by J. L. Drake
Jennings took a deep breath and tried to calm down, reminding himself that after the family harvest was completed he wouldn’t have to talk to, work with, or see Lloyd ever again.
“No, it’s okay. You didn’t disturb her. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Jennings ended the call and sighed.
“I’ve had enough of him,” he growled, and picked up his book.
He settled back into the couch and picked up where he’d left off, shutting out the rest of the world.
***
Lloyd laughed as he hung up the phone.
“I’m sure I didn’t disturb the dead bitch,” he sneered, and proceeded to do a search on Miles the morgue geek, finding out where the man grew up, went to school, where he lived—everything.
Chapter 26
Agent David McCoy landed at the Pittsburgh International Airport early the next morning. He took a taxi from the airport to his hotel and checked in with minimal fuss, even though it was an odd hour.
With nothing better to do since he couldn’t start working for hours, he headed to his room. He was exhausted, but he didn’t want to go to sleep; he was scared he’d sleep most of the day and wouldn’t get any work accomplished. At the same time, he didn’t know that he could do much else. He already had an appointment scheduled to sit down with the wife of the man who’d gone missing. They were meeting at a local police station, with the detective that had been assigned the local case. He’d thought about being a dick and insisting on having the meeting at the Pittsburgh FBI Headquarters, but he didn’t want to burn bridges with the locals—they could be valuable.
After flipping through the channels on his room’s TV and finding nothing worth watching, he decided he would get some sleep since he couldn’t make it through the entire day the way he was feeling. He was getting to the point where his brain wasn’t working properly.
After setting the alarm on his phone, and the courtesy alarm clock in his room, he kicked off his shoes, stretched out on the bed, and fell asleep almost instantly.
***
Sonya mumbled a string of profanities into her pillow when her alarm went off, and barely opened her eyes to glare at the clock while she pressed the button to shut it up.
“I’m sick,” she mumbled, and then snuggled deeper into her covers. She was almost asleep when she remembered why she hadn’t turned off her alarm.
With a grunt she sat up and looked around for her cell phone. When she didn’t find it, she frowned and thought hard about where she might have left it.
“Ah, ha,” she said, and leaned over the side of her bed, grabbing the jeans she’d taken off when Lloyd had told her to strip. The phone was in one of the pockets. “Found ya!”
With a huge yawn, she pushed a couple of buttons and brought up the phone number for the hospital.
When it beeped after the little recording, she said in a croaky voice: “This is Sonya Garret, calling to let you know that I’m sick and won’t be in today.”
She ended the call with a yawn and laid back down to get some more rest.
***
Lloyd awoke to a loud pounding noise. He sat up straight, rubbed his eyes, and tried to figure out where it was coming from. Finally, he realized the pounding was coming from a different room. His brain fog cleared quickly at the realization of someone possibly trying to break into his abode.
He stood swiftly and picked up a 9mm pistol from the corner of his desk before he ventured out into the hallway to investigate the noise. It was coming from the living room.
He headed down the hall cautiously, holding the pistol with both hands, pointing it toward the ceiling. When he arrived in the decaying living room he realized someone was knocking on the front door. He stood silently for a few moments, wondering what he should do. Logic told him to stay quiet and hope whoever was out there would leave. The house, and the neighborhood, had been abandoned years ago. From the faded sign that hung drunkenly, but still graced the entrance to the housing development, the acreage and buildings had been for sale for a long time.
“Open the fucking door,” a harsh, familiar voice barked.
Lloyd let his grip on the pistol grow lax, allowing it to fall from its ready position to be held by one hand at his side.
“Butch,” he muttered, and shook his head.
Walking forward swiftly, he retrieved the key hanging from a small metal hook beside the door and unlocked the padlock on the door.
“‘Bout fucking time, man,” the huge red-headed bulk of a man said as Lloyd opened the door.
“Get in here, you big bastard,” Lloyd scolded, stepping back to allow his guest entrance.
“Why?” Butch asked, holding his hands palm up, motioning around him. “There’s no one here to see me anyway.”
Lloyd laughed. “No, there shouldn’t be, but I try to be cautious.”
Butch stepped inside.
Lloyd quickly closed and re-secured the door.
“I see nothing has changed,” Butch said, looking around. “You always did pick fancy digs.”
“Whatever,” Lloyd said, rolling his eyes. “How did you find the house I was in?” He remembered telling Butch the development’s name, but not the number of the house.
“210,” Butch said, and laughed. “You always pick the place with the number 210.”
“Oh,” Lloyd said, tucking the gun he was still holding into the back waistband of his boxers. “I didn’t know you’d been paying that close attention to my habits.”
“I pay attention to a lot of things people think I don’t,” Butch said. “I don’t suppose you have a place I could take a hot shower, do you? Perhaps at that hot little number’s house?”
“Who?” Lloyd asked, pretending not to know what Butch was talking about.
Butch shrugged. “No one in particular…you just always seemed to have a hot, sexy broad tucked away wherever you were working. I thought maybe she’d have a nicer place, with hot water.”
“I have hot water,” Lloyd said, walking past Butch, deeper into the house. He turned down the hallway. “Come on, bathroom’s this way.”
“Wow!” Butch teased, following. “This really is high scale for you—hot water and all.”
Lloyd shrugged. “I got lucky this time. They left the water on even though they’ve cut electric to the place.”
Butch nudged the generator beside the bathroom door with the toe of his leather boot.
“You always were a resourceful one,” he said. “Do I need to wait for the water to heat?”
“No,” Lloyd said. “I knew you were coming so I left it on all night.”
“You’re such a gentleman,” Butch teased, shrugging off the bag he had slung over his shoulder. “Gonna share your woman too?”
“No.” Lloyd turned and walked back into his bedroom, where he proceeded to get dressed. He heard Butch’s booming laugh echo through the house for a few moments before a door slammed and the sound was muffled.
After he was fully dressed, he texted Sonya.
Lloyd: Butch is here. Gonna stay away from your place for a while.
He didn’t like the man’s comments. Since they hadn’t worked together since before he and Sonya started seeing each other, he didn’t think the man knew about their relationship, but Butch did know Sonya from before. He knew she didn’t like the man, but he couldn’t figure out why, and while he pretended to, he didn’t believe it was because he was too violent. Butch had to have done something or said something to Sonya that she hadn’t liked—that was the only explanation that made sense. He wished she would confide in him and tell him what the issue was. There wasn’t anything he could do about it though, so he planned to wait and see how things went while they were all working the family job together.
***
Sonya opened her eyes again when her phone chirped and vibrated under her hand. She smiled slightly when she realized she’d fallen back to sleep still holding her phone. A glance at her alarm clock told her she’d slept for three more hours. Yawning and stretc
hing, she pulled up the text and read it, frowning at the message.
With a sigh, she replied.
Sonya: Will miss you. I’ll let you know if there’s any news about the FBI or our plans.
Since she was already awake, she called Jan and left a message when the woman didn’t answer the phone, saying she wanted to see what time her meeting was. While she waited for Jan to call her back, she rolled over and closed her eyes again, but she didn’t fall asleep right away. Images of Butch the Butcher flashed through her brain. She heard pain-filled screams and saw blood spraying through the air, covering his body while he grinned and killed like a crazy man.
***
Butch was refreshed from his shower and was looking forward to picking on Lloyd a little more. He’d never liked the little weasel. Lloyd always seemed to make more money on jobs when they worked together. If he hadn’t been hurting so badly for funds, he wouldn’t have agreed to do this job.
He left the bathroom and turned down the hall, entering the other room that had a generator standing outside the door without knocking.
“I see you’re dressed now,” he teased Lloyd, who was sitting fully dressed on a metal chair in front of a laptop. “What happened to the wild topless look?”
Lloyd didn’t respond. He’d forgotten how annoying the big man could be. Glancing briefly over at Butch, he blinked blankly as if he was indifferent to the man who was almost seven feet tall and two hundred and fifty pounds. The man’s sheer size intimidated him, but he’d never let that show. He knew he had the brains and this man just had the brawn, and many times before he’d proven how that could benefit him and give him the advantage. But he was also aware Butch knew he’d been bested as well, so he was always careful around the larger man and tried not to provoke him unnecessarily.
“Fancy,” Butch said, plopping down on Lloyd’s bed with a sigh, causing the metal springs and frame to squeal in protest. “It almost looks like a prison cell in here, except for the computer.” He smirked at Lloyd’s back, watching him type rapidly on the keyboard. “Tell me more about this job…I remember Jennings, but not too well. Doesn’t he work with a couple of other guys and a hot blonde woman? Oh, what was her name…?”
“Sonya,” Lloyd said flatly, “and yes, that’s his team. One of the guys he used to work with retired, but the other is still working with them. They hired a new guy, but he pissed me off.” He paused and shrugged slightly. “I offered you as a replacement.”
“Pissed you off?” Butch asked, and laughed. “I can’t see that being a threat to anyone’s health.”
Lloyd didn’t answer, but shrugged again.
“So…what will we be doing?” Butch asked, continuing to press for information. “You said something about a family and a lot of money.”
“Yes, we’re harvesting a family,” Lloyd said, paused, and typed for a couple more seconds, then stopped and turned sideways in the chair so he could look at Butch. “The blood type of the father was AB-Negative, so we’re hoping the kids share it. We plan to cut them up and sell their organs to the highest bidder and reap one hell of a payday.”
Butch whistled. “AB-Negative, huh? Sounds like it could be quite lucrative since it’s the rarest blood type in the world. What would I have to do?”
“You’ll pose as a mover and help get the sedated family into a moving truck.”
“That’s it?” Butch asked. “I don’t get to chop anyone up?”
“No,” Lloyd said, shaking his head. “Jennings and Sonya will be doing all the cutting up. They’re truly professionals at what they do and I can get more money for their precision work than I can for your hacking.”
Butch blinked at Lloyd for a moment, trying to decide if he should be insulted or not; he decided on not, because this was business and he wanted to make as much money as possible.
“What’s my cut?” he asked, expecting Lloyd to give him a smaller figure than the rest of the group would get.
“Even split,” Lloyd said, noting the slight look of shock on the other man’s face, smiling. “Did you expect less?”
Butch shrugged and tried to hide his surprise.
“Usually I get a flat fee for being the muscle,” he said.
Lloyd nodded his understanding. “I know, but that’s not how this team works. They all have their specific tasks and depend on each other, so they feel everyone should get an equal share of the profits because no one can do the job without the roles of the other people.”
“Sounds like a bunch of tree huggin’ freaks,” Butch said, and laughed. “But I don’t mind if they want to share their money—I’ll take it.”
“We have a while before the meeting with Jennings,” Lloyd said, “so you can take a nap if you want.” He nodded toward the bed and turned back to the computer.
“Sounds good,” Butch said, laying down, causing the metal of the bed to protest even more. “It was a long drive getting here, and it sounds like you’ll be keeping me busy for the foreseeable future.”
Lloyd didn’t respond and relaxed a bit once he heard Butch’s snores behind him.
Chapter 27
David wasn’t ready to awake up when his double alarms went off, but he dragged himself out of bed anyway. He’d allowed himself enough time to take a shower and get dressed before heading to the police precinct where he would interview the wife of the missing man. If everything went as planned he would arrive early enough to sit down and go over the missing person report with the detective assigned to the case. He hoped the detective was competent and could help him with the investigation. If the detective couldn’t, he would pull rank and take the investigation from the police and work it as FBI jurisdiction. He could have done it right off if he had chosen to, but he was hoping to get help from the locals—it would cut down on the time it took to get the lay of the land. And, while he could get a lot from the local FBI, sometimes they didn’t know as much about what was happening everyday on the streets as the local police force. He was willing to take any help he could get to advance the investigation and find out what had happened to Daniel.
He’d figured his timing correctly and arrived at the police station with time to spare. The place was as he’d expected—busy, chaotic, and loud. He had to wait his turn at the desk so he could be directed to the detective he’d been told to contact by Agent Harmon.
He moved through the busy station and took the stairs to the second floor, figuring it would be quicker than waiting on the elevator. Upstairs was a bullpen of more crazy action. There was a mixture of uniformed officers and plain clothes detectives hard at work. Some were bent over case files on their desks and others were working on computers.
When a uniformed officer walked past him, David quickly asked him, “Where can I find Detective Jones?”
The officer nodded toward a desk in the far corner where a woman with dark hair sat.
“She’s at her desk,” the officer said and kept walking.
“Thank you,” David called over his shoulder while heading in the direction indicated.
Detective Jones was of average height and build and seemed really focused on what she was doing. She didn’t notice him at her desk until he cleared his throat to get her attention.
“Hi,” he said. “I’m Agent David McCoy from the Los Angeles FBI office. My boss—Agent Harmon—said I should contact you when I got into town so we could review the missing person case for Mr. William Housen.” He showed her his badge, then put it away and held out his hand.
“Nice to meet you,” she said, standing and shaking his extended hand. “I’m Detective Emma Jones. I was expecting you and have everything set up in one of the interrogation rooms for the interview—that way you can record the interview if you’d like. I assume you’ll want to go over the case file before the wife arrives…”
He nodded. “You assume correctly.”
She smiled in return. “Right this way then.”
She took off down the hallway he’d just traveled, but she turned the oppo
site direction and headed past the bullpen into another hall. She opened one of the doors to the left and entered.
He followed her inside.
“What we have is in that file,” Detective Jones said, pointing to the paperwork on the small table of the interrogation room. “I contacted our local FBI office as soon as the system alerted us. I hope what we’ve found can help with your investigation.”
“I hope so too,” David said, walking around the table and opening the file.
“Do you need anything else right now?” Detective Jones asked. “I have a couple things I need to get finished before the wife arrives…”
“Nope, I should be good with this,” he said, and smiled. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” she said. “If you want coffee or anything, our tiny breakroom is across the hall.”
David nodded and she left him alone to work.
He shed his laptop bag into a spare empty chair, withdrew a small notebook and a pen, sat down, and started reading through the file in front of him. The man had been missing for a couple of days, which was a decent time frame to confirm he was indeed missing. Plus, the fact that his car had been towed from a local bar and impounded also pointed to foul play. Most people, if they’d left of their own accord, wouldn’t leave their car at a bar; it would be more likely that the vehicle would be found at a bus station, train station, or an airport. Random abandonments elsewhere indicated that it might not have been with the full consent of the owner.
The bar was a pleasant indicator for David that he was on the right track. His brother had been taken from a similar establishment. He made notes of all the relevant information in his notebook, planning to search the area around the bar for any kind of street or security cameras he might be able to tap into later. He searched through the file until he found the statements from the bartender and patrons—there weren’t many. He scanned them quickly, just to see if they could tell him anything he didn’t already know. It appeared the woman seen at the bar had black hair, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t the woman he was looking for. He suspected she often wore a disguise. Other than that, the description was the same, lending weight to his belief she was the same woman who had taken his brother. She was of the same height and build as the woman Hank had described the night Daniel had gone missing.