by J. L. Drake
He threw the covers back and climbed out of bed. He ached all over from sleeping on an unfamiliar, overly firm bed. He hated hotels. He hated even more that he’d had to leave his house to stay in a hotel. As far as he was concerned, this harvest couldn’t be over soon enough.
The night before, when he’d been packing to leave his house, he’d considered just calling Butch and telling him to kill Lloyd right away. He’d wanted so badly to wash his hands of everything and leave the country. But he hadn’t. He’d stayed. He didn’t know why, but he had. He supposed it was because he had a soft spot in his heart for Sonya. He’d always thought of her as a daughter and he was sure that’s why Lloyd always got under his skin—he didn’t think Lloyd was good enough for her. He wanted Sonya to get married, settle down, and have a normal life. He knew from her past that she’d suffered and that’s why she did what she did now, but he knew she had a soft side too, and that was the side he tried to nurture when he could.
He took a shower, got dressed, and headed out. He thought about taking his bag with him and clearing out the room, just in case, but decided against the hassle, since he’d be staying again that night to wait for the payout Lloyd would get for them.
***
Roger was startled awake by someone moving around in his house. He sat straight up on the couch and scanned the room while blinking rapidly. The world beyond the windows was still dark, and he was disoriented because he wasn’t in his bed.
“Who’s there?” he yelled, and forced himself to stand.
The bathroom door creaked open and a female head popped out to peer down the hall at him. The light in the small room shadowed the face of his guest and he rubbed his eyes and tried to focus on her.
“Sonya, silly,” the woman said, opening the door all the way and stepping out into the hall.
Once the light wasn’t behind her, casting her in a blurred silhouette, he saw that the woman was indeed Sonya; the memory of their sleeping arrangement flooded his brain.
“It’s still really early,” she said. “You can try to get some more sleep—I’ll wake you right before I leave. You’ll still have plenty of time since you need to be a half hour behind me anyhow.”
Sonya headed back to the bedroom to get dressed.
***
Lloyd stood at the bay windows of the abandoned, decaying house he’d made his residence until the family harvest was done. His eyes scanned the neighborhood through the crisscrossed boards that covered the window as if he was waiting for his beloved child who hadn’t made it home in time for curfew. He was unsettled and he couldn’t figure out why. To his knowledge, nothing had changed and everything was going according to his carefully laid plans, but something felt…off. He really wanted to call Sonya and make sure she was all right, but he knew she was, so he resisted the urge. His laptop was still tracking her cell phone, so he knew she was at Roger’s and that he was there too.
Jennings was heading to the building where they’d be doing the harvest in mere hours, which gave him another sliver of peace, but not much. He hoped the agents hadn’t found out anything more about Sonya―at least nothing more than they already knew. She was the key to all his plans for the present and the future. She was his life and it actually scared him to even think something might happen to her.
As he watched the sky lighten and the stars fade in the distance, he pulled out his cell phone without realizing it. Something in him said to call her and tell her they were leaving—fuck it all. They would take the money and run, and never look back.
He liked Roger, and would feel bad doing something like that to him, but he’d seriously considered giving him a suitcase of cash and telling him to do the same damn thing. They could even off Jennings to make the getaway easier, but that still left Butch; he was a loose end Lloyd didn’t want hanging around after him. That issue alone kept him from making any calls, so he stood there, holding his cell phone and staring out at a dead world, waiting for the right time to do what needed to be done. He just hoped it was the right thing and that he hadn’t risked everything by being overly cautious.
***
David was overly tired and at his wits’ end as to what to do or where to go next. There was still no trace of the woman—even the tip line had been almost dead silent all night long. There was also no sign of Jackson Parsons. They’d just gotten back the DNA results of the sample Detective Jones had provided and the blood sample they’d found at the building was definitely William “Bill” Housen’s.
He was so discouraged. He knew they were close. He knew they were following the right people and the right trail, but he felt like no matter what he did he was always too late.
It was now almost five in the morning. The sun would be up in about an hour and a half, and then they could resume their search for the building. He felt it might be a waste of time though…the people he was after might have already left the city. If that was the case he didn’t know that he would ever find them again.
Croce peeked into the conference room. She’d headed home to take a shower and change clothes—they were doing so in shifts. Limmon had left as soon as she’d returned and David would go as soon as he returned.
“Do you want a cup of coffee or anything?” she asked.
David rubbed his face with both hands in an attempt to wake himself up more and then shook his head.
She smiled and disappeared again. She reappeared a couple minutes later with a cup of coffee in one hand and a pastry in the other.
“When do you want to go and tell the widow that she is indeed a widow?” Croce asked before she took a big bite of her food.
“I guess it would be polite to wait until at least seven in the morning, wouldn’t it?” David asked, looking up at the clock on the wall.
“Okay,” she said, chewing. “What are we going to do until then?”
“No idea…” David said. “I think my brain is fried.” He shut his brother’s file that he’d been reading yet again. “Was anyone reported missing last night?”
“Not that I’m aware of,” she said. “Have you talked to Detective Jones?”
“She’s heading home to take a shower and change clothes too,” David said, smiling ironically. “I’m supposed to call her if I hear anything, and likewise. I’m guessing no news is good news.”
“If they didn’t take anyone, how are they supposed to get organs?” Croce asked. “Do you think they took people a couple of days ago and are holding them somewhere? Or do you think we’re early and have another day?”
“If they’re still in the area…” David said, “…and we haven’t found any evidence of a holding cell type area in the building they were operating in, I think the chance of them holding people is very low.”
“So, maybe they’ll snag people tonight and do something tomorrow if they’re still around?” Croce asked, moving onto her coffee now that she’d consumed her food.
“I wish I knew,” David said. “They could have left the city and we could be spinning our wheels for nothing. We have nothing new to go on. We have nothing to tell us what their next move will be.”
Croce sighed. “I guess we’ll just sit tight and keep going with showers, ‘cause you could really use one.” She wrinkled her nose to tease him. “And we’ll go tell the widow she’s a widow. Maybe there’s something she can tell us that she didn’t think of before that will help us.”
David shrugged. “She wasn’t helpful when I interviewed her before, but now that I know who we’re dealing with and what they do, maybe I can ask more targeted questions that might help her remember something pertinent.”
“It’s worth a try,” Croce said, and smiled.
Chapter 45
Butch arrived at the building right after Jennings and waited for Roger to show up. Sonya was going to go straight to Jan’s house, and he and Roger were supposed to show up shortly after. Jennings was to be ready and waiting at the building when they returned with their “cargo.” Butch didn’t know what Lloyd was suppos
ed to do.
He was tense with pent-up excitement, even though he knew he wouldn’t really be assisting too much with the harvest; Sonya and Jennings were handling that work. What was getting his thrill level up were the plans he had for Lloyd and Roger after…
If everything went according to his plans, he would be shedding a lot of blood after getting paid. Then he would reap an even bigger payday from Jennings. To him, there was no downside.
The chill of the early morning air invigorated him as it blew in through his open truck window while he dialed the number he had for his contact—the one who’d be buying human parts from him after the harvest.
“Hello,” he said when a man answered on the other end. “I’ll have parts in a couple hours. Will that work for you?”
“Yes, just let me know the place and time for the transaction,” his contact responded.
He nodded to Roger as he drove onto the cracked pavement of the parking lot.
“Okay,” he said as he climbed out of the truck, “I’ll call you later.”
Butch ended the call and slid his phone into his pocket.
Roger parked, and they both headed to the truck Jennings had rented for the “move.” They climbed in.
“Who were you calling?” Roger asked.
“Don’t worry about it,” Butch snarled, still pissed about the beating.
“You fuck this up and I’m going to beat your ass again,” Roger threatened.
“Shut the fuck up and drive,” Butch retorted—the thought of torturing Roger later kept his anger in check, but just barely. He hated that the other man had bested him, and he was going to make sure he knew it…later. Currently, they had a job to do and needed to remain relatively civil toward each other to get it done.
Neither of them spoke during the drive to Jan’s house. They kept their eyes on the world outside the truck, pretending the other didn’t exist.
***
Sonya pulled up outside Jan’s house, turned off the engine of her car, took a deep breath, and climbed out. She was ready for everything to be over. She’d staked out the house for twenty minutes before making her final approach. She’d again wanted to make sure Miles hadn’t said anything and the FBI weren’t watching the house—she’d seen nothing to indicate that they were. The plan was to drug the family and load them into the moving truck. She’d brought a thermos full of fruit punch to “share” during the move that was laced with a drug that would put them all to sleep. The challenge would be to make sure each had enough to knock them out. And that was if Jan hadn’t heard about Sonya on the news―she had a couple of syringes in her pocket in case she had to move faster than the fruit punch would allow.
She trudged up the walkway, put her hand in her pocket, wrapped her fingers around a syringe to have it ready―just in case―and knocked on the door. She was somewhat taken aback when the door swung open to reveal a young man she’d never seen before.
“Hi,” he said, looking her over appreciatively. “You must be Sonya…Jan told me you’d be coming. You look familiar…”
“Hi,” Sonya replied, stepping into the house, pulling the syringe out of her pocket and holding it close to her side so he couldn’t see it. “Oh? I don’t think we’ve met before. What’s your name?”
He frowned and stepped back to allow her entrance. “I’m Jan’s younger brother Hanson.” He moved to hold his hand out in welcome, but stopped himself as he realized why she was familiar. “You’re that woman on the news.” He turned to flee deeper into the house.
Sonya ripped the cover off the needle of the syringe, lunged forward, grabbed his arm, and stabbed him in the neck with the needle.
“Yes, I am. Nice to meet you,” she said in a hushed, breathless voice as he sank to the floor—she held onto his arm so he wouldn’t fall hard and make noise.
She heard raised voices in the kitchen: children squealing and giggling, and an adult female voice trying to get them under control.
Sonya closed the front door and headed that way, dreading the chaos she knew she was about to walk into. When she rounded the corner, she wasn’t disappointed. What she’d assumed was happening was: Jan was trying to pack the last of the kitchen and the kids were being total brats.
“Mom, I’m thirsty,” one of the kids whined.
“Get a cup of water,” Jan snapped.
“I don’t want water,” the child persisted; Sonya couldn’t tell which one was speaking because the room was a mass of mayhem and movement.
“I don’t have anything else!” Jan screamed before dragging her hands through her hair, standing by the counter where she’d been removing dishes from the cabinets and putting them into cardboard boxes.
Suddenly coming back to her senses after her moment of shock at the activity in the room, Sonya stepped forward, pulled the thermos from her shoulder bag, and held it up for everyone to see.
“I brought some fruit punch!” she hollered.
Everyone froze and looked at her.
She smiled and wiggled the thermos in midair, showing it off.
“Thank you,” Jan said with a smile and a sigh. “I didn’t hear you arrive.”
“Hanson let me in,” Sonya said.
“Oh?” Jan asked, looking past Sonya out into the hall.
“I sent him out to my car to grab some extra boxes I brought in case you needed them,” Sonya said with a shrug. “Do you have cups?”
“There are some plastic cups over on the table,” Jan said, and nodded in that direction.
Sonya headed that way.
The children watched her with wide eyes, suddenly completely silent—the change unnerved Sonya. She’d never been good with children and didn’t know what to say to them. She counted out the cups to make sure Jan and each of the kids would get one. She then poured the contents of the thermos into them, making sure to give Jan more than the children.
***
David was just rinsing out his hair in the shower, almost done, when his cell phone started ringing. He managed to step out of the shower and answer his cell phone on speaker without falling and hurting himself. He was glad he’d thought to bring it into the bathroom with him.
“Hello,” he said loudly to be heard over the shower.
“This is Detective Jones,” she said. “The undercover agent has been contacted. The organs will be available in a couple hours.”
“Did they happen to get a location?” he asked.
“No location has been mentioned yet, but we’ve started a trace on the cell phone.”
“Great job,” David said. “Keep me posted. I’m going to finish my shower. I’ll call you back after I pick up Croce so you can tell us where to go.”
They ended the call and he hopped back into the shower to finish rinsing off. He was out again and dressed in record time. He was out of his hotel room and heading downstairs just fifteen minutes after Jones’ call; it was five-fifty.
***
Lloyd was loading the last of his equipment into his car when his laptop—sitting on the hood—started beeping like crazy. He hurriedly shoved at the stuff in the trunk and slammed the lid shut before running around to see what had set off the alarm of his tracking program. He frowned as he read the information rolling up the screen at a tremendous speed.
“Fuck me!” he exclaimed, and dragged his hands through his hair in frustration.
The program was one he’d written himself and it was specifically designed to use cell phones and their signals as tracking beacons. One of the special features that his program had that other programs didn’t was that he could also back trace a trace put on any of the numbers/phones he was already watching, although it had never happened before; it was happening today.
After a couple of deep breaths, and a few swift key strokes, he figured out which number was being traced. He laughed out loud when he realized whose phone it was―Butch’s.
“Hell yeah!” he yelled, and slammed both his hands down on the hood on either side of the laptop. “The damn con
tact was an undercover agent. You’re going to get hung by your balls tonight, Butch, babe.”
Seconds passed while he looked over the information his laptop was acquiring, and while his excitement grew in one way, in another way a cold snake of fear crawled through his system to lie heavily in the bottom of his stomach. The plan to have Butch hang himself was going well, but the authorities were closing in fast.
He ceased his tapping on the keyboard and pulled out his cell phone to call Roger. He waited anxiously for the other man to answer.
“Hello?”
“I want both of you to turn off your cell phones now,” he commanded as soon as he heard Roger’s greeting.
“Why?” Roger asked.
“Just fucking do it now,” Lloyd ordered, and then hung up his phone.
For the next few minutes he watched the screen of his laptop, and he knew the exact moment Butch turned off his cell phone—the feed instantly stopped. But he was already at Jan’s house. He hoped things were going well and the team would be out of the area before the cops arrived.
Just to be sure things were hurried along, he texted Sonya.
Lloyd: Move fast, babe. They know where we are.
“You’re not going to catch us that easily,” Lloyd said, grinning as he sent the message. “We’re smarter than you think we are.”
Chapter 46
In just minutes Jan was lying on the floor, but she was still conscious; the children were all out cold.
“What’s going on?” Jan murmured, trying to pull herself up by holding onto the counter. “Is there a gas leak or something?”