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No beaten or bloody prisoners.
Aside from the Navigator slowly rolling in, there wasn’t much in there, just a couple of guys—tatted with shaved heads—and a row of giant oil drums lined up against the back wall. A new drug transport system, maybe? If the drums had false bottoms, then it was possible. Risky, though. If there was ever a leak, it would destroy a shitload of product.
The Navigator came to a stop, and the front passenger got out.
I zoomed in with the camera as much as I could and snapped a few pictures of the guy’s face and the tats on his neck and left hand. This guy wasn’t thecapo, but he was no minion either. Dressed in a suit, his chin-length hair was tied back and the five-o’ clock shadow along his jaw gave him a wickedly rugged look. Actually, he was damn hot, in my opinion.
“Why do the hot ones always have to be psychotic freaks?” I muttered under my breath.
I sighed and moved on, panning in on the oil drums while “hot and twisted” barked orders at the minions. I wasn’t close enough to hear him, and apparently, my lip-reading skills needed work. Either that, or he’d just told them that “the cows are in the rainbow”. So… probably not that.
One of the minions circled to the back of the Navigator, popped the trunk, and reached in, dragging out half a dozen black garbage bags.
“Well, doesn’t this look ominous?”
I settled in, resting my elbows on the ground and keeping the camera focused on those bags. They weren’t big enough to be holding bodies. Drugs, maybe? But that didn’t fit. Whatever was in at least one of those bags was long, pushing against the bag’s bottom corner.
The minion carried the bags over to the oil drums, set them down, and took off one of the drum’s lids. He opened up one of the bags and pulled something out.
It was a leg. A fucking leg. Bent at the knee so that it folded in half, it was seriously missing the rest of a body.
Slowly, he lowered it into the drum until something sloshed over the side, making him yelp and scramble back.
Oh shit.
It made sense. Too much sense.
There were no false bottoms in these oil drums. No drugs inside either.
It was acid.
Acid that I had no doubt would dissolve human bodies.
I watched—kind of horrified , I admit—as the minion slowly emptied the rest of the bags into three different drums. Two arms, another leg, a torso, and two feet. No head, though. Where the hell was the fucking head?
Oh, there it is.
At least, I had a feeling that’s what was in the cardboard box that “hot and twisted” picked up out of the Navigator’s trunk and carried over to the drum.
He pulled it out of the box by its short, bloody hair and dropped it into the drum slowly.
I couldn’t see it, but I could imagine the skin bubbling, then dissolving as the acid worked its way deeper, through flesh, through bone.
“They took him,” the girl in the bar had said. And I had a feeling that the minute she was cold and no longer making Domínguez money, her father had ended up in one of these drums.
Dissolved. Eliminated. Wiped off the face of the earth like he’d never existed.
My stomach roiled. Not much could make me sick, but this? Yeah, I was so going to throw up.
I turned around on my hands and knees and headed back the way I’d come, more than ready to get the hell out of here.
“Let’s go,” I said the moment I reached Gabe and Deo, ignoring the way my knees felt like jelly as I scrambled to my feet and kept going.
“Greta?” Gabe asked, his brow furrowed.
“I’m okay. Let’s just get out of here.”
I tried to smile to reassure him, but it just wasn’t happening. So, back to plan A—getting to the car before I threw up all over the dead field.
