City By Night: Resurgence: A Sam Stevens Mystery Read online

  City By Night II:

  Resurgence

  A Sam Stevens Mystery

  By

  J. D. Dunsford

  Contents

  Introduction

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Introduction

  Sam Stevens is on the run after being framed for murder and taking down a corrupt police chief; but his enemies are on his tail and things are getting worse. As Sam attempts to clear his name and get to the bottom of exactly what he has found himself in the middle of, he’ll soon learn that not every danger comes from an expected place.

  The Sam Stevens Mystery Series

  Book 1 City By Night

  Book 2 City By Night: Resurgence

  Book 3 City By Night: Requiem

  Chapter One

  The man named Kevin Jackson lived in a plain, unassuming house in an equally plain, unassuming suburb on the outskirts of the city. Driving past, it was easy to think that it was a sort of innocuous, inoffensive place to raise a family, probably full of photos and toys, of sofas facing flat screen televisions where a father could sit and watch sports while ignoring his children running rampant around him. A place nobody was ever going to find fancy or impressive, but one that could definitely be homely.

  Except the interior of the house was not homely. Even calling it a home was a stretch because the house of Kevin Jackson was an empty shell, and Kevin Jackson did not exist.

  There was, however, one occupant of the house this late afternoon, lying on the floor with his hands behind his head and his eyes unmoving as he stared up at the ceiling. He wore plain, dark clothing and his head was shaved. He was large and muscular, the kind of person you would avoid if you saw him in a dark alley. His name was Sam Stevens, although if anybody asked, the ID he would have shown would be that of the non-existent Kevin Jackson.

  Beside Sam sat a small, portable radio. A football game was playing, but Sam wasn’t interested in the game, he was waiting anxiously for a news bulletin. His focus was on the single sentence playing over and over in his head.

  We are coming for you.

  Somebody had spoken those words to him just that morning, as he left the site of a job he had to do in order to stay alive. Somebody had found the number of his burner phone and given him what was supposed to be a threat but in fact was more of a warning. And while Sam had certainly been perturbed by it, taking the time to think it through made it seem far less dangerous. Nobody knew about Kevin Jackson and even if they did nobody knew he was really Sam Stevens. For now, his safe haven remained intact.

  The football game finally gave way to the news bulletin he’d been waiting for, and Sam refocused his attention to the radio just in time to hear the words…

  ‘And in breaking news, police chief Hector O’Neill was found murdered in his home this morning, with several bodyguards also killed. Evidence on the scene was found linking the chief to a major drug syndicate, returning attention to rumours of corruption that have dogged O’Neill for years. As of yet, the police have declined to comment. However, one of the bodyguards was identified as…’

  Sam nodded, tuning out of the broadcast. Good. If O’Neill’s corruption was exposed then the person who killed him lost significance; it could have been anyone, any underworld lackey sent to settle a dispute between O’Neill and his bosses. And if nothing else, his death would draw attention away from Sam.

  It was strange how quickly he had found himself returning to old habits. Barely any time had passed since he’d found a gangster’s girlfriend dead at the construction site he worked at, right before a young cop tried to murder him. Sam had killed the cop in self-defence, making him the number one target of the rogue police that populated the city, and he had managed to remove the head of that particular snake by disposing of Hector O’Neill. But that was one snake in a city that was a pit of snakes, several of which had a vested interest in seeing Sam Stevens dead. And now, after years of peace, he had to get to the bottom of all of this if he was to survive.

  He reached over and switched off the radio. He had heard all he needed to hear. If the word corruption was being used in association with O’Neill, then he had been successful, and nobody had managed a cover up that would keep attention squarely on Sam. At least some of the pressure was off. It was time now to pursue his next step.

  He had to work out just what that next step would be, however. It seemed the suspicions he had harboured for years that his enemies would not leave him alone had proven well founded, and so the answer was simple, if not the means for getting there; he had to kill them. There were several names that occurred to him, but only one that was really important, one that would solve the lion’s share of his problems and in the meantime present a whole other complicated hornet’s nest that he dreaded kicking. Even the thought of what he had to do made him feel at least somewhat sick, but his hand had been forced. At least his conscience could be kept clear by the fact that he had tried to live quietly. It was the people he had to kill who hadn’t let him. He had extended a courtesy for years by not intervening in their business, and now that was over.

  So he would stay here for a little while at least, resting and planning and taking the time to come up with an immaculate scheme to get this dealt with quickly and efficiently. Hopefully, after that, he could–

  He heard something whistling through the air outside the house and in an instant he was on his feet as the window nearest to him shattered. Something bright and burning flew through, hit the carpet, and exploded in a shower of flames and broken glass. Sam had just taken a step back when another window shattered, then another. He could hear more throughout the house – how many people were out there?

  But that didn’t matter. The air was filling with smoke as the Molotov cocktails did their job, and the carpet went up in flames. Coughing, Sam staggered backwards. There was a bag in the corner of the room that he dived for, eyes watering. He pulled his revolver from the bag, then made for the nearest broken window. In front of him, a wall of flame had leapt up, blocking the window from him. And if he could get through…

  He forced himself to ignore his screaming lungs and spinning head and think. Somebody had thrown that Molotov cocktail through the window, but just how many there were he didn’t know; but there had to be one at every window, waiting for him to do exactly what he was about to do.

  He raised his gun and held his breath. He waited until he got the barest glimpse through the smoke at the street outside then he pulled the trigger an instant before he ran and dived forward. He heard the yell as he went through the flames then the window. He felt the burning flames on his skin and the slice of broken glass in his arm, but it didn’t matter. They were minor injuries compared to burning to death.

  He hit the ground, rolling, putting out the flames that had caught on his clothing. He leapt to his feet, turned left, pulling the trigger again just as a figure in black raised his gun at him. He didn’t even wait for impact before turning again, firing as he jumped sideways, the man’s bullet flying past him and hitting the house just as Sam’s bullet met his head.

  Sam ran. The house was on the street corner, and his car was on the opposite side, but the attackers had surrounded the house, covering every window. Luckily the first two were down already, and those on the other side couldn’t have known that Sam had already taken down their associates.

  He fired again and again, each time dropping someone until he reached his car. He scanned the streets; neighbours across the road were peering through their windows, terrified, seeing flames and bodi
es and hearing the gunshots. There was no sign of more attackers. Sam quickly cast an eye over the bodies; dressed in identical plain black; he didn’t recognise faces but the fact that they had any kind of uniform told him everything he needed to know. That phone call was a warning indeed, one he should have heeded. He wrenched the car door open and jumped in just as a screeching shriek came from behind him, a car was rounding the corner. He turned the key and hit the accelerator.

  Just hours ago he had been in another crazy car chase and survived, would he be as lucky this time. His vision was slightly blurred and his head fuzzy; he had inhaled too much smoke, yet he had to focus on the road, he had to get away from these people.

  At that point, he had no planned destination other than wherever those pursuing him were not. He moved the steering wheel wildly, zig-zagging, as the sounds of bullets came from behind. It was hard to shoot while driving, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t be able to hit him. He wasn’t about to assume total incompetence; to do that could mean a swift death for him.

  He glanced in the rear-view mirror. Two cars. Could have been worse. Two cars shouldn’t be too difficult to evade. Or to stop.

  He hit the brakes and spun the wheel at the same time. His tyres let out a screech of protest. He swung the car around, bringing him face to face with the two pursuers who, predictably, slowed. They weren’t sure what he was doing. Good.

  He hit the accelerator.

  The surprise he assumed they were feeling, the moment of uncertainty, the questioning of whether there was a bigger plan here, gave him all the time he needed. He stuck his arm out the window and fired, a red blur on the windshield, good, he had hit his target. That would add an element of surprise to the car on the other side. He held the accelerator down until he had reached the gap between the two cars, the gap just big enough for his own vehicle to get through then he released the accelerator. His car slowed, he looked to the side, saw the eyes on the driver and pulled the trigger. His foot hit the accelerator hard, and he was off again down the street.

  It had all taken a matter of seconds. A handful of minutes since the Molotov cocktails had hit. Speeding up the street, his heart rate began to slow.

  He had underestimated his opponents. That was a mistake that could have been fatal. But the big question here was, just how they knew about Kevin Jackson, the secret identity he had kept for years until the attempt to frame him at the construction site forced him to finally use it. He had been sure that he was meticulous in his planning, careful to make certain his secrets were not known by anyone but him. His enemies might have been clever, dangerous and wide-ranging, but they weren’t mind readers. Had somebody followed him from O’Neill’s house? He had checked for tails and taken a long way around to obscure any attempts to track him. Perhaps he had been sloppy, but he found that hard to believe. Sloppy wasn’t a word that had ever been used to describe his approach to these things.

  That familiar ugly flicker of fear in his chest was back. If his enemies could find Kevin Jackson, what else were they capable of?

  He shook that off. Speculations didn’t help him. What he needed, right then, was answers. Who would possibly know about his fake identity? Or more to the point, who was capable of finding out?

  Chapter Two

  He left his car in a dark alley before proceeding on foot. Usually he would be a bit more relaxed in this area; after all, only a select few knew who Spencer was or that Sam had any connection to him, but usually, he could rely on carefully constructed identities as well. Sam figured this was not a usual night, and so he kept to the shadows as he made his way up the dark streets towards Spencer’s apartment building.

  He had known Spencer for years since they were both young and new to the crime scene. Spencer, weedy, with a keen intelligence, preferred to remain hidden, using knowledge as his trade and currency, keeping a low profile in dingy apartments and watching rubbish television, while a walk over to his computer could bring down a government. He was a hacker like no other, and with his skills, he could have long since become a billionaire and retired to a quiet life. But Spencer instead, continued just the way he always had, comfortable in his trappings of squalor and junk food, and Sam, while not quite understanding, was grateful for it. When you were backed into a corner, Spencer was a friend very much worth having.

  And yet, recent occurrences were bringing that friendship into question. While Sam was willing to admit there was a lot he didn’t know here, Spencer was the only person he could think of with the ability to uncover secrets you had done everything possible to hide. If Spencer had betrayed him… well, Sam didn’t want to think about it, but not wanting to do something was seldom a good reason not to do it in his experience. If Spencer had turned, then Sam was in a great deal more trouble than he had assumed at first, and it was best to know so he could act accordingly. Unfortunately, that meant going straight into what could potentially be the lion’s den.

  He had his revolver drawn as soon as he could see the apartment building. He stopped, not bothering to conceal it as soon as he was through the front doors. It was a rough neighbourhood and a man entering a building with a drawn gun was likely not the most threatening thing the locals would see tonight.

  His eyes scanned the foyer; there was nobody here, which was either convenient or too convenient. He bypassed the elevator and made straight for the stairs. There was no chance of being ambushed if he could see what was ahead of him.

  He took his time heading up the stairs, listening at every turn, letting his gun lead him, but there was no sign or sound that might indicate danger. He continued to climb, resisting the temptation to hurry. Eventually, he reached Spencer’s floor.

  He opened the door but did not go through. He listened – nothing to be heard save the buzz of televisions behind apartment doors. He stuck a hand through the gap and quickly withdrew it. No yells or gunfire. Finally, he put his head through. The hall was empty. He stepped in and kept his gun raised as he moved very slowly towards the door to Spencer’s apartment. Just because danger wasn’t in the hall didn’t mean it wasn’t waiting inside.

  Outside the door, he stopped and listened. A television was on, which was typical of Spencer. He reached out and tested the doorknob. Unlocked. He frowned. That was unlike Spencer. Caution was what had kept him alive this long.

  He stepped back, raised the gun, and opened the door.

  For a moment he just stood, staring at what was in front of him. Then, very slowly, he closed the door and took a deep breath. Caution had kept Spencer alive for a while, but not anymore. And they had made him suffer. Why? For knowing Sam? For information? How extensively had they tortured Spencer before he agreed to uncover Sam’s hideout?

  He knew he should examine the scene, look for clues, but he also knew that his connection to Spencer meant that somebody probably expected him to come here. He had best not linger. He made for the staircase again.

  He heard the door opening behind him just as the one in front opened. By his estimation, both doors up and down from Spencer respectively. Two men stepped out in front, and the footsteps told him there were two behind. He glanced quickly over his shoulder. His eyes moved to the doorway that led to the staircase. Only a few feet away, but not close enough. Making a break for it would mean certain death. He met the cold eyes of the nearest man.

  ‘Sam Stevens,’ he sneered. ‘The rat is finally in the trap.’

  Sam glanced down at the gun in the man’s hand, matched by the one behind him. He inched slightly towards the centre of the hall. The two men shadowed his movements. Good.

  ‘Spencer told you where to find me?’ Sam asked.

  ‘He held out a long time,’ the man said. ‘I had to use a few special tricks to jog those buried memories. But eventually he was helpful, and for that, I made the rest quick.’

  Sam forced himself to stay calm. There would be a time to raise the gun, but not yet. ‘Are you going to kill me then?’ he said.

  ‘The boss is past the point of wan
ting a swift demise for you,’ the man said. ‘You lost that chance when you took out O’Neill. You know how difficult our operations are without the cops turning a blind eye? No, you’re being brought straight to him.’

  Sam smiled. ‘Four of you to take me. Think you’ve got enough men?’

  The man’s smirk grew. ‘Yeah. I reckon we just might.’

  ‘Well,’ Sam said, ‘We all make mistakes.’

  He raised the gun.

  The men reacted instantly, that was what he was counting on. He only fired one shot before letting himself fall. The hall erupted in gunfire followed swiftly by shouts of pain.

  Sam moved fast. One man had fallen on either side, dropped by his own friends’ bullets. From the floor, he took out the man behind him first before swinging around and hitting the one who had boasted about killing Spencer. As he screamed, Sam stood. He walked forwards very slowly, towering over the begging and wailing man.

  ‘Spencer held out a lot longer than you did,’ Sam said, then grabbed him by the hair. The man screamed and screamed as Sam dragged him back into Spencer’s apartment. He checked the rooms, no-one else was here. Then he made for the window. He pulled it open; they were several storeys up. Good.

  ‘Please,’ the man blubbered. ‘Please don’t kill me.’

  Sam looked him in the eye. Held his gaze. Then simply said ‘No.’

  With that, Sam picked him up and threw him out the window.

  He didn’t waste time. He hurried back out into the hall, making straight for the elevator. He pressed the down button, then ran for the staircase. He opened the door, paused for a moment, let off a single shot into the hall behind him, then slammed the door shut. He ran back to the elevator and jumped inside, hitting the button for the ground floor. He reloaded his gun and did not even attempt to conceal it as he reached the ground floor and stepped out into the still empty foyer. He moved fast over to the door to the staircase and opened it. He could hear the pounding footsteps hurrying up, the men thinking they were about to encounter Sam. He closed the door quietly then made for the cover of the night.