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English > English: Proofreading of English novel (crime/thriller, appr. 73.000 words)

Proofreading of English novel (crime/thriller, appr. 73.000 words)
I am looking for a native English speaking person.
Proofreading (spelling, grammar, punctuation) only, as the text is already translated.

Beispieltext:
“Just cut it off!”
“What the…?” Carlos shot a confused glance at the Colombian sitting opposite him in the stern of the yacht. Perhaps I just misheard him, he thought. Their boat was cruising smoothly through the night at more than twenty knots; in concert with the thunder of the heavy diesel engines the airstream was producing quite a noise. But Antonio gave a broad grin and nodded, all the while continuing to play with the barrel of his impressive automatic assault rifle.
“Tell them you’re going to chop their heads off! Believe me, they will talk. First thing you do when they’re tied up and kneeling in front of you: show them the gleaming new chainsaw and some old knife. They’ll spill the beans just to avoid the rusty blade.” Antonio chuckled.
Had the Colombian gone crazy? Carlos pushed a strand of hair from his forehead and gave a disapproving grunt at Antonio’s suggestion.
But Antonio went on. “I’ve done it myself! To begin with, they won’t say a word. They know that this thing ain’t gonna end well anyhow. Somehow that glues their mouths shut. But when they realize they can choose between quick or dirty, there’s no stopping them. They’ll tell you everything. About their safe houses, bosses, routes, whatever. Anything to avoid that knife! When they’ve finished, you take the saw to the lucky one who blabbed the most. You’ll be done with him quickly. And the second guy, the one who gets the knife? Well, he’ll take a little longer…”
Carlos scrutinized his counterpart suspiciously and knocked back his Dr. Pepper in two gulps. Why was Antonio telling him this? To scare him? To stop him snatching the diamonds? Well, you’ll need more than your little horror story for that, Carlos thought. Even so, Antonio’s casual attitude stabbed through his stomach and constricted his throat. He needed to swallow, and it wasn’t just because of Antonio’s tale. Carlos ran his tongue over dry gums and realized that he badly needed a drink. A real one. To ease his parched mouth, sure, but mostly to calm his nerves.
The brisk westerly wind had freshened, and Carlos zipped up his windbreaker. Then he clumsily got to his feet and wobbled from the open lounge to the sheltered cabin. He wasn’t a sailor. Never had been.
Closing the glass door behind him, Carlos crossed the big cabin and nodded at Manuel. The skipper didn’t react: too focused on steering the Sunseeker at average speed in a northerly direction. Carlos stepped up beside him.
“Position?”
Manuel glanced at him, before directing his attention back to the radar screen. “Point Loma, San Diego. Another three or four hours to Newport, max.”
“Sounds good.” Carlos’s mouth curled in contentment. Sounded really good. San Diego meant that they had left the border with all its Coast Guard vessels behind. A good sign.
“Don’t speed up too much.”
“Sure.”
Although the US Coast Guard had already paid them a visit south of Ensenada, Carlos wasn’t willing to take any risks. He peered through the panoramic glass panel at the darkness outside, where the moon and stars had become veiled in clouds.
Everything was going according to plan.
He turned and descended the narrow staircase to the lower deck, quietly humming a Mexican ballad on his way. After reaching the small pantry, he stooped to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of whiskey.
Then, fingers already poised around the cap, he hesitated. Not a good idea. Although desperate for a drink, good reflexes were more important right now. He would need them soon, that was for sure. Sighing, he put the bottle back into the fridge and instead fished out a sachet of cocaine from his pocket. A moment later he had arranged a neat double line on the countertop and was quickly snorting the powder with a rolled fifty dollar bill. As he took the second line, the boat hit a bigger wave, slamming his head against the countertop. The remaining cocaine scattered widely across the table. Carlos suppressed a curse, rubbed his hurting face and swept the flecks to the floor with the back of his hand.
His knees were still shaking when he went into his cabin and carefully locked the door behind him. The room was tiny. It accommodated no more than one narrow bunk and a built-in cabinet with a few shelves. Carlos bent over his bed, lifted the mattress and groped for the three explosive devices hidden below the fabric. For a moment he weighed them in his hands. Tiny little bombs; custom-made and activated via cell phone. He cautiously put them into his jacket pockets, then took the Remington out of its holster and put a silencer on. He closed his eyes, enjoying the pulsing sensation of the cocaine. After two deep breaths he straightened up and opened the door. Ready for action.
Silently he tiptoed forward and knocked on the door of the captain’s cabin in the bow. No answer. Carlos knocked again, then opened and peered inside. Alfons and Irene were lying motionless side by side on the wide bed. Carlos trod closer and prodded Alfons’ right leg with the gun barrel. No response. Then he checked his pulse: very weak, barely perceptible. Reassured, Carlos circled the bed and looked down at the unconscious woman lying on the sheets in her black dress. Cute. He pushed Irene’s skirt a little higher and let his fingers wander slowly along her inner thighs until he felt the cloth of her g-string. Cute little bitch, he thought again, as he pulled the satin aside. For a moment he stood staring at her shaved crotch, before pushing one of his fingers inside her. He studied her face. No movement at all.
Carlo’s gaze wandered further to the half-empty cocktail glasses on a sideboard next to the bed. No wonder they were so out of it. Considering the amount of Rohypnol he had mixed into their drinks, it would be a miracle if they woke up at all.
Even so: No risks today. Carlos listened intently for a second, but except for the thrashing of the engine everything was silent. So he crouched at the foot of the bed and roughly thrust the carpet aside. The hatch below was easy to open. Carlos took one of the explosives and activated the detonator. Then he closed the hatch, shoved the carpet back and returned to the door. A brief glance at the pantry and up the stairs assured him that he still was alone. He drew his weapon and fired two rounds into each unmoving head. Just in case.

Language pair(s)

English > English
Native language: English

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