by Samson Weld
“Talk to my lawyer.”
“That would be a mob lawyer, right?” Bellucci asked. “Paid for by your lord and master, Mateo Osorio, right?”
He froze. A deer caught in headlights look flashed across his face, quickly replaced by a sneer. Instead of answering, he tried to dart around Cagle, so Bellucci shifted to block him in.
“This is police harassment,” he said rather loudly. “Someone call 911! I want to report police harassment.”
“I’ll tell you what, Mr. Collins, why don’t we take you back to headquarters for questioning, and afterwards you can file that police harassment complaint?” Bellucci said. “Or would you prefer to answer our questions here and now?”
“How suspicious of you will Osorio be if you spend a few hours answering questions?” Cagle asked.
Fear flashed across his face. Collins looked like a trapped rat. Bellucci didn’t blame him. Osorio killed people for less. He was not a trusting man.
“I’m just a CPA who got mugged tonight,” Collins said.
“Tell us what happened,” Bellucci said.
“Ask the Addison cop. I told him everything and I don’t like repeating myself,” Collins said. Bellucci and Cagle just stared at him. He sighed dramatically, making Bellucci think of a teenage girl. “Okay, fine. I was leaving the office, heading home. Some guy came out of the dark and looped a wire or something around my neck. We struggled.”
“How did you break free?” Cagle asked. “Sounds like he had you dead to rights.”
“He did, but I cut his face and arm. And he ran away,” Collins said. “Then I came straight here. End of story.”
“What did you cut him with?” Bellucci asked. “Do you carry a knife?”
Collins gawked at them a second. She could see the wheels turning in his head. His story was unraveling.
“No, I used a broken piece of glass,” he said, uncertainty tainting his voice. “He had me on my knees by that time. I couldn’t breathe. I saw the glass on the floor, grabbed it, and cut him.” He held up his bandaged hand. “See, the glass cut my hand, too.”
Bellucci perked up. “Floor? I thought you were outside?”
“Huh? Oh, I, um, misspoke. There’s lots of broke glass on the ground in my parking lot.”
“So if we go over to your parking lot, we’ll find a bloody piece of glass?” Bellucci asked. “We can use that to get his DNA.”
“I guess,” he said, almost a whisper.
“Why don’t you tell us the truth, Mr. Collins? You are not the first one of Osorio’s men he’s attacked,” she said. “But you are the first to survive his attack. He’s killing everyone that works for Osorio. Didn’t Osorio warn you about him?”
“Um…”
“No? He didn’t warn you? Wow. I guess you’re not among his best friends then. The way I hear it, this can be hazardous to your health.”
The blood drained from Collins’ face. All he could do was gawk at them. Finally, he shook his head.
“I can’t. I mean, that’s all I know,” he said. “Osorio would… I have nothing else to say to you.”
Bellucci knew what he almost said. Osorio would kill him if he cooperated with the police. The poor guy was about to piss himself.
“Not smart,” Cagle said. He loomed over the smaller man. “You know what a merciless killer Osorio is, and the guy that attacked you tonight is just as cold-blooded. We can protect you… if you cooperate.”
“He’s not the kind of man to give up just because he failed the first time,” Bellucci said.
“I’m fine with leaving you dangling in the wind, Collins,” Cagle said, voice dropping low and menacing. There was a look of evil glee in the detective’s eyes. “I love it when bad guys kill bad guys. Just kill each other off. I don’t care. Good riddance, I say.”
Bellucci didn’t think Cagle was bluffing. He really liked the idea. And that was disturbing. Collins must’ve sensed it, too. Cagle’s words really rattled him.
“All I can say is he was my height, maybe a little taller. It all happened so fast,” Collins said. “But he was strong. Very, very strong. I didn’t see his face since he came up behind me. And that’s all I know.”
Bellucci looked at Cagle and shook her head. Her body tensed. They weren’t any closer to finding the killer and no one would be happy to hear that. So there was nothing to do but start checking around for anyone seeking medical attention for a cut face and arm.
Chapter 14
Were they looking for me?
Ash pondered this once safely back in his pickup. He started the Dodge Ram, revving the engine a few times. The power of that Hemi was thrilling. Then he glanced back at the ER entrance. He’d better get out of here, fast.
He had done his best to hide behind Deanna when he spotted the badge and gun the male cop was showing Dr. Vu. Plainclothes cops meant detectives. The ER was more likely to call the police over Collins’ injury than his, but better safe than sorry. If Collins mentioned injuring his assailant, that might make the ER staff remember him.
Deanna rolled up behind him in her blue Nissan sedan. She gave him a little honk and continued on. Ash quickly fell in behind her. She left the parking lot and headed for their date at Applebee’s.
Is this a date?
That bothered Ash. He was a married man. He grimaced. Technically, he wasn’t married any longer. Thanks to Osorio and his band of killers. His heart hammered, hands tightening on the steering wheel. Was it Deanna? Milly? Or thinking about Osorio and what he’d stolen from him?
She turned into the restaurant parking lot before he knew it. Ash kind of lost track of time while wandering through his dark thoughts. He found a spot close to where she parked and joined her on the walk toward the front door.
“I come here quite a bit, but don’t expect anyone to call out my name,” Deanna teased. “This isn’t Cheers.”
That made him chuckle. Felt good.
“What a shame, my middle name is Norm.”
She laughed and leaned into him. His breath caught. No woman had touched him in such an intimate way in over five years. It left his head in turmoil. Would Milly approve? Worse, what if Osorio discovered his identity and then went after her? For the first time in years, panic set in.
“I… I… I’m sorry, Deanna,” he stammered, taking a step back. “I can’t do this. Too soon. I mean…”
“You have someone, Ash?”
“Had. Used to.”
“How long has it been?” she asked softly without any judgment.
“A little over five years,” he said.
She smiled sympathetically. “I understand.”
“No, I don’t think you do. You can’t.”
“Trust me, I do. My husband died in Afghanistan three years ago. I’ve only recently been thinking about dating again. It’s hard.”
That was a gut punch. Here he was wallowing in self-pity and he’d never bothered to learn her story. She’d suffered the same loss.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Ash said. “Yes, it’s hard. I’ve never considered dating again. After Milly and the boys died…” He choked up. “Sorry. I should go and get my head together before I start anything.”
She gave him a sad look. Then held out her hand. “Give me your phone. I’ll put in my phone number. I’m always available if you need to talk, or need a shoulder to cry on. Anything. And who knows?”
Ash fished out his phone and handed it over. Really, he didn’t know what else to do. He could face ruthless killers without flinching, but this woman was messing up his head. She pushed buttons he thought broken forever. No one had ever made him feel like that, except Milly.
“I’m really sorry,” Ash said after she returned his phone.
He hurried back to his truck, telling himself he was doing this to save her life. But what if he was only torturing himself further?
Chapter 15
The music was loud. Osorio had come to really enjoy Tejano music since moving to Texas. It was so lively and festiv
e and the girls danced well to it. They still played some strip club rock standards when they danced on the two stripper poles Osorio had in his game room.
Osorio’s big Mediterranean style ranch house sat atop a hill. His game room encompassed the entire basement. There were two pool tables, ping pong, a two-lane bowling alley, and lots of arcade video games and pinball machines along the walls. Five sixty-inch HDTVs were turned onto sporting events and one was playing a porno movie. Consuelo was banging a redheaded chick while watching the porno.
Osorio stood behind the bar and surveyed the scene. His boys were having a grand time. His house was one long party most weekends, from Friday night through Monday morning. After the week he’d had, the drug lord needed to blow off some steam.
“The two bitches you took from Potter are working out pretty good,” Raphael said.
The Latina was pole dancing to his right, five horny men surrounding her. Osorio thought she had to be a real stripper, because girls didn’t work the pole like that naturally. He turned to Consuelo, who was banging the other Potter chick. The way she cried out and gasped, it sounded like she was having a great time.
The pimp worked for Osorio. Raphael stood six four, slim, with a scraggly goatee. He always dressed in expensive suits and ties. He made Osorio a lot of money pimping fifty-two women. He provided the cooze for Osorio’s parties, too. The pimp had brought twenty girls over tonight.
“I knew they would,” Osorio said. “Potter probably found them on the street.”
Osorio wanted to party with his boys, but couldn’t shake all the dark thoughts. Someone was coming after him, and he hadn’t figured out whom. Not yet. He still hadn’t ruled out the Russians. Sokolov was a back-stabbing bastard.
His phone rang. “Money, Money, Money…” sang out. The Apprentice theme song ring tone meant Collins was calling. He almost didn’t answer.
“Good evening, Dave,” Osorio said, lifting the phone to his ear. “How are your wife and sons?”
“They’re fine, but I’m not,” Collins’ strained voice said. “Someone tried to kill me this evening.”
“Hold,” Osorio snapped. “Consuelo! Rojas! Come with me.”
Osorio led the other two men to a back room, closing the door. The room was soundproofed. He put the phone on speaker.
“You’re on speaker. Consuelo and Rojas are with me. Now what happened?”
“I almost died, that’s what happened!” Collins cried. “Jesus, I’m still shaking.”
Osorio gave Rojas a disgusted look. The man had no backbone. So he put some steel in his voice.
“Tell me what happened.”
Collins stopped whining. “Yes. Right. Okay, I’d just gotten off work. I followed Yvette home and we were just starting to get romantic, you know? She went to slip into some slinky lingerie, and I was starting to undress in the living room, when some guy came up behind me.”
“You didn’t lock the door?” Rojas asked. His first thought was always security. “Or was he already inside when you arrived?”
“I think I forgot to lock the door. He came from that direction, at least,” Collins said. “Anyway, he wrapped a wire around my throat. I couldn’t breathe. Hell, I could barely think! Darkness started closing in so damn fast.”
Garrote? Osorio thought. How many different ways is this son of a bitch trying to kill my men?
“How did you escape?” Consuelo asked. “Did you shoot him?”
“I don’t carry a gun,” Collins said. “I’m an accountant, not a hitman. Jesus. When I fell to my knees, I knocked over a glass. I managed to grab a shard and cut his face and arm, and Yvette’s little boy came in and surprised him at the same time. I broke free and he ran away.”
“Did you recognize him?”
“No. I never saw anything but his arms and legs. Yvette saw him, but said he was wearing a ski mask,” he said. “Jesus, man, he was going to kill me for working for you.”
Osorio perked up. “How do you know? Did he say something?”
“Damn right he did,” Collins said heatedly. “The bastard said something like, ‘This is for working with that killer… No. that murderer, Osorio.”
Osorio sat back, he templed his hands before his face, fingers tapping on his lips. Murderer? So someone wanted revenge. That narrowed it down some, but still left him with an ocean of enemies.
He’d killed a lot of people in his time. All of them probably had friends and relatives who wished him ill. But who out of those legions would have the heart and grit to come after him?
“You think it’s one of the cartels?” Consuelo asked.
“Maybe.” The drug lord thought about it a moment longer. “Anything else, Collins?”
“That’s all I know about him,” the accountant said. “But the emergency room called the cops. I was questioned by an Addison cop and then two detectives from Dallas.”
“What did you tell them?”
“I told them I was mugged. I don’t think they believed me,” he said. “Detective Bellucci asked about you. She knew I worked for you. How did she know that?”
Osorio looked at Consuelo, and then Rojas. “That’s a good question, my friend. A very good question.”
Osorio strongly suggested Collins take his family on an extended vacation. The further away the better. Hawaii and the Caribbean were nice and warm this time of year. Then he ended the call before Collins could whine some more.
“Find this pendejo coming after me,” Osorio commanded. “I want his head in a bucket. And then kill his family.”
Chapter 16
It was late when Ash finally rolled up to the farmhouse. He used his phone to turn off his security and then grabbed the groceries on the passenger side floorboards. He hurried into the house.
After storing them away, he pulled on a coat and went back out to wash all the blood out of the Dodge pickup. The bloody and damaged coat and flannel shirt were tossed in an old rusty fifty-five gallon drum and burned. The pickup was finally returned to the barn.
Ash liked everything in its proper place, ready to go at a moment’s notice.
Back in the house, he locked up, turned on his outside security, and microwaved a bowl of mini raviolis. They weren’t the healthiest thing to eat, but he loved them so much. And for the hundredth time, he wondered if he’d made a mistake with Deanna.
No. He couldn’t involve her in his mess, especially after tonight’s setback.
His mind returned to her. She was the first person to make him feel alive in five years. Deanna made him question the path he’d chosen.
His real mistake had been not killing that damned accountant, he decided, his resolve firming up again. That cheating bastard had been the one that truly had made Osorio who he was by introducing him to Sokolov.
Ash knew Osorio like the back of his hand after five years of intense preparations and study. Since coming to Texas, Osorio had expanded his operations. He’d gone from street pusher to drug lord, and had expanded into smuggling guns and human trafficking.
Hell, he even recruited a local pimp to whore out the wives, daughters, and girlfriends of his enemies. And more often than not, Osorio got rid of his own girlfriends by giving them to the pimp. Bad breakups resulted in those girlfriends’ deaths. He thought it was fun. He thought it was funny.
Osorio was absolutely sick.
Ash’s whole body tensed up. He couldn’t imagine anyone more vile than him. Osorio was beyond amoral; he was a sociopath. A very rich, powerful, and violent sociopath.
I have to stop him, Ash concluded. It would’ve been so easy to kill Osorio first. But, no, he had to make him suffer. The problem was that he was sure the criminal had beefed up security now and was looking for Ash.
Time was running out.
Ash went into a bedroom turned into his own private armory. An old wooden desk sat in the middle of the room. It was in the farmhouse when he’d rented it. The window had a heat pump in it, providing both heat and cold depending on the season. The glass above
was covered in foil. Racks of weapons covered two of the three remaining walls, with a map of the Dallas/Fort Worth Metroplex on the other.
He’d been collecting and practicing with a wide variety of weapons. Deer rifles, pistols, sawed-off shotguns, and even bows and crossbows. He had an array of knives and daggers, as well. No swords, though he had trained with them. You didn’t take a sword to a gunfight.
Pulling down a scoped 30-06 rifle, Ash wondered if sniping Osorio was called for now. Such a quick, easy death seemed wrong. That murderer had to suffer. But how would Osorio react to being hunted? Would he know fear and dread as the deaths became closer and closer to him? Or would he lash out and hurt innocent bystanders?
The latter worried Ash. His wife and children had been innocent bystanders. Snuffed out just like that in a hail of bullets meant for someone else.
He glanced at the AR-15. He had a bump stock for it, so he could ambush Osorio and his crew, killing them all in a hail of bullets. A fitting fate, all things considered, but still too quick and easy.
Ash wanted to see his face when he died, he fantasized, his grip tightening on the rifle. He wanted Osorio to see him, to know who had killed him and why.
What was it they said about revenge? It is a dish best served cold. And Ash felt very cold inside when he thought about Osorio.
Returning the rifle to its place in the rack, Ash sat at the desk and stared at the map on the wall. Colored tacks showed the important sites around town. He frowned at the yellow tack marking Dave Collins’ office. His first failure.
Then his eyes moved to the red tack indicating where Osorio lived, a small ranch east of Plano. The fastest route from his place to Osorio’s was marked in red and included an X over the best roadside ambush site.
He picked up his phone, tapping one of his apps. Video came up of a large Mediterranean home. Osorio’s ranch house. It was still all lit up, with dozens of cars, SUVs, and pickups in the driveway. He switched another camera, and angle, and checked the backyard and pool area. Empty. So they were down in the basement.