Chapter 22
Simon was going to murder his brother. Not figuratively.
Actual murder, with a series of wildly painful and catastrophic injuries, rapid physiological breakdown, and the loss of bodily functions.
You knew you’d done it properly when the person in your crosshairs pissed himself, when the stench of shit mingled in with the blood and vomit and pure terror.
How arrogant would Leo be once Simon cut off his fingers one by one, he wondered?
When he used a rusty scalpel to slice off his shit-talking tongue?
When he gutted him over plastic sheeting and disposed of him like the waste he was, just as garbage should be?
You coward, hissed their mother, cold and sharp in Simon’s ear. Sitting there in my parlor, drinking tea like a pussy and planning the easy way out. You think you’re the smart one. Please. You’re nothing but a disappointment. You’re the waste.
Simon stuffed the voice down, needing to think.
He’d been so meticulous, so careful in his plans to destroy the DNA evidence Leo had left behind in that warehouse.
He’d researched every blueprint and chemical that would be on-site.
For fuck’s sake, he’d put on the HazMat suit himself to set the whole place ablaze, and he’d done it all to keep Leo from being arrested.
It would have worked, too, if Leo hadn’t been so arrogant. So stupid.
And now Simon had to deal with him instead of cutting out his entrails. There was the real disappointment.
“Let me make sure I’ve got this right,” Simon said, placing his teacup down on its matching saucer very, very carefully so he wouldn’t smash it into Leo’s haughty, ignorant face.
“Not only did you murder a business associate and leave your DNA on the body, but instead of disposing of the weapon—which wasn’t even properly wiped clean—you gave it to your girlfriend for safekeeping? ”
“Allegedly,” Leo emphasized as he sat back on the antique Queen Anne couch in the living room, a tumbler of scotch in his hand even though it was barely two o’clock in the afternoon. “But I’m telling you, Si, I’m totally being set up!”
Oh, how Simon was going to need divine strength to get through this. “You bought the dagger at an auction, of which the police have written record, and it still had Sal Brinkman’s blood on it when it was seized in a narcotics raid. I believe we are past you being set up.”
“Okay, fine.” Leo rolled his eyes. “I may have bought that dagger. I’m going to sue the shit out of that auction house, by the way. That information is supposed to be top secret. I know my rights.”
“That is not how rights work,” Simon said through his teeth. “The dagger, Leo. Focus. Did it not occur to you, at any point, to get rid of it?”
Exasperated, Leo said, “I know, I know. I meant to get rid of it, but helllloooo, it’s fucking art. The craftsmanship is literally one of a kind, plus, it’s my favorite piece. I couldn’t just throw it in the Red Run. And for your information, I did wipe it down. Excuse me that it wasn’t perfect.”
“It’s in an evidence locker in the heart of the Remington Police Department,” Simon bit out. “That’s a massive problem.”
“Okay, but that’s not my fault. I told Paisley to keep it hidden until the heat died down here. How was I supposed to know her roommate was dealing smack and the cops would raid the place?”
“A simple background check probably would have done the trick.”
“I don’t know what you’re so upset about,” Leo said, ice cubes clicking against the cut-crystal tumbler as he threw back half of his scotch.
Spoiled asshole. “Phil is already moving to have the knife thrown out. There are, like, fifty different people who could’ve come into contact with it.
Believe me when I tell you, Paisley’s bedroom practically has a revolving door. It’ll be fine.”
Somehow, that did nothing to calm the rage beginning to pulse under Simon’s skin. “There’s also the matter of this witness.”
Leo snorted, his smile so smug, Simon deserved a medal for not slapping it directly off his mouth. “Okay, really? Did the cops tuck you in before telling you that story? I think I would’ve noticed if someone had been there.”
The information on this had been much more murky. Phil had been useless as a source of information, and even Runner had come up empty on an initial search. He was going to need more to go on if he had a chance of taking care of this.
“They must have something credible, Leo. You were arrested and charged.”
“And I don’t need you to give me shit for it,” Leo snapped.
“I already suffered enough when that knuckle-dragger of a detective and his partner, Tinkerbell, pulled me out of bed to bring me down to the station. I had to spend all night in a holding cell, and now I’m on house arrest, with this stupid fucking thing on my ankle, until Phil gets me out of this. ”
He made a big display of pulling up his pants leg and gesturing to the thick black monitor so hard, the last of his scotch sloshed onto the French blue Aubusson beneath his feet, and Simon had heard enough.
He got to his feet, forcing his anger to become control. He would not let Leo destroy everything he’d worked so hard for. Everything he’d earned. Everything he deserved.
“I understand,” he said, ignoring Leo’s subsequent, “hey, where are you going?” as he headed into his office. After four and a half minutes of deep breathing and envisioning relieving Leo of his ankle monitor with a bone saw, Simon’s plan crystallized.
This was his empire. Not Leo’s, not their mother’s, not the RPD’s. His. And he alone would control it.
He couldn’t allow this investigation to continue.
Who knew what else the police would find that Leo had been too sloppy to hide?
Plus, there was a good chance Leo would be found guilty, and he’d be of no use to Simon in jail.
Yet, neither could he continue to allow Leo to live—that much was now clear.
The ungrateful bastard couldn’t even toss a murder weapon into the Red Run like any other self-respecting killer, even after Simon had gone so far out of his way to set fire to that lab.
But Simon would deal with Leo strategically, on his own terms, not on the police’s.
Which meant that before he could take care of business, he needed to make this murder charge disappear.
We’ll see who’s a disappointment, now, Mother.
Taking his cell phone from his suit jacket pocket, Simon scrolled through his contacts list, tapping the number to Runner’s secure line.
“Gray’s Mortuary. You kill ’em, we chill ’em.”
“Don’t you think that’s in poor taste?” Simon asked, but of course, Runner only laughed.
“Nothing gets by you, does it?”
Simon exhaled a silent sigh. He didn’t have time for this. “We need to talk.”
“I figured I’d be hearing from you today,” Runner said. “My Magic Eight Ball tells me your brother has been a very bad boy. Seriously, though, he kept the knife? That vein on your forehead must have exploded.”
“I’ll deal with the knife,” he snapped, his anger bubbling to the surface, molten and dark. Phil’s motion to exclude it as evidence ought to be a good first step. “What I want is this witness.”
Runner laughed for a full five seconds before stopping. “Wait, you’re not serious, are you?”
Simon let his silence answer the question, but Runner still argued.
“Dude. Dude. No way. Protected witness information is stored on the RPD’s most highly safeguarded database.
Accessing it isn’t like hacking into the mainframe to change a parking ticket.
It’s a totally different bag of cats. We’re talking state-of-the-art multifactor authentication.
Cutting edge detection and alert systems. Defensive measures and adversary tactics.
The Intelligence Unit’s tech geek is into some crazy NSA-level shit. ”
“Are you saying you can’t do it?”
“Of course I can do it,” Runner snorted. “What I’m saying is, I’d get caught.”
Simon’s control slipped, and no. This would not do. There would be too much attention on Leo if he had to stand trial. If Simon wanted him dead, he’d have to take care of the charges, first.
“Your safety isn’t my concern. I pay you to obtain information, and I want the name of that witness. Unless”—frost crept into his tone as he tightened the vise—“you’d like me to pay your mother a visit at Tranquil Gardens.”
The loaded silence was all he needed to know he’d hit the mark, dead center, although Runner gave bluffing a shot, anyway.
“I’m not sure what you’re talking about. I don’t have any family.”
“I think we both know that’s not true,” Simon said.
“Lovely assisted care facility she’s living in, although honestly, for what you pay every month, the security could be better.
It would be a shame if she were to have an accident.
A fall at her age could crack a skull. Snap a femur. Shatter a hip. Maybe all three.”
“You cock sucking asshole,” Runner growled, and Simon tsked.
“That’s really not necessary. All I want is a name.”
Silence unfolded over the line for a beat. Two. Three. Then, “It’s going to take a couple of weeks.”
Simon bit down on his frustration, snapping it in half. “That’s too long.”
“You didn’t barge into that lab and set shit on fire without a plan, did you? That was Tic Tac Toe, and this is world champion chess, so, yeah, it’s going to take a fucking minute. Unless you want me to get caught before I can get access?”
Damn it. Runner was the best in the business, despite the attitude, and Simon needed that name. “Work as fast as you can. And keep me updated on any further case activity. If anyone from any department goes digging for so much as one more shred of evidence, I want to know about it.”
“Anything else?” Runner asked icily.
“No,” Simon said, and only after he hung up did he allow himself to smile.
The beginning of the end started right now.