Chapter Nineteen #3
Rodrigo flushed red.
“Agent, I’ve been very nice up to this point, but my patience is running out. I suggest you tread lightly.”
Ethan went there.
“And I suggest you share where you were. It seems like you own an old sugar mill processing place that’s abandoned, and our victims have been showing up with sugar on them. Not only that, but there’s a dock. Do you own a boat?”
He sputtered.
“Of course, I own a boat. A yacht. What kind of mob man do you think I am? I’m not poor, agents. I own a big ass one that we cruise on all of the time. It’s currently in Italy, waiting for us for when we go on vacation.”
Gene let that sink in.
He hoped he owned more than one.
“Any smaller boats? You know, like a dinghy? For the poors?” he asked.
The man sighed.
This was exhausting, and he had other things to do. His real estate plans were fucked due to Samuel dying, and now he had Feds up his ass.
It was a bad week for Rodrigo, and he just wanted off this ride.
“I was meeting with the gentlemen right outside the VIP area. They are investors, and now, I have to regroup after my money man got inconveniently offed.”
Okay, that made sense.
“I’m being one hundred percent honest with you. I swear to God, I don’t know what your problem is. We came to you, and we were upfront.”
Yeah, and that was the ONLY reason he wasn’t busting all kinds of balls.
“One last time, Rodrigo, because I’m getting annoyed. Did you have anyone killed who is tied to this case?” he asked.
The man stared dead into his eyes.
“I didn’t have anyone killed tied to your case. I swear on my relationship with Essie. I’m innocent, and so is she. We’re being framed!”
That hung there.
“Okay,” he stated.
The two men stood up.
“That’s it?” Rodrigo asked.
Gene nodded.
“Like I said, we just had to ask. That’s our job. What I will say is that the killer is likely using your property to take people out. In the morning, I want to head there to wire it with cameras. Do you have a problem with that?” he asked. “Or do I have to jump through hoops and get a warrant?”
The man shook his head.
“I bought that property to diversify into real estate—which I told you earlier. I’ve been up front. That’s the property I had to bribe people about. It gets…soggy. You can wire it or move into it for all I care. If the FBI needs a bigger office, call me. I’m willing to sell it!”
Yeah, they could see that, but the FBI here was at a minimum, and the only one who needed a bigger space was the ME.
“Thanks,” Gene said, leaving it at that.
As they both headed past the bodyguards, Gene kept his voice down.
“Something still feels off,” he said. “I dropped the location, but I’m not sure if he’ll take the bait.
I want to head there,” Gene said. “I want to head there to make sure that the killer is caught. I’m betting he’s going to make a move on someone else tonight, and I want to be in place if he does. ”
Ethan looked at his watch.
“Okay, let’s eat, drop Corbin and Will off, and then head there. We can do some surveillance.”
Thankfully, his partner understood that when something had you by the balls, there was no way to shut it off. There would be no more fun tonight.
Gene had to get this under control.
And fast.
As they reached the table, they saw Rodrigo talking to the men who were likely also mob men. It appeared he was trying to reassure them that what they might have overheard was nothing.
But was it?
That was the question.
When they sat, Corbin was to the point.
“I talked to our waitress as I ordered drinks and food for us. Rodrigo left around one, but he sent a car to get her at five. They don’t know if he was in it or not,” he admitted. “So I don’t know if that helps you out.”
It didn’t.
But this whole thing was a clusterfuck of bullshit.
“Thank you, Corbin,” he said, getting a text message from Greyson.
‘Call me. I have something. It’s important. Do it privately! And quickly!’
Knowing Greyson was researching for them, he showed Ethan his phone.
“I’m going to go take a call. I’ll be right back. Maybe Greyson found something,” he offered.
Ethan hoped so.
They needed it.
“Want me to come with you?” he asked, willing to join him.
The man leaned over and kissed his mate on the mouth.
“You just want to hang out in the men’s room with me again,” he whispered in his ear.
That made Ethan laugh.
“You found me out, my love,” he said, winking at him. “Old habits die hard,” he joked.
If Gene wasn’t cursed, they’d be enjoying all kinds of dirty habits.
But here he was.
Playing games.
Getting up, he kicked back some of his drink that was sitting on the table, and headed toward any place where he could get some quiet so he could hear.
The spooky music was loud, and he wanted to hear Greyson.
Inside the bathroom, it was full of patrons, and that wasn’t going to work. It looked as if he had to take this outside.
At the back door to the club, he headed out, and found himself near a loading dock.
This was as good as any place to make a call.
Pulling out his phone, he hoped and prayed that the man found something.
ANYTHING.
Because this case was one big circle jerk.
And he was sick of it.
* * * Blackhawk & Cantrell * * *
Not Far Away
Watching
Waiting
Oh, he was nervous as fuck, and there was no reason this little situation should have gotten out of hand.
What started with running guns to supplement his income had escalated into something so out of control.
While he tried to hide it under the guise of dark magick, thinking it would fool the investigators, it had been a downward spiral.
Getting angry and killing Jaden for trying to cut him out of the loop of the gun running had been the first chain around his neck.
The man had been a douchebag, and when he’d tried to get the information from him regarding the next shipment, maybe he went too far.
And he died.
Then, he had to cover that up, and the only thing he could think of was Jaden’s partner. Both men had diddled some woo-woo bullshit ‘priestess’, and that seemed like a good way to cover all of this up.
And it had been.
Until it got handed to the local police and they began digging. When the detective got too close, he couldn’t let that happen.
That made him twitchy.
Taking Aaron Figueroa was done out of necessity, and killing him netted nothing.
The man didn’t have anything that pointed at him—but he couldn’t let him go.
So he had to keep the charade going.
It sucked having to play dress up when all he wanted to do was put a bullet in his head and feed him to the sharks, but he’d created this game, and now, he was stuck playing it.
Who knew that the dead men would float in and make this all the worse—so much worse that the Fed would be handed the next death, of the cop.
Jesus.
H.
Christ.
That had been a bad streak of luck on his behalf. Had the body just floated in during the day, Jarod Shand would have been off duty, and he would have been in the clear.
Out of all the Feds in the building, it had to be the one that would actually work?
Shit.
So, he’d had to take care of him, too, and after the deed was done, grabbing him at his house, he had to find his laptop before he left.
And he did.
But he couldn’t access it.
So he hadn’t known if Jarod had any clue. All he knew was the man was asking way too many questions. Both him and Aaron had been a pain in his ass.
Then, when interrogating Jarod, he’d let slip that he had talked to a man at the bank.
So it led him down that rabbit hole, and to Samuel Padilla.
And that got him nothing but likely herpes from just talking to the foul-ass man.
So he had to interrogate him, and dump his body, too. Only, the ocean had been too far away, and he didn’t want to risk it with the Feds starting the case.
So, he dumped him with his wife, and called it a night.
Being on that crime scene with the two Feds had made his palms sweat, and he hoped and prayed that they didn’t figure it out.
All day, he followed them, making sure to keep an eye on them, and when they came to Dark Spirits, he knew he had to do something.
They were on that resort, and he couldn’t get a body from there without it being too high-risk.
And he couldn’t kill them in their room since that would make noise.
This was out of control, and what had started as something simple was biting him in the ass.
UNFORTUNATELY.
Now, he needed to know what the Feds knew.
He needed to know if he was in danger of being caught. If he was, he was getting on his boat, and getting the fuck out of there.
There was a way to escape, slipping out of the waters surrounding Puerto Rico and starting over in a new place.
He had the nest egg, and that would keep him going until he could start up the drug running.
God.
He was scared shitless.
Now, as he’d been watching the Dark Spirits place, wondering how to make this look like a mob man and some weirdo ‘priestess’, he had to pray for a miracle.
That’s when it happened.
The one Fed had come outside, and he wasn’t paying attention.
Well.
Well.
Well.
It looked like he might just be saved yet. It was time to figure out what the one Fed knew.
Before it was too late.