Page 66 of Thaddeus

“Yeah. Falcon holds stock in bogus companies,” Tatiana answered.

“Well, Garrett picked up that thread and started digging into some of those companies. Harry Landry owns about a half-dozen of those companies. And remember how we found that Falcon owns a shit-ton of Militrix stock? Well, Garcia’s properties are owned by Militrix.”

“That would make sense, Garcia was a part of Omni,” Thad stated.

“Which means, Garrett found a list of Garcia’s properties.” Max crossed his arms over his chest. “Now, how do we narrow them down and find Paul?”

“Garrett’s working on narrowing that down now. He’s checking the property in Manaus, Brazil, now,” Declan told him.

I thought about the property in Manaus—it was a million-dollar villa with a private marina on the Rio Negra.

“If Paul is trying to sell Jefferson’s dogs he won’t go to Manaus,” I told the group, then followed with a question, “How many pit bulls were at the training camp?”

“Five,” Kyle answered.

“No puppies?” I queried.

“No.”

“Huh.” I stopped to think a second and no one rushed me when I tried to figure out why the puppies were gone. “I don’t know the breeding schedule and it’s been months since I’d been there. No pups means they were already sold and his bitches could be pregnant now, waiting for another litter.”

“Okay, what does that have to do with Manaus?” Max asked.

“Nothing, I was curious. I could never understand why Jefferson seemed to keep everything divided. The training camp is big enough he could’ve kept his bitches and studs both there, but he didn’t. The females and pups were kept there, the pups were trained then sold. His studs are kept somewhere else. It just never made sense to split everything up.”

“Babe, Manaus?” Thad prompted.

“The house in Manaus is a retreat, a huge, six-bedroom villa. It’s extravagant. The garden is full of banana, papaya, passion fruit, and pineapple plants. The lawn is pristine. It has a wine cellar, a library, and a movie room. But his favorite part was the pool with teak decking and outdoor shower that opened to the master bedroom. Imported bathroom and kitchen faucets, and Italian tile throughout. An animal has never stepped foot into that house or onto that property. So, if Paul is specifically going to locations where Jefferson’s dogs are to sell them, Manaus wouldn’t be on his list.”

I’d left out a few amenities like the tennis courts—yes, plural—the fitness center, and the ballroom. If the home hadn’t belonged to Jefferson, and I hadn’t known how he’d acquired the two-million dollars to purchase the house, I would’ve loved it. All-in-all, the villa was spectacular. But I did know, so I’d hated everything about it.

Declan was picking up his phone off the table and dialing when he asked, “Where do you think Paul would go?”

“Yo.” A tired voice came over the line.

“Hey, Garrett, Emerson was telling us about Garcia’s property in Manaus. You can scratch that one off your list,” Declan said.

“Already did. The place is a fuckin’ mansion but in the heart of an upscale neighborhood. No way Garcia would dirty up the joint with his illegal activities. Does she have any ideas to help narrow?”

“She’s right here thinking about it,” Declan told him.

“Yo, Emerson. I’m Garrett, whatcha got for me?” the friendly man asked.

“Um, hi. Jefferson has a farm south of Manaus in Manicore, is that on your list?” I asked.

“Sure is. Three hundred acres. What do you know about the location?”

“Not much. I’ve never been there but I did hear him talking about going there once. He was pissed some of the stud pit bulls had to be put down due to infection. I figure the way he kept the animals separated, if the training camp held the females for breeding, Manicore would house the males. And I do know the males are worth more than females for breeding, but he said his female fighters were better than males.”

“I’m looking at the satellite images now,” Garrett said. “Two small houses offset from the road about a mile into a wooded area. Three outbuildings and what could be dog runs, but I can’t verify until I get better footage. And, damn, if I didn’t know any better I’d say there’s a large chicken coop but maybe it’s a dog kennel—”

“It is a coop. I forgot his roosters are there. He has like fifty I think, but there is one he called Daddy Mack, his prized fighter. He’d laugh about putting the rooster in the ring with a puppy and how the rooster would shred the pup.”

“Fucking dick,” Kyle muttered.

“Then that explains the grain bins,” Garrett said. “Looks like he has a few egress routes, one water, one through the heavily wooded area. Going north there’s a hut of some sort at the end of that road, probably a garage. And a trail around the back end heading south toward the small town, that road leads to the back end of a row of stores.”

“Egress?” I asked.