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He immediately backed away. He was afraid of me, yeah, but he was still plenty pissed.
“Look,” I said, trying to bring it down a notch. “Tensions are high. Some bad shit went down. Let’s keep this professional, okay?”
“This is going to cost you, Lou,” Peters said. He wasn’t man enough to be outwardly aggressive, so instead he was sniveling like a resentful little bitch.
“Yeah – it always does. Now, how soon can you get finished here and get everybody the fuck off my property?”
He apparently forgot his anger and stared at me in wide-eyed bewilderment. “What are you talking about? This is an active crime scene! A multiple murder scene, with a meth lab that needs to be cleaned up!”
I leaned in close. “You wanna get paid? Then get the fuck off my property.”
“How the hell is getting off your property going to – ”
“Because there’s a couple hundred pounds of meth buried out there in 55-gallon drums. I need my boys to come in and dig it out so I can sell it, make enough money to restart the business, and pay important business partners like you,” I said contemptuously.
I saw a light go on in Dan’s eyes. He was considering fucking me over, digging up the stash, and selling it off so he could keep all the money for himself.
I cut him off at the pass. “Before you go plotting out your retirement in the Caribbean, I think you should know the Santa Muertes are gonna be pretty fuckin’ pissed when they don’t get their shipment on time. Or from their expected connection.”
The light in his eyes flickered out.
“…the Santa Muertes?” he asked hoarsely.
“Yup.”
“What the hell are you dealing with them for? Aren’t they supplied through the cartels?”
“I made them a better offer. Now… how soon are you gonna get off my fuckin’ property so I can get to work? Or do you want your boys digging it up for me, seeing as how they practically work for me anyway?”
Peters kept them onsite for another eight hours, then roped the whole place off in yellow tape and called it a day.
That’s when my crew came in.
136
Fiona
Kade lay on a collapsible stretcher with an IV in his arm and bloody bandages over his side. They were prepping him for a helicopter that was going to fly him to LA. They said it was routine, that he wouldn’t require surgery, and not to worry… but it was still fucking scary.
Jack stood next to me, his arm circled around my waist. Sid was over by the door, his arms crossed grumpily. Agent Fordham watched us all as a couple of medics futzed with Kade’s setup.
“You’re a very lucky man,” one of them said.
“That’s what they always tell me when I get shot,” Kade said, deadpan.
The medic didn’t take kindly to the sarcasm. “I’m serious. It’s bad enough as it is, but if the bullet hit you a few inches over, this story could have had a very different ending.”
“Hooray for this ending, then.”
Steam was almost coming out of the medic’s ears. “Look here – ”
“Could you not argue with the patient, and just get him on the fuckin’ helicopter?” Fordham asked, in a way that made it clear it wasn’t a request but a command.
The medic and his buddy sheepishly took their places and were about to wheel him out –
“Wait,” Jack said and walked over. He clasped Kade’s fist in his. “You take care of yourself, you hear me?”
“Ahhh, it’s nothin’,” Kade said sleepily. The painkillers were starting to catch up with him. “‘S gonna be… a cakewalk…”
