ORGAN
SYMPHONY published by Rough Edges Press
Some subjects don’t go away. Organ
harvesting is one of them. It crops up in the news from time to time. It’s also
the inciting incident that starts this Leon Cazador novel.
Occasionally, I like to book-end a tale –
with a quote or image at the beginning and echoing it at the end of the book; for this one, I
chose the word ‘heartless’:
August,
2016. Lazzaretto
Piccolo, Laguna Veneto, Italy
Gho Jun chuckled beneath his surgical mask
and in his high-pitched voice joked, “Soon our rich client will be heartless,
no?”
It doesn’t give anything away to reveal the
book’s last line, here:
Carlota nodded. “Truly, Leon, those who ban
people from listening to music are heartless.”
By no means exclusively, but in my books
(and even some short stories) I attempt to feature places I’ve visited. Here,
we go to Venice, Charleston, South Carolina, Cape Cod, Massachusetts,
Stockbridge, Córdoba and Torrevieja in Spain, and Tokyo. The story ranges from
2016 to 2022.
Book blurb
Leon Cazador is on FBI liaison duty
in Charleston, South Carolina when a dead child is found with a kidney missing.
Suspecting an old foe, he jumps into action when a convoy of trucks with
kidnapped children hits a snag, and a boy escapes. What starts out as a simple
cat and mouse chase turns into a convoluted web of deceit involving an
underground organ transplant ring that surpasses Leon’s wildest imaginings. He
is faced with resourceful nuns and a treacherous snow blizzard, and heartless killers.
‘That scene on the frozen lake at the end
of Part One was terrific! Sister Christina is another fine character’ – reader’s comments.)
There is a resolution of sorts, but also
death and denial. And the evil supremo eludes discovery.
Five years later—and carrying around the weight
of unresolved burdens and having acquired personal assistant Carlota (‘Leon and
Carlota make a great team. I thoroughly enjoyed the book!’ – reader’s comments)—Leon runs into
suspicious activity in Córdoba, Spain that makes his heart stop cold. Organ
traffickers are running rampant, and an investigating team has gone missing and
are liable to become unwitting donors. Eager to put an end to this corrupt
organization’s misdeeds once and for all, Leon makes finding its leader his top
priority. But will he and his delectable personal assistant Carlota have what
it takes to bring a modern evil like no other to its knees?
‘Nik Morton is
really good at creating characters and describing action scenes.’ – a
reader’s comment.
Amazon
UK: https://tinyurl.com/szhr9s82
Amazon US: https://tinyurl.com/y2hdryym
Organ Symphony - excerpts:
The gunmen were amateurs, standing in plain
view, too cocky with their Uzi machine-guns. Leon rested on his elbows and
through narrowed eyes took careful unhurried aim as the Uzi bullets spat sparks
from rockery inches from his face. The Magnum slugs lifted them both off the
ground and they jumped like ungainly puppets and slammed into the fender of the
Chevy.
***
By chance all three stayed together, and
were trucked to South Carolina. Here, Rafael was taken away – it must have been
about two weeks ago – and returned with a bandage wrapped round his body. One
of the older kids showed his own operation scar, proudly displaying it as a
badge of honor, and said, “They start on the bits we’ve got two of – like
kidneys, eyes, lungs...” The rest was left unsaid.
***
Normally on weekdays they would exercise after waking. With Carlota
sitting enticingly on his ankles, he would perform seventy sit-up crunches,
alternate elbow to alternate knee, followed by seventy press-ups. Carlota did
the same, though she was faster than him – but then again she was younger.
After breaking a sweat, they would shower. At the weekend they would refrain
and instead perform tai chi in a convenient park for a complete change.
But he’d vowed that on this mini-holiday they would give that form
of physical exercise a miss. “Only that form of exercise?” she queried
mischievously.
“Quite,” he answered straight-faced.
***
A mountainous landscape populated by dragons strode out of the
swathes of hammam’s steam and approached Leon Cazador and Carlota. Leon wasn’t surprised when Carlota stifled a gasp.
Hiroki Kuroda was tattooed over his entire torso and down to his
wrists and calves. At a glance, he gave the impression that he was wearing long
johns; instead, he was a walking exhibition of body art. Ray Bradbury’s Illustrated Man always sprang to mind when Leon saw him, but this was no fantasy.
As a member of the Yakuza—a Japanese criminal organization similar to the Mafia,
but much older—Hiroki as a much younger man had endured hundreds of hours of
pain from a bamboo sliver simply to show that he could. He waved a greeting with
his left hand. The little finger should have been missing at the first knuckle,
but a shining substitute appeared grafted in place.
Sitting on the wooden slats of the bench, Leon wore light blue swimming
shorts and Carlota, on his left, was skimpily covered by a dark green bikini
she’d brought for use in the hotel pool but had yet had the opportunity to
christen.
Hiroki adjusted the towel about his waist, acknowledged
Carlota, and lowered his huge bulk on Leon’s right.
***
Her heart was
hammering away.
She felt alone.
A rookie investigator.
At least she
could rely on her Spanish. Ask a policeman? Ha!
Then, roughly
three paces ahead of her a man strode out from a doorway. He was dressed in
loose-fitting black pants and an open-necked shirt.
She stopped at
once, sensing a threat.
Her mouth was
dry.
***
In the blink of
an eye Leon raised the pistol and harshly whipped Okudara’s face with the
silenced barrel.
The man backed against
the shelving and rubbed his chin.
“Carlota,” Leon
called over his shoulder, “shoot the other guy’s knees from under him if he so
much as blinks!”
Leon aimed his
automatic at Okudara’s left knee. “I can even things up,” he said. “You can
limp with both legs.”
***
“We haven’t
packed enough clothing to go gallivanting,” Carlota said. “We were only supposed
to spend a couple of days in Córdoba.”
“We’re not
gallivanting,” Leon corrected. “This isn’t recreation, my dear, it’s hunting.”
She kissed him.
“I like it when you put on your serious face. Sends shivers down my spine.”
He hugged her
and traced his fingers down her spine. “This isn’t getting the packing done, is
it?”
“There’s time
for that, don’t fret, my hunter.” And there was; time for everything.
***
Once they were back in their hotel room, Leon
unwrapped the brown-paper parcel. Rose had managed to meet his specifications
as to size, stopping power and weight. The Beretta Model 84 weighed a mere
twenty-three ounces and was only six and a half inches long, suitable for
concealing on Carlota’s person. Its magazine held thirteen rounds.
To fill his
shoulder holster he’d opted for a Bernardelli P-018, its magazine holding
fifteen 9mm parabellum cartridges. The slightly smaller and lighter Tanfoglio
TA90 snugly fitted his ankle-holster; it too held fifteen 9mm parabellum
cartridges. Rose had also supplied a spare clip of cartridges for each weapon.
Between them they should have enough fire-power to deal with a crop of organ
harvesters, he reckoned. And they each had a silencer that would fit.
***
“You’re wet,” he
observed. She wasn’t wearing a bra under her clinging white bandeau.
“I can see why
you’re a private eye.” She grinned. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to catch my
death. The sun and the warm breeze will soon dry me.”
“Hope not –
catch death, I mean.” He revved the boat forward.
She stood and
moved to his side. “We all die, eventually, darling.”
He hugged her
with one arm while steering. “Let us not hasten the inevitable, eh?”
***
That will do, enough to provide a flavour, I hope.
