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“Did someone send you, or are you here for yourself?” Salem asks.
Our guest shifts in his seat, causing the rickety wooden legs to creak. He licks his dry lips and swallows hard. “Why does it matter?”
“Answer the fuckin’ question.” My tone is low and husky.
“Myself. But I thought you handle business discreetly, no names given.” The older gentleman becomes increasingly uncomfortable, which he should be, given the circumstances. He is willing to participate in someone’s possible demise by sitting here of his own free will.
My brothers don’t speak for a few minutes, nor does anyone divulge to him that we always uncover the identity of the person behind the money—the one who is pulling the proverbial trigger.
A bead of sweat rolls down the old man’s temple.
“How much is in the bag?” Salem breaks the silence.
“Two hundred thousand.”
Fuck. That’s not chump change.
Salem folds his arms over his chest. “Who’s the target?”
The guy reaches inside his oversized jacket and produces a small manilla envelope. Leaning forward, he slides it across the table. Laredo retrieves it.
“Robbie Martin.” The old man’s voice sounds as weathered as the skin on his hands. You can tell a lot by a man’s hands, and he is a hard-working man. His fingers are a little crooked and arthritic from years of using hand tools.
Salem leans back in his seat. “What’s his sin?”
The old man squares his shoulders and lifts his chin. The fear in his eyes vanishes and the hard lines across his forehead deepen. “He’s the man who profited from selling my precious granddaughter to the highest bidder.” The bitter hate in his quivering voice doesn’t match the deep sadness in his pale blue eyes.
We’re dealing with a sex trafficker, some of the lowest of the low in the criminal world.
“And your granddaughter? What became of her?” Salem asks what we all want to know.
The old man fights to keep his emotions in check. “She’s dead. The bastard has the DA and judges in his pocket. Martin is still a free man while being investigated, and there is no justice in that.”
“Why not wait for charges and a guilty sentence?” Laredo asks.
“The only place he deserves to rot is six feet under, not in prison where he can still wield power.” A thick sheet of ice coats the old man’s voice.
Mystic’s face hardens with rage, no doubt thinking of his little girl and what he would do to a monster like Robbie Martin. “You prepared to live with the fact that you are the reason a man will die?” Mystic asks the old man.
“My granddaughter was the only person in this world who gave me joy, and now she is gone. Once he is dead, I will think of him no more, and he will not be able to cause so much pain and destruction to any more families again. My granddaughter was not the only victim of his evil sex business.”
The room falls silent. The old man’s sorrow and need for retribution permeate the room, making the already stale earthy air feel thicker.
Salem reaches for the liquor bottle in the center of the table, pours the liquor into two shot glasses, then slides one to the old man.
“We’ll collect the debt,” he says.
Salem and the old man down their shots, sealing the deal.
A short time later, we all sit in church, drinking coffee and energy drinks, waiting for our brother, Laredo, to give us more intel on the man we’ve been hired to dispose of.
Laredo closes his laptop and scrubs his face before lifting his mug to take a drink. “This motherfucker looks to dabble in all sorts of illegal activities. He is associated with human trafficking, extortion, and money laundering. And the old man was right. The piece of shit is associated with numerous prominent city and state officials. Whether they are on his payroll, clients, or he has dirt on them, they are in high enough positions to cover up his activities.”
Salem snuffs out a cigarette. “Location?”
“His office is in Boston, but his main residence is in Cape Cod.” Laredo sits his mug on the table. “Our best bet is catching the fucker when he’s home. The estate is on a secluded beachfront.”
Baja leans forward, placing his forearms on the table. “When do we roll out? That’s roughly a couple of hours of road time one way.”
