Page 59 of Salvation

“His maternal grandparents were big into the casino industry out that way and left him a sizeable fortune when they died. He used that money to buy his way into the right crime circles and hired men to help him take the top-ranking men in those circles out. That couldn’t have been easy… or cheap. But he did it.

“Last week, an associate says he was bragging about setting up a meeting with the Baton Rouge Kingpin, Gabrial DeLucca. He left for that meeting accompanied by five hired goons and was supposed to meet back up with her later that night. He never showed and hasn’t been heard from since. He’s off the grid. Completely. He’s just disappeared. As if he’s been erased from existence.”

Alan is staring at me again, while clicking that damn pen and Lieutenant Warren nods as I recount all we’ve learned. Alan says, “Do we have any idea of where this meeting was supposed to go down?”

Lieutenant Warren shakes his head at us and points to the file. “No, we don’t. But someone does. That list has the names, addresses, and contact info for all of Antoinette’s known associates, including the five men who accompanied him to his “meeting” that night. They’re also M.I.A.

“Get a move on it. Hit the list. Hard. Someone knows something.” He smiles. “Talk to the mistress. She gave us this info. I’m betting she knows more. This may be just the break we need to finally put Gabrial DeLucca away.”

Nodding, I grab my phone, clip my badge to my belt, and reholster my weapon. When I’m done, Alan is already on his feet, waiting at the door, still clicking the damn pen.

I hope that fucker snaps in half.

He grins at me. “Well, partner, let’s do this thing. Someone will talk today. I feel it.”

Clasping him on the back, because I also have a good feeling that this is the break we’ve been waiting for, I brush past him, wave off the cheers of “Go get him,” “Today’s your day,” and head to my car. Alan laughs as he contorts his now grossly overweight body to fit into the Mustang’s passenger seat, “Guess you’re driving.”

Flipping him off, I raise my brow and grunt. “Obviously, fucker. You drive like Martin Lawrence in Bad Boys. Ninety-year-olds headed to BINGO drive faster than you do.”

Laughing, he slaps his knee and leans his head back on the black leather. “Right…I could use a nap anyway. I guess you think you’re Will Smith though, huh?”

Staring at the road, I smirk as I gun the engine. The tires squeal as the rubber eats the pavement. He cusses while quickly falling back against the seat and grabbing onto the door frame, making me laugh heartily while I say, “Well, I am the good looking one.”

* * *

My shoulder is healing nicely,though it still feels tight from overuse, and I need to rest it quite a bit more than I’d like. I should be wearing my arm sling to alleviate the pressure on it, but it makes me look weak, and in my business, weakness should never be visible to your companions. It’s bad enough I can’t do anything to disguise the scab on my cheek.

Max is double checking the shipment to make certain everything is present and accounted for before Mr. Whitesmith arrives to claim it.

This is a huge deal and if he’s happy with the exchange, it should lead to more of them in the future. That will fill my already overflowing bank account nicely. All of them.

As I sit at the head of the currently empty table, I roll my shoulder to try to soothe the tight muscle. Dr. Anderson was right about needing to work the muscle regularly. I’ve hired a personal therapist on the down low to meet with me a few times a week in the privacy of my home to help me recover from this unfortunate incident.

It’s been two weeks since it all went down in the Basin and no word has reached me of anyone looking for Renald Antoinette or his henchmen.

I’m not foolish enough to think it’s gone away, but the longer it takes for it to get out, the more the swamp will reclaim the charred remains of the cabin... and what’s left of the burnt to a crisp bodies Max missed.

Max went back to the site and said the house was burned to the ground. It was nothing but scorched wood and ash. He discarded the soot blackened bones he was able to identify in the rubble along the Basin. The vehicles are also hidden somewhere in the swamp where they’ll never be found. Nature has a way of quickly reclaiming what was taken from it down here. No one will ever know what happened out there under the light of the blood moon. There were also no tracks leading back to the cabin. The brush and foliage was so thick, and the ground was so wet, that the second we passed, our passage was concealed. The likelihood of anyone discovering the location is slim to none.

From the looks of it when we were there, the owners of it were either deceased or had long forgotten about it. Not that it takes long for decay and rot to set in with those conditions.

That doesn’t mean that someone won’t realize that Antoinette and the men he brought along with him are missing. After all, he was starting to make a name for himself, and he does have acquaintances. I’m sure he also took his pleasures with a few people he paid regularly… one of them is bound to notice his absence.

I’m not too concerned about it though. There’s nothing to tie me to him anyway. He didn’t even use his real name when he reached out to my people.

Voices are heard outside of the warehouse, and Max calls out as he receives word through his earpiece from the men stationed on the roof, “Whitesmith has just pulled up. He’s got two other dark tinted SUVs with him and a catering van.” Turning, I look at Max as he listens to the report from outside and assesses the scene from the entryway. “Looks like eight men with him and another three staying with the vehicles.”

Glancing around at the men stationed throughout the various levels of the warehouse, I nod. Their gazes are all focused on the doors and their weapons and scopes are at the ready. We will not have another incident like last week. That little nobody got the drop on me, and we weren’t fully prepared. That grave mishap will not happen again.

We are more than prepared today, but I anticipate a smooth transaction.

The delivery doors open and Mr. Whitesmith, accompanied by his men, enter my domain. The heels of his expensive shoes clack against the concrete, echoing within the large room. I stand as he approaches the table, and he reaches out for my extended hand. Shaking firmly, we greet each other politely before I gesture to the seat to my left. Walking around the table, he adjusts his designer jacket, unsnapping the top button, and takes the seat. Max seats himself at the empty seat on my right, near my injured shoulder.

He, and his men, are all offered drinks. All decline and Mr. Whitesmith leans his elbows on the table, regarding me. He rubs his chin before leaning back in his chair. “I’m interested to see my product, Mr. DeLucca. Your call to inform me that everything I needed had been located and would be here today was a welcome one.”

I smile over at him. “I did assure you I could deliver at our initial meeting.”

Nodding, he says, “That you did, Mr. DeLucca. That you did.”

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