1), page 8
A smaller matching cling was stuck to the front of the door as well as a sign that displayed it was open to the public. The shop wasn’t located in the best part of town, but issues regarding robberies were few and far between for the business.
The shop never had a ton of foot traffic inside when Sledge dropped in, but they always stayed steadily busy fixing computers and other electronic equipment. The owner, Mac, was hardly ever there. He left the day-to-day operation to his one employee, Trixie, who was smart as a whip for a nineteen-year-old girl who had a mouth that got her in trouble more times than Sledge could count.
As he exited the truck and made his way around the hood toward the curb, two surly men dressed in tracksuits emerged from the entrance. The meathead on the left stuffed a wad of cash into his right pants pocket as they strode down the walkway, away from the shop.
Sledge studied the men for a moment as he approached the barred door, then he entered the shop. A bell rang, indicating his presence.
The repair shop was cluttered with myriad computer towers and various electronic components lining both walls on either side. The items weren’t arranged in a methodically organized manner but in more of a messy configuration that made it hard to shop and discern what was what.
Rock music pumped from the boombox perched on a shelf nestled in the back left corner above a towering stack of leaning cardboard boxes. It wasn’t anything Sledge listened to, as the high-pitched squeal of the singer grated on his nerves. He preferred older rock to the new-age junk that kids and young adults considered music.
At the far end of the shop, near the register, Trixie’s normal spot was vacant. She wasn’t in sight, nor was Mac, but that wasn’t unusual.
The swinging gray metal door leading into the stockroom swung open. A young woman with purple and black hair emerged, staring at her phone and chewing gum. Her fingernails were painted black and she wore a scant bit of makeup to accent her flawlessly light skin.
“Yes. How can I help you?” Trixie asked in a lifeless voice without looking up as her fingers struck the face of her phone.
“Maybe switch that garbage off on the radio to another station that plays real music for starters,” Sledge replied with a smirk.
Trixie lowered her phone and placed the device on the counter near the register, and glanced up at him. “I would, sir, but our radio doesn’t pick up senior stations. I do apologize. For that, you’ll need to return to your assisted living home.”
Sledge enjoyed their back-and-forth banter. She was witty and extremely intelligent. “Hey, now, that’s below the belt. You do realize that I’m in my early thirties, right?”
“Oh, that’s right. I forgot,” Trixie said with a wry grin. “It’s hard to remember that when you act like you’re a billion years old.”
“Not a billion. Maybe a million.”
“That’s still old as dirt, Sledge.”
“Perhaps.”
Trixie sat on the black stool behind the glass counter as Sledge approached the register. Her leg was raised, the heel of her boot resting on the edge of the stool as she held onto her leg.
“What are you out doing today, besides giving me a hard time?”
“Oh, just taking care of business since I’m back in town.”
“Vacation?”
“I wish. No time for that. Too busy.”
“You have to make time or you’ll crash and burn. Look at me. When I’m here, it’s basically like being on vacation.”
Sledge snickered at the comment. “Yeah, that’s the impression I get. This place isn’t exactly a resort.”
“Hey, you can lead one man’s trash to another man’s treasure, but you can’t make it drink,” Trixie quipped while waving one arm toward the disheveled array of randomly stacked computer parts, with wires splayed in every direction on the shelves like a Price is Right model.
Sledge couldn’t help but laugh. “Fair enough.”
“It’s all in the mind of the beholder, Sledge. Don’t forget that.” Trixie tapped the end of her finger to her temple, then she asked, “Anyway, are you picking up today or dropping off?”
“Picking up. Is my laptop ready?”
“You mean that clunker you’re limping along by making me slap more Band-Aids on it?”
“It’s only four years old,” Sledge countered. “I wouldn’t consider that to be a clunker.”
“In terms of electronics, and especially computers, that’s ancient.” Trixie lowered her leg and hopped off the stool. “And to answer your question, I got it running, and faster mind you.”
“Perfect. I didn’t doubt that you would be able to. You’re one of the best in the city when it comes to fixing gadgets.” Sledge rested his elbows on the countertop but didn’t fully put his weight on the smudged glass. “How are you doing? Staying out of trouble, I hope.”
“Oh, I’m doing fine, but trouble seems to find me whether I want it to or not,” Trixie replied while sifting through the mess of equipment on a four-shelf, black rack. “You know as well as I do that I’m a good girl, but I always seem to get caught up in precarious situations. It’s not my fault.”
Right, Sledge thought, knowing better than to believe in that bald-faced lie. She was cunning and had side businesses that involved computer schemes that he’d heard her speak of while on the phone.
“Were those two Neanderthals who left a minute ago in the tracksuits part of that trouble that happens to track you down?”
“Those two goons were here looking for Mac is all,” Trixie replied as she removed a laptop from the second shelf from the bottom. “I try not to involve myself in whatever business dealings he has going on. I show up, do my stint in paradise, and then head home to my crappy loft apartment.”
Since coming to Mac’s, Sledge had taken a shine to Trixie. They had a good rapport and formed a comfortable and predictable bond. He had few friends by choice and preferred to stay alone, but Trixie was an exception he made.
“Okay. I’m just making sure you’re not being harassed is all. Certain men don’t mind roughing up and intimidating women.”
Trixie carried the laptop to the counter and placed it in front of him. “Yes. I know how you are, Sledge. You make it a point to let me know that each time you come in here. I’m surprised you’re not a father, because you’ve mastered caring a bit too much quite well.”
Even though she spoke as if it annoyed her, Sledge knew by her smile that Trixie appreciated his thoughtful nature.
“I have to protect my investments. If you’re not here, who else is going to fix my equipment? Certainly not Mac, he’s not nearly as skilled as you are.”
“No need to suck up to me. I’ve already fixed the problem,” Trixie shot back while lifting the lid. “I’d save those compliments for another time, but that’s just me.”
Her finger pressed the silver power button but the unit refused to fire up. She stood on her tippy toes and studied the screen, trying to figure out why it wasn’t booting.
“Maybe the battery is dead?” Sledge said as she flipped the unit around toward her. “Do you still have the charger I brought in?”
“Yeah. It’s around here. I’ll have to track it down. I may have forgotten it on the shelf.”
While Trixie moved away from the counter and scoured the mess of cords, cables, and equipment piled on the shelf, Sledge’s phone pinged from his back pants pocket.
He removed the phone and checked his encrypted app which showed a new message had been delivered. Sledge opened it and skimmed the three sentences as she arrived back at the counter holding something black and long in her hands.
“Okay. I think I got the right power cord and brick.”
Trixie plugged the tip of the cable into the side slot and powered on the unit. In less than three minutes she had the laptop operational and was clacking her nails against the keys.
Sledge penned a quick response to the request for his assistance with an issue that wasn’t listed within the lines of panicked verbiage.
“Is that your girlfriend or work?” Trixie asked as she stared at the screen.
“Work,” Sledge answered as another message dropped in, listing nothing more than an address.
“We need to find you a woman, someone to loosen you up. You always seem so uptight.”
Sledge responded to the message with, Be there in half an hour, then stuffed the phone back into his back pocket.
“I’m not so sure that a woman would care for my hectic schedule. My work can be demanding at times.”
“Is brooding a profession?” Trixie asked as she spun the laptop toward him. “Just wondering.”
“Maybe.”
Trixie ran through what she’d done and how she’d upgraded the system's memory and removed a bunch of clutter from the hard drive.
To Sledge, the laptop seemed to perform better than it had previously. Its response time was quicker and the lag time after each mouse click was immediate.
“For now, this should keep you running, but I’d suggest you start considering upgrading,” Trixie said. “This wasn’t a high-end unit to begin with, so there is only so much that can be done. It wouldn’t be worth doing too many more upgrades at that point; you could buy a new one with the latest bells and whistles. If you want, when you’re ready, I could build you a sweet-ass rig without all of the ad junk and programs they stuff in here. That crap does nothing other than take up space and suck power from the processor. I’d do you right by it.”
“I’ll keep that in mind for when I’m ready,” Sledge replied. “Seeing how you work on these, I have no doubt you’d put together an amazing system.”
“Oh, for sure. I don’t do too many custom jobs for just anybody,” Trixie said while flashing him a smile and winking as she placed the laptop and cord in the case he had left with her. “It’s my way of giving back to the elderly community.”
“You just had to go there, didn’t you?”
“I never miss a chance to bust your balls,” Trixie said as she handed him the case.
She rang up the transaction and Sledge paid her in cash, all one-hundred-dollar bills. Shutting the till Trixie gave Sledge his receipt for the work performed and he stuffed it into the unzipped pocket of the laptop case.
“Thanks again for getting it fixed up,” Sledge said as he backed down the length of the open walkway toward the entrance. “Do me a favor and try to stay out of trouble, will ya?”
Trixie took a seat on the stool and shrugged while smirking. “I’ll do my best but make no promises.”
“Fair enough, I guess.”
“You stay out of trouble as well. Don’t let work get you down too much.”
Sledge knew that wasn’t going to be the case. Each referral he received was never a pleasant one. But he was okay with that. Life was hard and unfair most of the time. So when people were shoved to the ground, and had their faces rubbed in the dirt, he was the one who picked them up and made things right.
As he opened the door and stood in the doorway, Sledge said, “I’ll do my best, but make no promises.”
Chapter 19
His time spent at Mac’s put Sledge slightly behind schedule, extending about ten minutes past the thirty-minute timeframe he quoted to the client. Traffic didn’t help either as it slowed Sledge’s progress in reaching Tuxedo Park.
For some, the prospect of doing business with an individual in such an expensive neighborhood would send dollar signs sprouting in their heads, delighting in how much they could charge for services rendered. Sledge, however, kept to his mission of helping people first and making money second, regardless of their social stature.
Upon entering the outskirts of the lavish subdivision, Sledge raked his attentive gaze over the lush manicured lawns and mansions that dotted the expansive property. Expensive luxury sedans and SUVs occupied the driveways within the upscale neighborhood.
The Silverado paled in comparison to the vehicles he passed. They made his ride look more like a piece of junk, unfit to cross into their neck of the woods.
Tuxedo Park was the wealthiest and most well-known subdivision in Buckhead and had been for ages due to it being the home of the Governor’s Mansion. Sledge cared not for political figures, regardless of their affiliation, as he saw both sides of the aisle as cronies and thieves of the American people.
Sledge viewed the address again while following the curve of the street that passed a castle-like home with a pond right next to it. His destination was up on the left, secured behind a steel fence and a wall of shrubbery that lined the inside perimeter with its thick leafy limbs.
He slowed and pulled into the mouth of the drive, then stopped at the closed gate. Sledge rolled down his window and looked at the intercom box mounted on a gooseneck black pole. Installed on top of the wide boxy unit was a camera directed at the window.
As Sledge reached out of the window and aimed his finger at the white button at the front of the intercom station, the gates jerked and then swung inward, allowing him to pass.
No voice came from the intercom, so Sledge assumed the client saw him on the camera and buzzed him in. He pulled forward and drove through the gate at a modest speed of ten miles per hour. Once Sledge got clear of the gate's edge, both sides closed and settled into place.
The tarred driveway wound through well-kept landscaping that lined the sides of the private drive. A bountiful blend of flowers and plants sprang from the earth in a colorful, vibrant array.
Up ahead was the Claymore Estate, in the middle of a large swath of green lush land that separated the homes on either side of the stone mansion by several acres. Sledge soaked in the scenery and searched for a security detail out of habit, knowing the odds that people with such wealth would have protection on-site.
Much to his surprise, Sledge couldn’t spot any uniformed men or suits patrolling the grounds as he neared the circle drive. He could see nothing but landscapers tending to the perfectly-shaped bushes and lawn.
Sledge followed the curving concrete drive to the front of the home. A massive fountain, with stone dolphins frozen in mid-air as water shot from the center tower, was centered in the middle of the driveway.
Rolling to a stop, Sledge shifted into park and killed the engine. After removing his keys from the ignition, he climbed out of the cab and slammed the door shut.
He moved around the hood and crossed the wide drive toward the brick steps, which had marble lions perched on pedestals on either side of the landing. Nothing screamed that the Claymores had more money than they knew what to do with than the abundance of pointless display pieces they had.
The hand-carved Mahogany door ahead cracked open as Sledge approached the entrance. A gentleman in his early fifties appeared in the doorway, distraught and clutching an old-fashioned, rock glass half filled with brown liquor. His silver hair was slicked back and his skin had a nice bronze tint to it. He was clean-shaven and wore a white Polo shirt, pressed khaki slacks, and brown dress shoes.
After taking another hearty drink from the tumbler, he lowered the glass from his lips and extended his hand to Sledge. “Thank you so much for coming to meet with us on such short notice, Mr. Sledge.”
Mr. Claymore's grip was firm but not overly tight. His hand was smooth as silk, indicating to Sledge that the man didn’t perform hard labor. Muscles flexed in his defined biceps, squeezing against the bands of the polo’s sleeves that hugged his arms.
“It’s not a problem, sir. You caught me at the right time it seems.”
“Please, call me Brian. Sir is too formal.”
“Sure. No problem.”
Brian downed the rest of his drink and tilted his head at the interior of the home. “Come inside and we can get started.”
Sledge entered the cavernous mansion and stepped clear of the doorway as Brian closed the door. It hit the jamb with a deep thud that echoed through the spacious residence.
“We’ll go back to my office and get started with why we reached out to you,” Brian said as he moved swiftly down the long, wide corridor that had paintings and art pieces on display. “My wife is waiting for us there.”
Their shoes clicked off the marble floor. Both men moved with purpose as Sledge had to keep pace with the hastened jaunt of the distressed man.
After arriving at a set of closed floor-to-ceiling double wood doors, Brian pushed his way into the room where a younger, blonde woman stood in the middle of the spacious study.
She bit at the tips of her nails and stared at the floor before glancing up at them. Her flawless face was riddled with fright and sadness. The woman looked to be in her early to mid-forties, but she could have been much younger than that.
“This is Mr. Sledge, sweetie,” Brian said to whom Sledge assumed was his wife.
Sledge extended his arm to the woman as she scuttled toward him. “It’s nice to meet you, ma’am.”
“Please. Call me, Mandy.” She shook his hand and sniffled, fighting to keep back a flood of tears that formed in each of her swollen, bloodshot eyes. “We do apologize for bothering you and requesting such a quick meeting, but we’re at our wits’ end and we’re not sure what to do next.”
“It’s no worry at all.” Sledge released her hand, which was just as smooth as her husband's.
She backed up and offered him a seat in one of the leather guest chairs at a round table.
They each sat down in the chairs and got to the crux of why he had been asked to come. Placed on top of the table was a manila file.
“So, tell me, why is it that I’m here today?” Sledge asked while taking his seat.
Brian put his rock glass on the table top and cleared his throat. Although he was more composed than his wife, Sledge could still see the hurt in the man’s face as he fought to keep his emotions from overtaking him.
“I know your time is valuable, Mr. Sledge, so I’ll cut to the chase.” He glanced at his wife who wiped the wetness from under each of her eyes, and then he said, “Our daughter, Kim, was kidnapped six days ago after school. She never made it home. So far, the police have no leads, and there has been no contact made with the kidnappers.”
