Cruel Comfort (Evan Buckley Thrillers Book 1)

PUBLISHED
BY:

James
Harper

Copyright
© 2014

www.james-harper.net

All
rights reserved.

No part
of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or
transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission
of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover
other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being
imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

This is
a work of fiction. All characters in this publication are fictitious and any
resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

GET A FREE COPY OF BAD CALL.

For a very limited time period, you
can get a FREE copy of James Harper’s psychological thriller,
Bad Call
—it’s
a
complete
novella (all 84 pages of it) for free, not just an excerpt.

Click here to get your free copy
of Bad Call

There was only so long that Evan
could watch the guy's hairy butt pumping up and down. It was starting to make
him feel dizzy. It was time to kick the door in.

He’d followed the woman who was
currently squirming around under the guy like a speared fish to this fleatrap of
a motel, and what a disgusting dump it was. When the town needed an enema, this
was where they were going to put the tube, for sure. He'd got a number of shots
of them in their separate cars and then going into the room together. Now he
needed them naked in the room but also showing their faces. What he thought of
as the
money shot
. He knew the phrase usually meant something very
different, and he wasn't that good with a camera.

But Mr Pneumatic just kept on pumping
away with the woman going
oh, oh, oh
under him, so, unless he wanted to
wait around in the hope that they might turn and look directly at the window,
he was going to have to take more positive action.

He hated this part. He hated it all,
but he hated this bit the most. It brought home just how cheap and sleazy it
all was; just how far into the stinking gutter of humanity he’d fallen. It made
him feel like some kind of pervert and sometimes it hurt his foot too. It was
confrontational and dangerous with all the testosterone and adrenalin and other
bodily fluids flying around in the room.

He could look after himself but you
never knew how they would react or what kind of drugs they might be on, so he'd
reversed his car up as close as possible and left the door open with the motor
running.

He stood in front of the door, took
a deep breath and drove the heel of his boot into the cheap door just below the
lock. The flimsy frame splintered with a sharp crack and the door flew open,
revealing the cheating bitch and her lover in all their sweaty, naked glory.

Perfect.

He stepped quickly into the room and
breathed in the warm, salty aroma; the dirty, musky smell of sin. He shook his
head to clear it as the earthy odor rose up from the bed and flowed zephyr-like
across the room to embrace him.

He got off half a dozen fast shots
as they stared at him open-mouthed, too astonished to even cover up, then turned
and dashed the few yards to his car. He jumped in and stomped on the gas, slamming
the door and spinning his wheels as the tires bit and he took off. Start to
finish, about twenty seconds. Not bad.

But the guy was fast, unbelievably
fast. He'd either had a lot of practice doing this or he was just naturally
fast at pulling on his pants. He pushed himself off the woman, squashing her tanned
breasts and making her squeal like a stuck pig in his hurry, and pole vaulted off
the bed. He was out of the room before Evan had even made it out of the parking
lot, still pulling on his pants as he chased after the car and screamed blue
murder at him.

And, despite his impressive bedroom
exertions, he still had a ton of energy left. His adrenalin-fuelled legs pumped
up and down like pistons and his bare feet pounded across the parking lot
oblivious to the grit and gravel and the broken glass and all the other shit
that littered the lot.

Evan pulled out of the lot and
slowed down to a crawl. He looked in his mirror. The guy was almost touching
the trunk, his mouth stretched into a rictus of fury, streaks of spittle
spraying across his face. Evan had never seen such wild eyes. Certainly not on
anything that walked on two legs. He stamped on the brake. The guy smashed into
the trunk, bounced off again and landed hard on his ass.

Evan gave the horn a couple of toots
and pulled away slowly. This bit was actually quite fun, provided you didn’t
stall it. The guy scrambled up and started tearing after him again. Evan smiled
to himself. It was working. He wanted the guy to think he had a chance of
catching him and keep chasing after him. He needed to draw him as far away as
possible before rational thinking overrode the testosterone and the guy turned
around and went back for his car. The down side was that the guy was getting a
good long look at his licence plate.

It took the guy about two blocks
before he finally realized what was going on. Evan watched him in the rear view
mirror as he stopped and bent forward, his hands resting on his knees, his
chest heaving and his head hanging down as he stared at his bloodied feet. Evan
decided against giving the horn another couple of toots. No need to antagonize
him more than he’d done already.

The guy raised his head again and
even at the distance away he was, Evan felt the burning hatred in his eyes.
This
one could be a problem.
He shivered; he was glad he'd taken his usual
precautions. He wouldn't have fancied his chances against the guy when he was
fresh – he’d rather have taken on Captain America.

Luckily the slowing down trick had
worked, but, even so, his heart was trying to kick its way out of his chest and
he needed a drink to calm his nerves. He drove slowly back to his office; he
knew the guy wouldn't follow him now. He was pretty sure he’d come after him another
day, but not tonight.

He parked in the shadows behind his
office building and sat still for a moment, staring out into the darkness. The
indefinable smell of fresh sex was still in his nostrils, taunting him. Then he
picked up his camera and looked through the images he'd just taken.

Perfect.

Lots and lots of sticky genitals and
sweaty private parts in high definition, plus two startled faces looking
exactly like a pair of stupid goldfish with their mouths hanging open. In one shot
it even looked like there was something gooey dribbling out the corner of hers
and running down her chin. He’d probably keep that one back from the client.

He spent a moment admiring the
woman’s obvious attractions, zoomed in a couple of times, and then turned his
attention to the guy in the photographs. He’d always wondered if anyone clicked
on the enlargement adverts he’d seen on the web; this must be the actual guy
they used. He also spent all his time in the gym when he wasn't screwing
somebody else's wife.
Thank Christ he didn't get his hands on me
, Evan
thought again.

He dropped the camera back on the
seat and rested his head on the wheel, a rising tide of self loathing and
disgust overcoming him. What on earth had happened to him? This wasn't how it
was meant to be. Not exactly Philip Marlowe chasing down long-lost heiresses
for aged billionaires in sunny California. He didn’t collect many big fat bonuses
from the grateful old fools at the end of it, either. And the worst was still
to come.

            He went up to his office and loaded the images onto
his computer while he waited for his client to arrive. There was one image he
would have liked to use as his desktop background. The client was already an
hour late - nobody shows up early for an appointment with the man who’s about
to bring their world crashing down around their ears.

Finally he heard the elevator ping
and went to the door to greet his client. Stanton barely looked at him as he
entered, but Evan was used to that by now. It never got beyond an uncomfortable,
stilted formality with any of his clients. He didn’t mind but sometimes a grunt
would have been nice.

For his part, he liked to keep a
certain professional detachment. It made things easier when it was time to
dismantle their lives. As far as the clients were concerned, you don't rush to
get on first name terms with the man who's just finished watching your wife
being screwed by another man. And who's about to lay out the evidence in front
of you on his grubby little desk. And who then expects you to pay him for
humiliating you.

Kevin Stanton was an unremarkable
man in his early forties. He was medium height and had on a blue suit and brown
suede shoes. He wasn't fat, he wasn’t ugly, and his personal hygiene seemed
adequate; he just didn't look like he was much fun to be with. He wore rimless
eyeglasses that made him look like an accountant. Evan was reminded of the old joke
that being married to an accountant doesn't make you live longer - it just
feels that way. He could understand why his wife looked elsewhere for her
kicks, and was attracted by the athletic superhero type at the motel. The man
sitting in front of him was just plain dull. And now it was his job to bring
even more pain into his sad life.

Stanton
had come to him a week earlier and poured out his
heart. He was sure his wife was having an affair. He had no idea who the man
might be. Quite often Evan was the first person they had confided in, the first
time they had voiced their concerns. And so it all came gushing out and then,
once it was out, they felt embarrassed. Then they either clammed up entirely or
started to resent Evan as if it was his fault or he was judging them.

'Did you find out if my wife is
seeing someone else?' Stanton asked in a brittle voice. His cheeks were
slightly flushed. He took off his glasses, inspected them and decided they were
clean, and put them back on. He still couldn't look Evan in the eye. Evan had got
quite used to talking to the top of people's heads. With a lot of people it was
the best view.

'I'm afraid she is. I followed them
to a motel earlier this evening.'

Stanton
stifled a low moan. 'I suppose you've got proof?
Photos?’

'Yes. I've already transferred them
onto my computer,' Evan said, and adjusted the screen so that they could both
see it. He was about to click on the file when Stanton put his hand on top of
Evan's to stop him. His hand was sweaty and Evan could feel him shaking.

'Is there any chance it's a mistake?
A misunderstanding?' He looked up into Evan's eyes for the first time, and Evan
had to force himself to not look away from what he saw; the last vestige of
hope. Hope that he was about to grind into the dirt.

He shook his head sadly. God, he
hated this. 'I'm afraid not. I'm sorry.'

Stanton
dropped his eyes again. 'I don't know if I can do
this.'

'It's your decision; I'm not here to
make you do anything you don't want to. But, in my experience, if you don't see
it for yourself, you'll end up convincing yourself it's not true.'

Stanton
swallowed hard and nodded and told him to just get it
over with.

Evan opened the first image. It showed Stanton's wife and Mr
Pneumatic climbing out of their cars in front of the motel room. Stanton shot his hand out and clamped it over Evan's, a look of horror spreading across
his face. Evan was surprised by the strength in his grip.

'Stop! Can you zoom in on that?'

Evan twisted his hand and pulled it
out from under Stanton's. He began to zoom in on his wife's face.

'Not her, you idiot. Him!' He
prodded the screen so hard with his finger Evan thought he might have dislodged
some of the pixels. He panned across onto the man's face, now clearly
identifiable. Stanton slumped back into his chair, all the color gone from his
face.

'You bastard,' he hissed at the
screen, 'you cock-sucking bastard.'

Evan didn’t point out that he had
that the wrong way round. He could see Stanton’s fingers digging into the
leatherette arms of the visitor's chair, the tendons standing out on the backs
of his hands. 'Do you recognize him?'

'Recognize him?' he almost screamed,
slamming his fist down onto the table. 'You could say that. I look at his
oh-so-pretty face seven hours a day, every day. That's my bastard of a business
partner - Hugh McIntyre.'

Evan didn't say anything and waited
for him to go on. Stanton was lost in his thoughts. 'It all makes sense now. I
can't believe I didn't see it.’

Evan knew from bitter experience
that he should stay silent and wait for Stanton. A badly chosen word, an
inappropriate tone of voice or even the wrong emphasis could end up with the overwrought
client turning on him. It was as bad as being married.

'I assume you've got lots more
photos. Photos of that bastard and my wife. In graphic detail.'

Evan nodded and put his hand back on
the mouse to move on.

'I don't want to see them,' Stanton said quickly, holding up his hand as if he could simply push it all away. 'I know
what you said, but I've seen enough. I don't need any more proof. It all fits
together now.'

'Okay, no problem. I've copied them
onto a usb flash drive for you anyway. In case you need them as evidence.'

Evan pushed the usb stick across the
desk. Stanton stared at it like he was being offered a radioactive dog turd. Evan
couldn't stop the thought crossing his mind that he could have stopped after
the first photo. No need to kick down the motel door. No need to get chased
down the street by a guy who wanted to rip his head off. No need to give a guy who
looked like an advert for steroids a reason to come looking for him with a
baseball bat.

'What happened when you took the
photos of them...' Stanton couldn't finish the sentence. He coughed and made
some meaningless gesture with his hand. For a second Evan thought he was going
to make a circle with his index finger and thumb and poke the other finger in
and out.

'Why do you want to know?' Evan
said. It wasn't a question he was expecting.

Stanton
shrugged. 'I don't know. I thought I knew the bastard,
but it seems I didn't. Just curious what he did.'

'He pulled on his pants and chased
me down the street, screaming and threatening to kill me.'

Stanton
cocked his head and frowned. ‘You were on foot?’

‘No, I was in my car.’

'So what happened?'

'I kept slowing down to make him
think he was going to get me. At one point I stamped on the brakes and he
crashed into the car and ended up on his ass. He ended up chasing the car for
half a mile like a rabid dog until it finally clicked or he ran out of steam.
I’m not sure which.'

Stanton
's mouth started to curl into a smile as he listened,
developed into a huge great grin and then he burst out laughing. Evan couldn't
help himself and started to laugh with him. Pretty soon they were both
uncontrollable.

Evan opened the bottom drawer of his
desk. In true gumshoe style he got out a bottle of scotch and a couple of
glasses. He poured them both a couple of fingers and pushed one across the
table to Stanton, who viewed it a lot more favorably than the usb stick. He
kept the whisky handy in case clients needed a bit of liquid support, but it
had never happened like this before.

'I almost wish I'd been there,' Stanton said, knocking his drink back in one and pushing the glass back for a refill. 'I'd
have reversed back over the bastard.'

Evan pictured himself reversing at
the exhausted McIntyre as he panted for breath, the look on his face changing
from fury to disbelief to panic. 'I wish I had now, because he got a good look
at my licence plate.'

'Uh oh, rather you than me. He's got
a very short fuse. I think he's some kind of martial arts nutter, as well.'

Stanton
finished his second drink and appeared to be in no
hurry to get going. Not that he had much left to go home to. What the hell,
Evan thought, pouring a third drink, I haven't got anywhere to go either.

When Evan finally called him a taxi
a couple of hours later, they’d moved on to Evan and Kevin and their respective
problems didn't seem quite so bad. Even so, Evan made sure Kevin took the
memory stick with him because he knew things might seem very different in the
morning. Then he got out the sleeping bag he kept for emergencies and got as
comfortable as he could on the floor.