The Steve Williams Series Boxed Set

by J. E. Taylor

  “I’m meeting Charlie for lunch,” he said to Linda over his shoulder. He didn’t say to keep it under wraps—he just said to get his ass over there now.

  The car was waiting for him in the garage. Manny stood by the open passenger door, waving him inside. He went without hesitation, knowing any sign of doubt would be met with a violent end. Steve didn’t speak, just gave Manny a nod and kept his hands from fidgeting, making his body relax and his manner as casual as the circumstances would allow.

  Manny turned up the radio. A Spanish blend of hip-hop rang through the car and Steve raised his eyebrow.

  “You can walk if you don’t like it.”

  He laughed and returned his gaze to the passing buildings. His heart slammed against his ribs and sweat threatened to douse his shirt. “Charlie didn’t happen to mention what the hell’s got his shorts in a wad, did he?”

  “Nope, he just said to get your ass down there pronto.”

  Steve gave a nod, wondering if Charlie would give the hit to Manny or if he’d want to tear him limb from limb himself. His phone buzzed and he pulled it from his pocket, glancing at the caller ID. Jesus. It was Jennifer. He pressed the on button and put the phone to his ear. “Hey, babe.”

  “Hi.” She didn’t say anything more, just sighed.

  “What’s up?”

  “Nothing much. I’m bored.”

  He burst out laughing. “Where’s Des?”

  “She’s right here, reading a book.”

  “You still sucking down those spoonfuls of honey?”

  “Yeah.”

  “They helping?”

  “Eh.” Silence. “Where are you?”

  “I’m in the car with Manny, heading to meet Charlie for lunch.”

  “You have a chauffeur now?”

  Steve snorted and glanced at Manny. “I doubt he’d like being referred to as my driver, hon. He just happened to be in the area and when our boss calls…”

  “We go,” Manny finished, glancing toward Steve.

  The look in his eyes gave Steve a start. Whatever was at the other end of this trip wasn’t going to be pleasant and he kept the smirk on his face for show. “Why don’t you have Desiree take you out for a change?”

  “Nah, I’m tired.” The sounds of the toilet almost drown out her quick warning and what she said chilled him to numbness.

  “Then take a nap.” He recovered from the sudden shock of her words, rolled his eyes, and pointed at the phone. “I’ve got to go, hon. I’ll catch you after the show, okay?”

  “Sure. Love you.”

  “Love you too,” he said and folded the phone. “Christ, I never imagined she’d get so fucking clingy.”

  Manny laughed. “My brother said my sister-in-law became fucking Godzilla when she was pregnant. She ended up looking like him, too, by the end.”

  “Jenny’s more like a ninja demon that sneaks up on you out of the blue. One minute she’s fine, then this stealth monster hits, and I don’t know what to do with her. I’m used to her fire, you know, I can deal with that but this clinging shit has got to go.” He slid the phone in his pocket. “I didn’t sign on for this.”

  Manny’s laughter cranked up a notch. “I feel for you, dude. If I were living in the same apartment with such a volatile chick, I’d never get any sleep. I’d be too afraid she’d smash my head with the closest knick-knack.”

  Steve grinned at the reference. “Why do you think I sneak out and hang at the office some of the time? It’s not because I’m so dedicated to the job that I think I have to work all night—it’s to get the hell away from her.”

  That earned a roar of approval and a slap on the shoulder. Manny pulled up to the curb in front of the warehouse. He gave Steve a nod. “I’ll catch you later, and good luck with the ninja demon.”

  “Take it easy,” he said and slipped out of the car, crossing to the warehouse door and punching in the proper code. He stepped inside and walked up the stairs to Charlie’s office, each step a brutal reminder of his undercover status.

  The door swung open and Charlie stepped out, his features hard and unreadable as he waved him inside the dark office.

  The lights shot on and Steve stared at a sweaty bound man he had never seen before. Charlie closed the door behind him and crossed to the desk where his gun sat along with a pair of bloody pliers. Steve’s eyes dropped to the man’s equally bloody hand. Charlie had yanked the nails off the man’s right fingers. He turned his attention to Charlie regaining his composure. “What the fuck?”

  Charlie twirled the gun on the desk, staring at Steve. “This little shit’s a nark.”

  Steve’s head snapped toward the man, his eyes narrowing. “And?”

  “And he said his contact has more than one of them in my organization.” Charlie checked the clip on his gun and reloaded it, pointing it in the man’s direction. “Unfortunately he doesn’t know who the other informant is.” He pulled the hammer back.

  Steve waited and when Charlie didn’t say more, he turned fully in Charlie’s direction and shrugged, gesturing with his hands, silently saying what the hell do you want me to do?

  “I want you to find out if this asshole knows more than he’s telling me.”

  Again, he shrugged with his palms facing the ceiling, perplexed.

  Charlie tossed the pliers in his direction and Steve caught them easily, blinking as he looked from the pliers back to Charlie. He turned and looked at the balding man. The man was now blubbering incoherently, his eyes wide and glued to the torture mechanism Steve held.

  “I’m a lawyer, Charlie,” he said, turning back to his boss. “I’m not qualified to do this.” The barrel of the gun swung in his direction and he sighed, cocking his head. “Really?” Exasperation filled his voice and Charlie nodded, waving him forward.

  “Start with the thumb this time.”

  Steve put the pliers on the edge of the desk and peeled off his overcoat and suit jacket, tossing them on the couch. “I don’t want to have to explain blood on my suit to Jennifer,” he said and rolled up his sleeves, trying to think of a way to stall this, to head this off without exacting the torture Charlie insisted upon. “What’s his name?”

  “Does it matter?”

  Steve sent a glare at Charlie. “Yeah, it does. What’s his name?”

  “Lefty,” he answered, waving the gun again.

  Steve turned, swiping the pliers off the corner of the desk and approached the trembling man. “Now Lefty, I think it’s time you leveled with us, don’t you?”

  Lefty nodded, his head moving at a pace that would make a bobble-head doll proud.

  “Who are you feeding information to?” He reached down, taking the man’s left hand, studying the finely manicured nails. He raised his eyes, meeting Lefty’s frightened stare. “Hmmm?”

  “I already told Charlie, I don’t know his real name. He’s a city cop, a detective, and if I saw him, I could tell you who he is, but all I know him as is Mr. L.” The man’s voice waivered and his eyes darted between the pliers and his hand before returning to Steve’s, pleading for him to believe.

  He took a deep breath and peeled his thumb from under the rest of his fingers. Staring at the thumbnail and the pliers, he tried to figure out how the technique worked. At a loss, he glanced over his shoulder at Charlie.

  “Get a good grip on the nail with the pliers and pull up and back toward the knuckle.”

  With a nod, he pushed the nail between the pliers, actually embedding the needle-nose point into the tender flesh under the nail. Lefty sobbed, pleading again. Steve paused, turning his gaze to Lefty. “You want to elaborate for us?”

  “I don’t know anything more.” Snot rolled from his nose and he blubbered some more and then the unmistakable acrid scent filled the room. His bladder let go and he looked back at Charlie, hoping for sympathy, but the cold eyes returning his stare ignored the pleading man and bore into Steve.

  He set his teeth together, tightening his jaw in resignation and did as instructed. The w
et ripping sound accompanied by the scream of anguish hit him like a falling brick and he ground his teeth against the burning bile now lining his esophagus. With a final yank, he pulled the nail free, dropping it on the floor with the other five bloody peeled fingernails.

  The deafening roar of gunfire filled the room and a bullet exploded through Lefty’s head, covering Steve with splattered blood. He jumped back, dropping the pliers on the ground, and spun toward Charlie. “What the fuck!”

  “I believed him,” Charlie said, flipping the safety on the gun and setting it on the desk.

  “Then why the hell did you make me do that?”

  He shrugged. “I wanted to see what you were made of.”

  Steve didn’t have to fake the fury that coursed through his veins. He was far beyond that and had to bite down on the Miranda Rights swarming through his brain. He didn’t have a weapon, he didn’t have back up, and Jennifer had warned him on the phone call today, she said if he followed his instincts, he’d end up dead. She told him to do the opposite—to do what was necessary because nothing he could do today would save the poor slob behind him.

  “Another fucking test?” He curled his hands into fists and took a step in Charlie’s direction. He must have had murder in his eyes because Charlie flipped the safety off his gun and pointed it at him.

  “Cool your jets.” He waved the barrel toward the couch and picked up the phone. With a punch of ten numbers, he muttered, “I need a cleaner at the warehouse,” before hanging up the receiver.

  Steve moved stiffly to the couch and sat down. His eyes kept traveling to the dead snitch and then snapping back to the floor in front of him. With the fade of the adrenaline rush came the shakes and he clamped his teeth together so they wouldn’t clack. He’d missed this aftereffect in Brooksfield. He’d been too amped up and too worried about Jennifer, and he had passed out before the knowledge of killing sank in, but this time, he was in the thick of the impact.

  He caught Charlie’s interested study of his reaction and snapped, “Stop staring at me.”

  “You look a bit green.” He slid the mirror holding a clump of raw cocaine and a razor blade in his direction.

  His gaze fell to the waiting treat and he nearly jumped to his feet and ran across the room. He prayed the cocaine would numb his anger instead of turning it into a living breathing beast that begged for revenge. He hoped the blow would calm the storm.

  “Your first dead body?” he asked, flipping the safety on the gun and sliding it in the holster under the desk. He snagged a couple of wipes out of the drawer and handed them to Steve.

  He stared at the offered sheets and raised his eyes to Charlie’s.

  “There’s blood on your face.”

  Steve wiped his fingers across his cheek and pulled them away, disgusted at the thick red smears. He snatched the wipes from Charlie and mopped them across his skin, frantic to get the blood off, his breath now rasping in and out in rapid succession. The room tilted into a spin.

  “Head between the legs.”

  He heard the partial directions Charlie spouted and sat in the chair next to the desk, dropping his head between his legs until the black spots cleared from his vision and the high-pitched whine disappeared. The tapping of the blade against glass continued and when he raised his head again, Charlie slid the mirror and a straw in his direction.

  He took the straw and snorted two lines before switching and inhaling the other two lines. Dropping the straw on the desk, he leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes, waiting for the rush, waiting for his heart to trip into high gear, waiting for the fury to numb.

  “I’m impressed.”

  He laughed and opened his eyes. “You are a crazy motherfucker, you know that, Wisnowski?”

  Charlie grinned. “There’s a shower downstairs and a change of clothes. Thought you might want to get out of those before you leave.”

  He dropped his gaze. His suit was ruined and he couldn’t go home like this. Turning toward the corpse, he exhaled. “What about him?”

  “I got cleaners coming.”

  “Ah.” He turned back toward Charlie. “Like in the mafia?”

  “Can’t operate a drug ring without the help of certain business partners, at least not without finding yourself at the bottom of the Hudson with a Columbian necktie.”

  He emitted another, “Ah.” He stood and headed toward the door. The floor shifted under his feet and for the first time, he noticed the thin layer of plastic covering the carpet.

  “Steve.”

  He stopped and turned raising his eyebrows.

  “Your clothes.”

  “I thought…”

  Charlie chuckled. “Don’t worry; shift change isn’t for another hour. No one will see you in your skivvies.”

  He emptied his pockets, tossing his wallet, keys and cell onto his clean blazer and stripped, leaving in only his socks, undershirt and underwear.

  The shower was hot but not enough to warm up his chilled core.

  His mind swirled, coaxed by the drugs and the blatant murder. He had the bastard cold, even without a body. Steve’s testimony would hold enough weight to put Charlie away for life, but he still had the leverage, the power to make a deal. The client list still hadn’t surfaced and neither had the direct connection to the Bondino’s. Steve wasn’t sure what to do, but he knew if he didn’t play it cool, he’d end up just like Lefty.

  With a deep breath, he stepped out of the shower, dried off and pulled on the clothing left for him. When he stepped into the belly of the warehouse, he met Charlie’s cool gaze and crossed the expanse to him.

  He handed Steve his wallet, keys and cell and nodded his head toward the front door. “I’ll drop you off at your apartment.”

  “I can finish the day at the office,” Steve said, pocketing his items, thankful he cleared his texts and call history on a daily basis. The only ones he left were from Charlie, Desiree and Jennifer.

  Charlie sent a sideways glance in his direction.

  “What?”

  “You sure?”

  “Look, I can deal with blood and guts and violent death. I’ve done my share of hunting and skinning and prepping venison, so while what you did back there took me by surprise, it didn’t wig me out.” He met Charlie’s stare. “If you want to see me freak out, put me in a room with a stage five cancer victim hours away from death, then you’d see me lose it.”

  “I’ll have to remember that.”

  “Besides, you did the prep work.”

  Charlie’s eyebrows creased.

  “The plastic. You covered your ass pretty good.”

  He chuckled and changed the subject. “You don’t get many calls.”

  He snapped his gaze to Charlie and shrugged. “So?”

  “Just making an observation.”

  “And what else did you observe?”

  “You don’t carry any pictures of your family.”

  “I have pictures of Jennifer. That’s all I need. Why you shuffling through my shit?”

  “Insurance.”

  “Against what?”

  “Against you going to the authorities.”

  “I’m your lawyer.”

  “Wasn’t it you who said if you see something that involves a commission of a crime that lawyer client confidentiality is compromised.”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “Well, you just witnessed a murder.”

  “Okay, I’m going to stop you right there. What I witnessed was an accident. You were teaching us the proper way to load and unload a gun and it inadvertently went off and scared the shit out of Lefty. The last time we saw him, he was running out of CW FOG’s warehouse.”

  Charlie started to chuckle.

  “I assume you have a gun that is licensed?”

  Charlie stopped laughing and nodded.

  “Then I suggest you discharge it into the floor of your office at CW FOG after hours.”

  “Shit, you are good.”

  “Why the hell did you think I to
ok so long in the shower?”

  “I figured you were freaking out or throwing up or both.”

  It was Steve’s turn to laugh. “Ever skin a deer?”

  “No.”

  “It’s a hundred times grosser than shooting someone in the head.”

  Chapter 40

  Steve walked into the apartment and dropped his briefcase. He closed the door and crossed into the bathroom, dropping in front of the toilet and finally letting the bile barrel out of his stomach. Shaking, he propped his elbows on the edges of the toilet and held his head.

  The day got the best of him and he spit, flushing the toilet before sliding to the side and leaning his head against the cabinet. He let the first sob escape and both anger and fear crawled through him, festering in the pit of his stomach and forcing sob after harsh sob from his chest.

  Shit like today wasn’t supposed to happen. He wasn’t supposed to bear witness to murder and pretend nothing was wrong. He wasn’t supposed to torture innocent men and then grab a light lunch at the office. He wasn’t supposed to crave the numbness of drugs, but he did. He did all these things and now his haunted eyes stared back, detesting and accusing.

  He didn’t know how long he sat glaring at his reflection, but finally his eyes closed and he stopped shaking, his throat raw and sore and his eyes burning. He wiped his face with his sleeve and stood, crossing to the sink and throwing cold water on his face.

  The minty toothpaste couldn’t quite wipe out the acrid bile and every time his thoughts twirled around the day, his throat clenched. He had to get a message to Jack, but before he did anything, he’d have to comb through the apartment. Manny had enough time to drop a bug even with the deadbolt and he had to be sure, otherwise it would be his body tossed in the incinerator.

  He rummaged around the top shelf of the closet, muttering under his breath until his hand fell on the frequency scanner the FBI gave him after the last sweep. He walked around the apartment scanning everything and the last item on the list was his phone. Charlie had it long enough and his hunch was right. The scanner beeped its high pitch staccato pulse and he turned it off.