Night Lawyers (Nick Teffinger Thriller / Read in Any Order) by R.J. Jagger, Jack Rain Page B
Authors: R.J. Jagger, Jack Rain
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driveways but an alley ran behind the backyards and that’s where most of the owners parked.
Teffinger spotted the Mustang in a makeshift carport that looked like an affront to every building code known to man. He parked away from it in case it came down, then circled around to the sidewalk, walked up an uneven brick path and knocked on the front door.
When the woman answered Teffinger said, “I spotted you again. So now I get to find out if you’re someone who holds your promises.”
The woman hesitated, then pushed the screen door open and said, “Come on in.”
The place was cluttered and crammed.
The walls were close and the windows were small.
A fan blew but cross-ventilation was negligible.
The woman’s skirt was off and the red blouse had been swapped for a T that hung down past her ass but not by much. One wrong bend and she’d be flashing. Teffinger made an effort to keep his eyes up.
“So how long have you been following me around?”
She smiled.
“Coffee?”
He raked thick brown hair back with his fingers. It immediately fell back down over his forehead.
“Sure. Why not?”
She poured two cups and they ended up sitting on the front steps.
“To answer your questions, four months give or take.” She held her hand out to shake and said, “My name’s Neverly Cage, by the way. But I assume you already know that.”
He shook.
“Nick Teffinger.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Four months,” he said. “That’s pretty impressive. I’ve had people follow me that long before, but they were all people I owed money to. I don’t owe you money, do I?”
She smiled.
“Your eyes are two different colors. One’s blue and one’s green. I’ve never seen that before.”
“One of my many flaws.” He took a noisy slurp. “So Neverly Cage, why have you been following me around for four months, give or take?”
“It relates to Decker Zero.”
Decker Zero.
The words pulled up a memory so vivid that Teffinger felt he was actually there.
It was last July.
The sky was dark and moonless and dripped with a steady black drizzle.
The world was nothing but shadows and shapes.
Teffinger was in the Tundra, parked with the engine off in the old abandoned warehouse district down by the South Platte. A curvy little thing named Brooklyn was with him. She was wildly drunk and her skirt was hiked up to her waist. Teffinger had his lips to hers and a hand between her thighs when something strange happened.
The shadowy shape of naked woman ran past.
She was shouting.
She was frantic.
“What the hell?”
Then a man ran past, chasing the woman.
He wore clothes.
In his hand was a knife.
The next moments were a blur. Teffinger was out in the weather, running through the dark with every molecule of force he had, shouting, “Stop!”
By the time Teffinger closed the gap, the man had the woman on the ground. One hand gripped her hair with an iron fist. The other held a blade to her throat.
Teffinger stopped five steps short and said, “Let’s everyone calm down.”
The man said nothing.
“Help me!” the woman said.
Teffinger didn’t move.
“Just back off,” he said. “I’ll let you go.”
Silence.
“Just back off and go home. No one’s going to hurt you.”
Suddenly the man’s arm moved.
The woman gargled and went limp.
Then the man ran.
Teffinger charged after him.
The gap closed and he got a punch to the back of the man’s head.
They both went down.
In that split second Teffinger got a look at the face.
It was someone he knew.
It was a guy named Decker Zero.
Then a punch landed to his head with the force of a freight train and colors exploded inside his skull.
What followed was uneventful.
The woman was dead.
They never found out who she was. To this day she was still Jane Doe.
The scene produced no circumstantial evidence.
They found no fibers, no fingerprints and no other evidence. They never found the woman’s clothes. They never figured out where she had
Teffinger spotted the Mustang in a makeshift carport that looked like an affront to every building code known to man. He parked away from it in case it came down, then circled around to the sidewalk, walked up an uneven brick path and knocked on the front door.
When the woman answered Teffinger said, “I spotted you again. So now I get to find out if you’re someone who holds your promises.”
The woman hesitated, then pushed the screen door open and said, “Come on in.”
The place was cluttered and crammed.
The walls were close and the windows were small.
A fan blew but cross-ventilation was negligible.
The woman’s skirt was off and the red blouse had been swapped for a T that hung down past her ass but not by much. One wrong bend and she’d be flashing. Teffinger made an effort to keep his eyes up.
“So how long have you been following me around?”
She smiled.
“Coffee?”
He raked thick brown hair back with his fingers. It immediately fell back down over his forehead.
“Sure. Why not?”
She poured two cups and they ended up sitting on the front steps.
“To answer your questions, four months give or take.” She held her hand out to shake and said, “My name’s Neverly Cage, by the way. But I assume you already know that.”
He shook.
“Nick Teffinger.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Four months,” he said. “That’s pretty impressive. I’ve had people follow me that long before, but they were all people I owed money to. I don’t owe you money, do I?”
She smiled.
“Your eyes are two different colors. One’s blue and one’s green. I’ve never seen that before.”
“One of my many flaws.” He took a noisy slurp. “So Neverly Cage, why have you been following me around for four months, give or take?”
“It relates to Decker Zero.”
Decker Zero.
The words pulled up a memory so vivid that Teffinger felt he was actually there.
It was last July.
The sky was dark and moonless and dripped with a steady black drizzle.
The world was nothing but shadows and shapes.
Teffinger was in the Tundra, parked with the engine off in the old abandoned warehouse district down by the South Platte. A curvy little thing named Brooklyn was with him. She was wildly drunk and her skirt was hiked up to her waist. Teffinger had his lips to hers and a hand between her thighs when something strange happened.
The shadowy shape of naked woman ran past.
She was shouting.
She was frantic.
“What the hell?”
Then a man ran past, chasing the woman.
He wore clothes.
In his hand was a knife.
The next moments were a blur. Teffinger was out in the weather, running through the dark with every molecule of force he had, shouting, “Stop!”
By the time Teffinger closed the gap, the man had the woman on the ground. One hand gripped her hair with an iron fist. The other held a blade to her throat.
Teffinger stopped five steps short and said, “Let’s everyone calm down.”
The man said nothing.
“Help me!” the woman said.
Teffinger didn’t move.
“Just back off,” he said. “I’ll let you go.”
Silence.
“Just back off and go home. No one’s going to hurt you.”
Suddenly the man’s arm moved.
The woman gargled and went limp.
Then the man ran.
Teffinger charged after him.
The gap closed and he got a punch to the back of the man’s head.
They both went down.
In that split second Teffinger got a look at the face.
It was someone he knew.
It was a guy named Decker Zero.
Then a punch landed to his head with the force of a freight train and colors exploded inside his skull.
What followed was uneventful.
The woman was dead.
They never found out who she was. To this day she was still Jane Doe.
The scene produced no circumstantial evidence.
They found no fibers, no fingerprints and no other evidence. They never found the woman’s clothes. They never figured out where she had
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