Fatal Dose
Page 1
Table of Contents
Copyright
Fatal Dose
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
CHAPTER FIFTY
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
Fatal Dose
A Mark Matthews Mystery
By K. J. Janssen
Copyright 2013 by K. J. Janssen
Cover Copyright 2013 by Ginny Glass and Untreed Reads Publishing
The author is hereby established as the sole holder of the copyright. Either the publisher (Untreed Reads) or author may enforce copyrights to the fullest extent.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold, reproduced or transmitted by any means in any form or given away to other people without specific permission from the author and/or publisher. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to the living or dead is entirely coincidental.
Also by K. J. Janssen and Untreed Reads Publishing
Blood Money
http://www.untreedreads.com
Fatal Dose
A Mark Matthews Mystery
K. J. Janssen
PROLOGUE
Marco Vennuti’s reputation as a “tough guy” did not have a natural origin. His biological father was a gentle man; an insurance company accountant until his untimely death in a car accident when Marco was only nine years old. To assure that there was food on the table and a roof over their heads, his mother married a family friend, Guido DeAngelo, within a year; a marriage of necessity, not of love.
At the age of eleven, Marco began coming home battered and bruised from street fights with neighborhood kids. One day he arrived home with his clothes torn and sporting a shiner. That was the final straw for his stepfather. DeAngelo was determined that there would be no sissy-boy living under his roof. He decided that the time had come to toughen up the boy.
Over the objections of his mother, who wanted her son to be “soft and gentle” like his grandfather Antonio D’Annunzio, a published poet of some repute in the old country, Guido had been planning how he could accomplish his goal with this frail child.
His wife was out shopping for several hours, so he would not be interrupted. He took Marco down to the cellar. “You pathetic little piece of shit,” he began, “I’m going to toughen you up for your own good.” He proceeded to give Marco a methodical beating including numerous punches to his face and body, kicks to his head and ribs and knocking him into all four walls of the basement. Marco begged him to stop, but Guido ignored the pleas. When he was finished, he left the boy unconscious on the cellar floor while he went upstairs for a beer and to catch a little of the Indians game on TV.
Twenty minutes later, when he returned to the basement, he found a terrified Marco sitting up against a wall, whimpering. Guido walked over to Marco, grabbed him by the shoulders and screamed at him, “You little wimp. If you don’t stop that crying right now, I’ll give you more of the same.” The crying ceased immediately. “Boy, if you’re going to learn one thing today, it’s that this is the very last time anyone will ever get the best of you. I’m going to teach you how to take care of yourself. You’re going to learn to defend yourself against anyone who tries to lay a hand on you, but you’ve got to want that for yourself.” Guido saw a hint of interest through the swollen lids. “Do you understand what I’m saying to you?” Guido asked with tears building in his own eyes.
The little head bobbed up and down. Marco was face-to-face with his stepfather. He looked into Guido’s tearing eyes and at that moment, through the fear and intense pain, he realized that DeAngelo was really trying to help him; that he really cared about his well-being.
Later that afternoon, when his mother returned, she broke into uncontrollable sobs at the sight of Marco. She knew better than to confront her husband over what he had done. Instead, she suffered in silence. Over time she would grow to appreciate the training that Guido gave her son. She saw an air of self-confidence in Marco, but still missed the soft side that she had been nurturing in him for years. The change brought in its wake a new concern and that was that Marco, with his newfound strength, might turn into a bully, like so many of the other boys in the neighborhood.
Over her objections, Guido kept the boy home from school for the next two weeks. It was a credit to his training skills that his punches and kicks were so carefully placed that no bones were broken. As Marco recovered from the pain and bruises, his resolve never to lose another fight, grew stronger. He learned the fine art of fighting, both fair and dirty. Guido was an excellent teacher. His years of surviving on the streets were being put to good use.
When Marco eventually returned to school it took only two street brawls for him to establish respect; respect that was well earned. The boys he fought required extensive medical attention. At the age of eleven, Marco suddenly had the reputation of being someone you didn’t want to mess with. Boys often several years older than he, had the good sense to stay clear of him, sometimes crossing the street to avoid any possibility of contact. This amused Marco because he wasn’t looking for fights. In fact, he mostly went out of his way to avoid them. What everyone thought they saw when they came into contact with him, that he was a bully waiting to beat up on the next unsuspecting victim, was far from the truth. Actually, he was just trying to get by. If you didn’t bother him you had nothing to fear from Marco Vennuti.
CHAPTER ONE
The black Dodge Durango pulled up to the loading dock of the four-story warehouse on Kato Road in Cleveland, Ohio. The driver got out and walked up the ramp to open the door while his two companions lifted an unconscious Brice Bennett from the trunk. Brice’s hands were tied behind his back. They half carried, half dragged him up the ramp into the warehouse. They took the freight elevator to the second floor. Crossing the warehouse to a door marked “STORAGE ROOM” they untied his ha
nds and tossed him unceremoniously onto the concrete floor of the empty room, locking the door on the way out.
“That should take care of the rat for now,” the leader of the group muttered.
One of the other men asked, “When will the boss be here?”
“He’s on his way. I hope he gets here soon. I want to get this over with.”
Twenty minutes later, Marco Vennuti got off the freight elevator and joined the men. Vennuti’s two hundred pounds were well distributed over his six foot frame, evidence of his lifetime of physical training. He worked out at least three times a week, including occasional sparring with aspiring amateur boxers in training and with his private martial arts instructor. His black hair was short-cropped, highlighting a prominent forehead. A gravelly voice asked, “Where is he?”
“He’s in here, Mister Vennuti” the leader replied, as he opened the door and stepped back to let his boss enter.
Marco stepped into the dimly lit room. Over in a corner, Brice sat- terror evident in his eyes.
“What’s going on, Mister Vennuti?” he asked. “I didn’t steal anything, honest.” Brice knew that there was little chance of walking out of that place alive unless he could convince Vennuti that he was innocent of whatever it was that he was suspected of doing. He summoned all the courage he could muster, determined to protect his cover as long as he could.
Vennuti reached down and slapped the top of Brice’s head. “I’ll ask the questions, punk and if you want to get out of here in one piece, you’ll give me some straight answers. I don’t know who the fuck you think you’re messing with. When you screwed up last time I gave you a good job with decent money and this is how you repay me.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Brice protested. “I didn’t do anything wrong. Honest, Mister Vennuti. I’ve just been doing my job like you told me. You’ve gotta believe me.” His voice was trembling. His eyes were wide open with fear. He knew Vennuti was not the kind of man you could easily fool. All he could do was try his best. His survival depended on how well he could carry it off.
“Get him to his feet,” Vennuti snapped.
Two men grabbed Brice and pulled him up. His legs were rubbery so they grabbed him roughly under the armpits.
Marco looked him straight in the eyes. “You must think I’m stupid. I hear that you’ve been sneaking around at night, going way out of your way to make phone calls on public phones. You’ve been followed for a week now. After one of your calls, the cops intercepted one of our vans and we lost over one hundred thousand bucks worth of pills. Last night, again, right after you made one of your calls, our new repackaging shop was raided. It was the one you helped set up last Wednesday. Do you expect me to believe that it’s all a coincidence?” Marcos voice hardened as he asked, “What’s your angle? Who are you working for?”
“You’re wrong. I was just calling my brother. My mom’s sick and I was worried about her. I don’t have a phone where I’m staying and it took me a while to find a public phone that worked.”
“Don’t give me that bullshit. You went right by a half-dozen phones that were working. You didn’t even try them and I also happen to know that your brother was killed in the war and you only had one. Now, I’m going to ask again, and this is gonna be the last time I ask nicely, who are you working for?”
“I’m not working for anyone. You’ve got the wrong guy, I swear. I’m sorry I lied about using the phone. I was really calling my bookie to place a bet. He doesn’t want me to use any phones that can be traced. You understand that, don’t you? I was just being extra careful. It was all very innocent. I would never do anything against you. You’re my friend. I owe you.”
Brice was quick on his feet, but not quick enough to outsmart Marco Vennuti.
Vennuti’s face flushed. “You goddamn liar,” he yelled as he launched a huge fist into the boy’s solar plexus, knocking the air from his lungs.
As Brice gasped for air, he blurted out, “I didn’t do anything. You gotta believe me. Please, don’t hit me again.”
Brice was unable to defend himself. The two thugs had firm grips on his arms. Even if his arms were free, he was certain that he would be no match for the four men, even with the hand-to-hand training he received at Quantico; at which he excelled.
Marco punched him again and then a third time. The two men holding Brice strained under his weight and his body dropped two inches, causing the second and third blows to land on his lower ribcage. When Marco delivered the last blow, they all heard a loud snap as several ribs broke. All signs of struggle suddenly left Brice’s body. The men let Brice slide to the floor. The leader felt for a pulse; there was none. He looked up at Marco and shook his head.
“Geez, Mister Vennuti, he’s dead.”
Marco looked surprised and somewhat disappointed. He thought for a minute “Well, he was gonna be anyway. Get rid of him the way we planned,” he said to the leader. “Make sure it looks like an accident.”
He walked out of the room and into center of the warehouse before taking out his cell phone and hitting a speed dial number. When he was connected, he just said, “He’s dead. He wouldn’t talk, but I’m sure it was him.”
Two men carried Brice across the empty warehouse to the freight elevator. They removed his coat and tossed it on the warehouse floor. The plan was to create the appearance that he had been crushed by the elevator. The leader walked toward the stairs. “I’ll go downstairs and override the safety circuit on the panel. Lay him face down so he’s halfway in the warehouse and halfway in the lift so it will look like he was trying to climb out of a stalled elevator. When I call out, reach in and press the third floor button. Get your hand out real quick. It’s gonna happen fast and it ain’t gonna be pretty.”
He rushed down the stairs. After a few seconds, he called up, “Okay, hit the button.” One of the men reached in and pressed the floor three button. The elevator lurched upward, but came to an abrupt stop as Brice’s body wedged between the elevator floor and the top of the second floor door frame. An eerie sound came from the body on impact. Within minutes, the stench of urine filled the air as Brice’s bodily functions gave out.
“Oh, my god,” one of the men gasped as he looked up at Brice’s bulging eyes.
The leader returned to the second floor after resetting the safety switch. He looked up at the wedged body and grinned. “That looks great. You guys did good.” He reached up to a dangling arm to double-check for a pulse. As he expected, there was none.
Vennuti was watching the operation. He walked up to the trio, took one look at the body and smiled his approval. He, too, reached up to check the dangling arm, not being one to take any unnecessary chances. “It looks like he tried to get off while the elevator was still moving.” He shook his head. “What a tragic accident. He was so young,” he said in a mocking voice. “The safety mechanism must have failed.” He turned toward the stairs. Half laughing, he said, “I guess we’ll have to take the stairs down. It looks like the elevator is going to be out of service for a while.” He stopped to pick up Brice’s jacket. “Here, toss this into the elevator.”
As he was handing the jacket to the leader, Marco felt something hard around the left shoulder pad. He felt around the lining and found a narrow slit. He pulled at the opening and a metal object fell to the floor. Vennuti picked it up. It was Brice’s FBI shield. He checked the lining again and pulled out Brice’s ID. “Oh fuck, he was a Fed. Didn’t you assholes search him when you picked him up?”
“Sure we did, Marco. We didn’t find anything,” the leader said.
“For Christ’s sake, does this look like nothing? It was right here by the shoulder pad. How could you possibly miss it?”
“I’m sorry, Mister Vennuti, but that just means that you were right about him. He’s gotta be the rat. Anyway, there’s no harm done. If we found the shield on him, you would have off’d him anyway. Right?”
“Yeah, of course, but that doesn’t excuse your sloppy work.”
> Marco didn’t appreciate hired thugs telling him what he would or would not have done. It was obvious that he needed to rectify this flagrant security breach. It was bad enough that a federal agent had infiltrated his company, but to have incompetence in the ranks was just too much. If his boss had found out about the FBI being involved he would have held Marco personally responsible. The best he could do now was clean up this mess and take care of the security issue later.
“We’ve got one thing going for us,” Marco said. “To the Feds, it will probably look like an accident; like he was doing his job snooping around and just made a fatal error in judgment. Now, let’s get out of here. Toss that jacket into the elevator. I’ll get rid of the shield and ID. I don’t want the local cops finding them. You guys do your best to establish an alibi for the next couple of days. I want lots of visibility, but keep your mouths shut about this.”
Vennuti continued, “Its Friday night. The cleaning crew went through earlier so the body probably won’t be found until Monday. By that time it will be hard to determine the exact time of death.”
The leader turned to his men and said, “You heard the boss. Look around and make sure you haven’t left anything behind. Wipe the place clean. Then, let’s get out of here.”
They spent a half-hour cleaning the storage room and wiping prints from any part of the warehouse they walked through. Satisfied that it was clean, they went down the stairs and exited the building.
The Durango pulled away from the warehouse first, followed by Vennuti’s Lincoln Town Car. Marco was back on the phone. He needed to finalize his report to his boss on the informer’s “accident.” They decided it would be best if the three men involved disappeared. Marco gave his boss the names and addresses of the three men, assuring him that they would be easy to find.
His part of the job was done. He avoided any mention of the FBI being involved. That would be too difficult to explain. On the way home he spotted a barrel fire on a construction site that was left to burn out. Marco dropped Brice’s ID into the barrel and watched as the flames devoured it. He kept the shield as a memento.