A Bone to Pick Page 10

  Now it didn’t matter. His dream was dead and burned up. He wondered what else Bojo was into that drew this kind of attention to his club, and if he should be worried about himself. There wasn’t any kind of overt notable paper trail that connected them. The deal was done by proxies and he and Bojo never talked or interacted publicly.

  Leon had stressed compartmentalization. Don’t let the right hand know what the left was doing. Plausible deniability.

  “Yeah, well, sucks to be him. Is there something you want?” Ross asked, throwing the towels into the trash.

  “Naw, just heard you cussin.’ Talk to you later, Ross.”

  Ross sat back in his chair. He needed to talk to Leon. This was getting ridiculous and now he had to figure out how to get money from the insurance. It was arson, as was the case with Bojo’s restaurant. He hoped he’d be able to rebuild, but with Brown’s name on the documents as well, things could get hinky with the claim. He wanted to hammer his desk again, but didn’t dare draw attention to himself. He had to recoup his losses.

  He picked up the phone and put it back down. No, he’d call his lawyer with the burner. He didn’t need any link via phone records to him and the lawyer and thus the club. He ran a hand over his face and wondered what in the hell was going on.

  §

  Hellen held Widget in her arms. She was tired and frustrated at herself. This was going slower than she’d hoped. Her body was betraying her. She was a mere shadow of her old self, before the cancer and chemo. Working on Bojo had taken a lot out of her physically. The cat jumped from her arms and she watched it go. She sighed and held up the glass jar. It had quite a few little bones in it. The index fingertips bones of all the dead. She shook it, and it made a pleasant clicking noise. It was dark out and she glanced over at the clock.

  It was near midnight. She couldn’t sleep. Maybe she’d go driving, that always relaxed her. She’d gone out the night before to do a little hunting and that was enjoyable as well as relaxing. Though she couldn’t take souvenirs, she kept the knowledge close to her heart that she had obliterated a few bad guys.

  “You can never kill too many drug dealers,” she told Widget.

  She got up and went into her room to retrieve her weapon and a few mags, grabbing her surgical shears, gloves, and a baggie.

  What the heck? she thought.

  This was what she needed. A nice little pick-me-up. She went into the garage and found her box. Hellen liked using the vinyl decals, it was such a quick and easy way to alter her vehicle’s appearance and took only seconds to apply. She grabbed a couple of license plates and changed those out as well. She hummed as she did so, the tired and heavy feelings falling away.

  She found heavy plastic sheeting and laid it over the passenger’s seat, letting it drape onto the floor. She hung a piece on the dashboard, fastening it with a piece of duct tape. It was easier to clean up that way. Once done she patted the top of the car.

  She got inside, opened the garage door, and pulled out. In the mirror, she winked at herself in the red wig. It was one of her favorites. She slipped the gloves on and checked her Beretta, then drove into the heart of Charlotte. Hellen knew what she wanted—pimps and dealers. Either or both would do. It was a weekday, and late enough that most honest folks were at home.

  Mindful of the traffic cameras, Hellen moved down streets that didn’t have them. Even though her vehicle was altered, she never wanted to help police with finding her.

  She slowed her car down and saw a lone man on the street. Looking up and around, she verified that there were no cameras. She drove her car toward the solitary figure. The young man was dressed in baggy jeans and an oversized black hoodie. Typical, though she wasn’t sure if this was the typical wear of the street thugs or youths in general. The older she got the more the kids blended together.

  She did a U-turn and pulled up. The man grinned at her and she grinned back. His face was thin and pale and he had a scraggly beard. He had gray teeth and swollen gums; the boy was not healthy.

  “Yo, what can I do for you, momma?”

  “Got anything sweet for me?” she asked in a heavy southern drawl. He sniggered and leaned into the passenger side window, holding a small packet between his index and middle fingers. With the speed of a striking snake, Hellen shot the man between his eyes. The suppressor on her weapon only made a soft fump noise. His upper body slumped in her car window. She brought out the shears and cut the right index finger off. Using the palm of her hand, she shoved the dead man’s head out of the window.

  She pulled back out and left the dead man to fall out into the street. For twenty minutes, she drove around looking for more targets. Her body was beginning to relax. She had turned on her radio and was listening to tunes, soft and relaxing. Now this was her kind of night. She spotted two men on a corner; the streetlight smashed out.

  She could see the light of their cigarettes blinking on and off. The air was heavy and moist around her and she could detect the scent of trash and car exhaust. She turned off her lights and slowed her vehicle down, stopping across the street to watch the interlocutors. Both men then noticed her and tried to look at her. Hell knew they could not see her face in the heavy shadows.

  The malefactors began to walk toward her, their body language aggressive and cocky. She let out a breath, then lifted the Beretta Nano. Since the interior of her car was dark, she easily sighted the first man and shot him in the heart. He uttered a cry and dropped. Before the second man could react, she sent a bullet his way and he crumpled by the first man. She got out with her shears walking rapidly toward the downed men and squatted. She kept her face down, not looking up, she didn’t want anyone getting any kind of look at her. She didn’t think there was anyone around, but one never knew. With smart phones, she didn’t need to see her image all over the internet.

  She looked down into the frightened eyes of the first dying man. She lifted his hand and cut the tip of his index finger off. The man cried weakly. Turning, she grabbed the other man’s hand and quickly relieved him of his fingertip, folding both in a dark wedge of cloth. She didn’t want a blood trail, nor did she want to get her gloved hands all bloody. She didn’t want a lot of blood residue to clean off the steering wheel.

  Running back to the car, she slipped the finger bits into a baggie with the first man’s fingertip. She then stripped off her gloves, tossing them beside her. It was near 2 a.m. and she turned the car back towards home. She sighed happily. She’d clean these bones up and add them to her collection.

  Thirty minutes later she pulled into the garage and lowered the door behind her. She pulled the plastic out of the car, along with the vinyl decals, and switched out the plates.

  Pulling out a small spray bottle of luminol, she spritzed the inside of her car. At the work bench in the back of the garage, Hellen pulled out a black light bar and plugged the cord in. She turned off the garage light and illuminated her car. There were a few droplets from the first man and she took a cleaning solution and wiped it down.

  Then she moved the black light to the interior of her car and played it around. She saw another few droplets on the fabric of the car and sprayed them with the solution, then moved the black light around and checked again. All clear.

  Satisfied, she turned the garage light back on and put the cleaning equipment away. Each bottle had an innocuous label, and unless a forensic team knew what they were looking for, the items would be overlooked. Placing all the garbage into a black plastic garbage bag, she put it in the bottom of the large garbage can.

  Tomorrow was trash day. She’d take the can out in the morning. Taking her baggie into the house, she huffed at Widget, who was winding in and out of her legs. In the kitchen, she set a pot of water on the stove. She dumped the fingertips into the pot and left it to boil. She headed to the shower and turned the hot water on. She was pleasantly relaxed and happy. Three dirtbags down and so many more to go. Her bone collection was growing and there were three less parasites spreading poison.


  After her shower, she took her dirty clothing to the wash, knowing she had some blood spatter from the first kill. She poured solution onto her clothing and set it in the bottom of the washing machine. She would let the items soak, and tomorrow she would wash them. Bleach was useless, left a smell, and didn’t always obliterate the enzymes in blood.

  Hellen used Sporicidin Enzyme Cleaner and Contec citric acid solution. Any bodily fluids on her clothing would be eradicated, or at least diminished enough that clear DNA could not be obtained. It was the same solution that she used in her car. Better cleaning through chemistry.

  Going back to the kitchen, she turned the stove off and poured out the water. She took the bits of flesh out and tossed them to Widget, who gobbled them up. Taking the small bones, Hellen dried them off, took a piece of paper towel, and folded it, setting the three new bones on top. She placed them inside the cabinet door, just behind the plates. The bones had to dry before she could put them in the jar with the others. Tomorrow she’d set them in the toaster on low and bake out the remaining moisture. It was just too late to do it and she was pleasantly tired now and wanted to head to bed.

  Turning off the kitchen light, she headed to the bedroom and pulled the covers down. Widget jumped up and Hellen joined the cat. She shifted down in the covers and sighed contently. Her days of field work might be over but the more she thought about it, the more the idea really tickled her fancy. Hunting was her passion and she didn’t necessarily have to give that up completely.

  As she was learning with these people, there were plenty of bad guys to eliminate. She didn’t need the sanction of the CIA to make her life meaningful. Perhaps when this was over, she would take a little vacation to Las Vegas, catch some shows and kill some scum. She could do that, maybe visit large cities for a nice stay and take out a few bad guys. She was coming to realize she didn’t need the CIA as she’d once believed. She really didn’t.

  No, she could do it quietly on her own. She could make the world a little safer for ordinary citizens. Sure, she would come up on the police radar, but she had the training and experience of over thirty years from the CIA. She had the tools, and most of her targets moved under cover of darkness. The darkness was her friend, hers and her werewolf’s. She was sure her werewolf would enjoy hunting as well. This was the most peaceful her animal had been in three years. That was telling. She’d paid so much attention to herself and healing that her wolf was left on her own. That would change.

  She thought about the women, her four new friends, friends whether she wanted them or not. At least one of them was at her home every day, and at times all four women were there. They left those ridiculous werewolf romance novels laying around. Hell wondered if they were giving her a hint to go out and date a werewolf. Gabrijela Fouche’, that was her. Did women really read that stuff? She’d heard the women giggling like little girls talking about the books.

  They had all agreed to be her alibis. Although at first Hellen had been annoyed at their constant presence, she was becoming used to their company. It was somehow comforting to her yet, she wasn’t sure as to why that was so. Hellen was used to being alone. Her life being silent and devoid of interaction.

  In the before, Vivian was her only friend, the only person in the world who she had any kind of relationship with. Yet as the days and weeks passed, she was getting to know these women. Was it because she needed them? Did she need to have a human connection, no matter how small? She didn’t know. These things were difficult for her to fathom.

  Hellen sighed sleepily and shifted over, dislodging Widget, who moved off. She was too tired to think about it or worry over it and allowed herself to fall headlong into slumber.

  §

  Berry backhanded the younger man and watched with satisfaction as the redhead fell to the ground. He put a booted foot on the man’s neck.

  “Where the fuck are my pills?” he hissed.

  “I..I..I don’t know, Bossman. Someone killed my boys, took their shit. I don’t know who did it,” the man choked out.

  “How much are we down?”

  “I don’t know!” the man cried.

  “Bullshit. You know how many pills and how much cash. So how much? Now, before I crush your fucking throat,” Berry snarled. A large vein pulsed on his forehead and his fists were clenched.

  “Seven big. Seven!” the man cried. His trembling and sweaty hands were wrapped around Berry’s ankle.

  “Well, Tommy, you’d better make it right. I’d best be seein’ seven thousand tomorrow or I’ll have your hide.”

  Tommy was only one of a handful of men who had ever seen Berry’s face. He’d hate to have to kill this little bastard.

  “I ain’t got that kind of money. Bossman, whoever took the pills and money took Abe and Lester’s fingers. Cut them off. And I heard that someone took some tweaker’s finger over on fifth street.” The man was twisting and turning his body, trying to move Berry’s foot from his neck.

  Berry paused at that, took the pressure off Tommy’s throat for a second. He’d heard that Mike had gotten his finger cut off, along with getting gutted and peeled like a grape.

  Shit.

  A shiver moved through Berry’s large frame. He’d heard that Bojo had all his fingers and his junk cut off. Also heard the gruesome detail about the skull cap and his brain being used for a pincushion. A little acid rose in his throat and he swallowed it down. He couldn’t show weakness.

  Leon speculated that perhaps the cartel might be trying to make a move. Berry wasn’t sure. What he was sure about was that Leon would not like the news that he was losing money. Berry had to think. If this was a cartel takeover, they were all in for a world of hurt. Someone was fucking with his business, and in turn, Leon’s business. What he lost was amplified up to Leon.

  Fuck, he thought.

  He needed to talk to Leon and see what they could do. Crap was getting real and if these interlopers were trying to take over, Berry could see a shitstorm heading their way. He needed to tighten up his ship. Berry reached down and yanked the thin man up.

  “I don’t care how you do it, Tommy, but you get my money and the pills or fingertips will be the least of your worries. I don’t give a flying fuck how you do it. Rob every fucking store in a ten-mile radius, rob every junkie out there, I don’t care. But get me my money and get it fast.”

  Berry shook the man like a doll and let him go. Tommy scurried off. Berry took out his burner and dialed up one of his men.

  “Yeah?” the male voice answered on the other end.

  “It’s me. How many shills you got today?” Berry asked.

  “Got twelve. We’re halfway through our run. Hey, heard what happened. What do ya think?”

  “I’m not sure, keep it tight. You see anything, let me know. Call Chuck, have him come watch your back with a couple more boys. Give Deets a call, tell him to do the same. I want doubled security. Keep to the routes, no detours,” Berry ordered.

  Deets was running shills as well, making sure the two didn’t cross over to each other’s pharmacies. He’d taken Dr. Winter’s advice and spread his people out more. There were plenty of pharmacies, so it wasn’t hard.

  “Okay, will do, boss.”

  Berry put the phone away. Leon wouldn’t want to hear excuses, but he did need to let him know that someone was moving in on their street people. He pulled out another phone and dialed.

  “Talk to me,” Leon said on the other end.

  Whenever he communicated with Leon, no names were used. Once the conversation was finished, he’d destroy and toss the cellphone. They went through a lot of phones but it was safer that way. No texting and no saved numbers.

  “Suffered two casualties. Word is that the fingertips were cut off. Sound familiar?” Berry informed his boss.

  “Shit. How bad?”

  “My guy will cover it. Or will wish he had. But it did cut into supplies. Seven big gone, another was hit, not sure who they were. Small time, I think. I’ve ordered more security on the sh
ills.”

  His boss needed to know he could handle things. That was the whole reason for running his own crew.

  “Good, keep your ears to the ground. I’m trying to suss out more info on a few other things. Let me know if you hear anything about other gangs trying for takeovers. You know, the bigger gobbling up smaller ones.”

  “Sure thing,” Berry said and hung up. He pulled out the sim card and then snapped the phone. He took his lighter and burned the sim card.

  Shit, he thought, things are gettin’ real complicated.

  Perhaps it would be prudent to start moving his money and assets around. He would pull one of his more loyal men to watch his back. Berry allowed only a few of his most trusted to see his face. The rest of his men didn’t know his name or his face and referred to him as Bossman. He’d taken a page from Leon’s playbook. Distancing himself now seemed like a really good idea.

  He brought his large hands up to his eyes and pressed the heels of his palms into his eye sockets. The pressure eased the headache that was beginning right behind his eyes.

  Not having face to face with most of his people was a double-edged sword. He had to depend on his most loyal to get him the intel he needed. Berry liked being in the know and he sure as hell didn’t like what was coming. The tiny hairs on the back of his neck indicated something big and bad was heading their way. Unfortunately, he didn’t know which way to jump.

  §

  “You’re looking a lot better today,” Nora remarked and shifted on the couch. She had a beige canvas bag at her feet filled with colorful balls of yarn.

  Widget’s eyes were enormous, dilated with fascination as the yarn was being pulled from the bag. Hellen knew it was only a matter of time before disaster struck. The cat would be into the bag and the yarn would scatter. It had already happened on several other occasions. Nora never seemed to mind it. Hell shook her head. Nora was a chatterbox and if Hellen didn’t answer, the woman simply kept talking. She noticed that the other women did the same, grunting responses. Huh, very curious.