The Hunters Series Box Set

by Glenn Trust

  “Tell me what to do.”

  “First thing is get out and find us a place, a warehouse, where we can put the girls until we move them. Needs to be someplace quiet, away from things, but with good transportation routes in and out.”

  “Anything else.”

  “Not for now. Get that done and let me know. Still making the arrangements on my end. When we’re ready, we’ll move. Gonna do it right this time. Last time I hurried, that was my fault.”

  “Okay, Roy. I’ll get on it.”

  “Good.” The call ended without goodbye, talk to you later or see ya around. One second he was talking, the next he had given his orders and hung up.

  One thing struck her, though. Lonna looked at the phone. Did Roy Budroe just admit that something was his fault? Being away from home, from his base, must have been harder on him than she thought.

  37. Occasionally

  Papers and files scattered across her desk, Sharon Price followed up on Mike Darlington’s hunch. George had briefed her on the visit from the sheriff and chief deputy and the idea of an undercover operation in Roydon, at Pete’s Place specifically.

  Now she was searching for the link, some common denominator that would make this a big enough case for Andy to take it to the governor. They would need his approval to commit the necessary resources to a covert investigation in Pickham County.

  Closing the door to her office in the basement of the courthouse in Everett, she had spent the morning trying to put the pieces together. If Roy Budroe was involved she had no doubt that the pieces would be scattered, but they would be there. It was just a matter of finding them and linking them together.

  After four hours, she had her own hunch and picked up the phone. It took ten minutes to figure out whom to talk to, but eventually she rang through to an office in Tallahassee.

  “This is Deputy Chief of Investigations Jameson.”

  “Chief Jameson, this is Sharon Price, Governor’s Office of Special Investigations in Georgia.”

  “I’ve heard of you people.”

  “Heard of you too, Chief. Have a favor to ask of you.”

  Shoot. We’ll see what we can do.”

  It was a straightforward request, simple and to the point. She gave Jameson her number and hung up.

  It was coming together. She lifted the scattered files and reports one by one, sorting and piling them for the briefing she would be giving to Andy and the team later.

  The killing of the drug courier in the pine forest in Pickham County. Two murders at a drug house in Valdosta. Another in Columbus and one in Savannah. They were seemingly random and unrelated, but there was a common denominator. The victims were all killed with a small caliber weapon, shot through the head. In all of the cases, someone was missing, gone, not found dead anywhere. Most importantly, the sale of illegal narcotics had not been shut down, just relocated. It was classic, a power play by someone, taking over, expanding their own business…someone like Roy Budroe.

  She sat back looking at the folders, now neatly stacked in front of her. There was probably enough there now, to make the case for the undercover operation, but Sharon Price was thorough if she was anything. A link to a case out of state would surely compel the governor to authorize and support the undercover operation, if only for political reasons. She hated politics, but she was learning that politicians did have their uses, occasionally.

  38. Only Way Out Alive

  “I’m scared.”

  Sitting in his sister’s small living room in Valdosta, Vernon Taft held the phone close. “What’s the matter, Lonna?”

  “He’s draggin’ me into something. I don’t want to go to prison for the rest of my life.”

  “What…what’s he doin’?”

  “I can’t talk now. Can you meet me?”

  “Where?”

  “Usual place.”

  The usual place was a small rest area on a state highway midway between Pickham County and Valdosta.

  “I’ll be there.” Vernon disconnected and looked at his sister, reading the newspaper on the sofa. “I need to borrow the car.”

  “Why?” She lowered the paper, looking over her glasses at her brother. “It’s that Lonna MacIntyre again, isn’t it?”

  He rose and took the keys from her handbag hanging on a hook by the front door. “What it is, is none of your business.”

  “Fuck you, Vernon.” She lifted the paper in front of her face in disgust. “Whatever happens, you’re on your own.”

  “Thanks, Sis.” He walked through the door, keys jingling in his hand.

  Two hours later, Lonna pulled into the rest area and parked beside Vernon’s sister’s Dodge minivan. He unlocked the doors as she came around and climbed into the passenger seat. He leaned over expectantly, but she turned her cheek to his kiss.

  “What’s the matter? I ain’t seen you in over a month.”

  She looked at him. “Told you, I’m scared”

  Sighing, he leaned back in the seat. “Tell me about it.”

  “He’s draggin’ me into that thing he was doin’ last year.”

  “You mean with the girls…sex slaves or whores or whatever you call it.”

  “Slaves is the right word. He says it’s right up my alley.” She looked at Vernon. “I might be a whore, but I ain’t never been no one’s slave, and I ain’t never made no one a slave.” A rough hand with bright red nails lifted to wipe the tears away from her puffy face. “I’m scared, Vernon and I don’t know what to do.”

  He reached out across the open space between the seats and put a hand on the back of her neck and shoulder. “I told you to be careful. Roy Budroe is a bad man.”

  “I know what the hell you told me. I don’t need to hear that. I need to figure out how to get out.”

  “Out?”

  She nodded, blowing her nose on a tissue from her purse. “Out. You said we could run away together somewhere.” She looked at him. “Where, Vernon?”

  He had meant it when he said it, but now, if Budroe wanted her to do something and she left…he would never stop looking for her. He would find her and when he did, we would kill Lonna and anyone who was with her. You did not run out on Roy Budroe. Lonna was right to be scared.

  He sat back in the seat thinking. “It’s different now, Lonna. He wants you to do something big. He won’t forget you.”

  “I know that. That’s why I called you.”

  “There might be someone I can call.”

  “Who?”

  “I can’t say that right now…best you don’t know.” Might be someone he could call, if George Mackey would even take his call out on bail and waiting for his own trial. “Maybe we can find a way to get out of this, both of us.” He looked at her. “I’ll need something though.”

  She looked at him, eyes narrowed, suspicious. He put her mind at ease. “I need to know what he’s up to, where he is…stuff like that.”

  “I don’t know all that.”

  “But you know something. Anything you can give me will help.”

  “You’re gonna cut a deal, aren’t you?”

  “Only way I can think to get us out of here…alive…maybe.” He put his hand out on her shoulder again. “We only get away, if Budroe goes down. You see that, don’t you? Any other way and he comes after us.”

  Lonna nodded and blew her nose again. Vernon’s hand slid down her shoulder onto her large breast, stroking and massaging it. He smiled when she didn’t push it away immediately.

  “You think that’s a piece of hamburger or something, the way you’re squeezin’ on it?”

  “Nope, just your tit…a nice tit.”

  “Oh hell, let’s crawl in the back if you’re so hard up. I owe you that, I reckon.”

  Fortunately, it was a quiet rest area. There was no one around to notice the rocking minivan parked in the back under the trees or hear the moans of two people inside who didn't get laid all that often.

  39. A Simple Word

  “Why the sudden trust in me?” T
he green, countryside whisked by the windows of the Chevrolet Suburban. The meeting place selected by Soto’s men was in central Florida, in the country west of Port Saint Lucie. Out of the blue, Budroe had assigned Ramón Guzman to represent his interests and see to the arrangements, with a chaperone. He turned away from the flowing landscape to look at Marques Peña.

  “Did you ask him…Budroe?” Peña drove without taking his eyes off the road, hands held professionally at ten and two, focused. Guzman had noticed that everything he did seemed focused, efficient.

  “Humph.” Guzman turned his head back to the window. “I have learned that it is best not to question much that he says. Simply do and things will work out better that way, at least for now.”

  “For now? You have doubts about the future.”

  “I would say that I have doubts about my future. I am not stupid, you know. When he no longer needs me, when there is no further service required of me I am sure that he will put an end to my presence, to my life…just as he did to Eduardo Rivera.” He looked at Peña again. "Perhaps he will have you do it.”

  “Perhaps.” Peña shrugged. “Perhaps not. Is that not what you and Rivera had intended for him?”

  They were alone in the car. The guards had been left at the house in Heron Run and Guzman was in the care, and control of Budroe’s chief of security. There was still no freedom, but being free of the watching eyes of the guards was a relief.

  “I suppose it is what we intended…what Rivera intended.”

  For the first time, Peña’s eyes flicked away from the road for a second. “A man accepts responsibility for his acts, Ramón. I think that is the great lesson you have yet to learn. We have chosen this dangerous business. There are consequences. To say that someone else, that it was only Rivera who wanted to be rid of Budroe is a lie. You know it, and I know it...and Señor Budroe knows it.”

  Guzman was silent. It was true. He and Rivera had planned to eliminate Budroe and take over his operation. Rivera had called it business. It had seemed like a good business plan when they talked, when it was still in the making. But Budroe had suspected and had beaten them at their own game. They had underestimated him. Rivera had paid with his life.

  “And if he knows that I was part of the plan…to eliminate him, why am I alive?”

  “Business.”

  “Yes, yes. Business, always business.” Guzman was annoyed. “But I have seen him act in rage, take life. He could have ended my life easily at any time in the last year.”

  “He could have, and yet he did not.”

  “So you are saying it is business, and only business. That is the reason I am still alive, which brings me back to my situation. When he no longer needs me, he will eliminate me.”

  “I am saying that, in business, there must be trust. A man must take responsibility for his actions. He must be trusted. Consider what it would be like if the roles were reversed. If you held his life in your hands.” Eyes back on the road, Peña spoke somberly. “I know what kind of man he is. He is hard, tough and he would accept responsibility. If it cost him his life, so be it. But before his life was ended, he would search for a way to be trusted, to be back in business, to win his life, not beg for it.”

  “You sound as if you admire him.”

  “I do. In many respects, he is like me.”

  “Do you trust him?” Guzman wondered if he was going too far with this man who so admired his captor.

  “I trust him, as far as business is concerned, and he trusts me.”

  “As far as business is concerned?”

  Peña smiled and nodded. “Yes, very good. He trusts me, as far as business is concerned.” He looked at Guzman again. “You have not earned his trust and so you worry about your future.”

  “And how am I supposed to do that, earn his trust?”

  “This trip, this assignment to make the arrangements for the meeting is his way of testing you...your ability to be trusted.”

  “With you standing over my shoulder?”

  “Trust is earned little by little. You earn a little here, then a little more next time. One day, no one is standing over your shoulder.” He paused for a second, thinking about his next words. “You should know something.”

  “What is that?”

  “I have checked on this man in Trinidad, Armando Soto.”

  “Yes?”

  “He is a man like Budroe…a man like me.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means that you will have to earn his trust, as well. If you do not, the consequences will be severe. He is not one to be trifled with. You should think about that. We will be at the meeting place soon.”

  Ramón Guzman put his head back and closed his eyes. Peña’s words spun through his brain. Trust. Such a simple word, but in this world, this dangerous business as Peña called it, being trusted and knowing whom to trust were complicated matters.

  40. Everything Is Cool

  “Pickham Unit 2, 10-48 on a motorcycle, chopped Harley, black in color, white male rider, Eversham Road near the county line.” Mike Darlington read the bike’s tag number to the dispatcher, put the microphone down and popped on the blue lights on top of the F-150.

  “10-4, Pickham 2, traffic stop at Eversham Road near the Pickham County line.”

  The bike rider’s head turned to the side mirror. Darlington looked into his eyes, but the motorcycle continued, the rider ignoring the blue lights. He gave the siren a brief whoop. The bike continued another half mile and then pulled over just past the county line.

  Rolling to a slow stop, the motorcycle’s engine ceased rumbling. The matte black helmet turned, the rider watching in the mirror as Darlington exited the county pickup and approached. He started to rise from the motorcycle’s seat.

  “Stay where you are. Have a seat.” Mike walked up slowly.

  Tall, at least six feet five, the rider easily straddled the bike. He sat back down.

  “License and insurance.” Darlington looked through the visor into the man’s eyes.

  A large black leather wallet on a steel chain was jammed in the biker’s back pocket. He tugged it out, rummaging around inside until he found what he was looking for.

  His eyes never leaving the man’s face, Darlington took the license and card. “Take your helmet off.”

  “You’re outta your county.”

  “I know.”

  “You ain’t got no jurisdiction here. You ain’t got no right to stop me.”

  “Afraid you’re wrong there. Saw you in Pickham County. You chose not to stop. Besides…” Darlington peered through the biker’s visor. “Sheriff has statewide arrest powers. I’m the sheriff’s deputy. I can pretty much stop you wherever the fuck I want. Now take off the helmet.”

  Jaw clenched, Big Luke McCrory pulled the helmet off and rested it on the bike’s gas tank. Darlington held the license up and matched the picture to his face and nodded.

  “What you stop me for?”

  “You were running a little fast, Mr. McCrory.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “That a fact.” Darlington smiled. “You wait right here.”

  In the pickup, one eye on the biker and one on his ticket book, Mike lifted the microphone. “Pickham Unit 2. 10-27, 28 and 29 on the following…” He read out McCrory’s information from the driver’s license and repeated the tag number.

  It only took a minute to write the charge out on the citation. That was all the time the dispatcher needed to run the license, registration and wants on Big Luke and his bike.

  “Pickham 2, driver’s license is valid. Motorcycle, a 2005 Harley Davidson, is registered to Lucas McCrory at a Waycross address. No wants on the subject or the bike.”

  “10-4.” Mike exited the truck and approached a pissed off Luke McCrory.

  “Here you go, Mr. McCrory.”

  “What’s this?”

  “Citation.”

  “For what, goddamnit. I told you I wasn’t speeding…you know it goddamnit. You’re just
fuckin’ with me.”

  “Ticket’s for failure to show proof of insurance. Your card’s expired.”

  “That’s fucking bullshit." He stood up straddling the motorcycle. "Maybe I'll just kick your ass.”

  Shoving the ticket book in his back pocket, Mike took a step forward. “You keep talkin’, sport, and I might just give you the chance to see if you got what it takes.”

  Facing each other on the country road, it was a standoff. Luke was big and strong, but Mike Darlington was stocky, well-muscled and unafraid.

  Accustomed to pushing people around who were generally afraid of him, if not completely terrorized, the biker was uncertain about the outcome of a confrontation with the deputy. Several seconds passed before Luke spoke.

  “Can I go now?”

  “I think you should.”

  Darlington turned the pickup around headed back into Pickham County. The motorcycle and Big Luke disappeared around a bend. It had been a successful encounter. He and Sandy had talked it over with George. If they completely backed away from law enforcement with Budroe’s people, they would know something was up. They would be suspicious of anyone new in the area. Best to just keep up the normal enforcement activities until they had the undercover cleared and in place. A little selective police harassment would make things appear normal.

  “What happened to you?” Lonna looked at Big Luke’s face storming into Pete’s Place. He’d been gone most of the day. It was nearing midnight.

  “Had to make a run to Waycross. Check on some things.”

  Lonna grinned. “You mean that piece of ass you got stashed in your trailer there.”

  “I mean I heard she been sleepin’ around.” He took a long pull from the beer she had placed on the bar. “She won’t be doin’ that no more.” He saw the look in Lonna’s eye and added. “Don’t worry, just roughed her up some. Taught her a lesson. Won’t be no problems.”

  “So what you look so pissed off about?”

  “Got a ticket.” He took another pull from the beer.