taken down a peg.
“Do you have any idea where he is?”
“Not a clue. The fat chick that works for him didn't have anything on her desk calendar saying where he was. He was supposed to be at some charity event last night, but he never showed. I checked his condo, and he wasn't there either.”
“Hmm. Maybe he'll get the message. I'd hate to have to threaten him…”
“Uh, boss, I kinda left a threat behind.”
Mitchell jerked to a stand, the chair rolling back with the rapid movement. “What did you say?”
“When I tore up the office, I might have left some blood behind—in the bathroom.”
“Your blood?” Was he suddenly dealing with a bunch of incompetent idiots? The last thing he needed was DNA that might be linked back to him somehow. First Mitchell stealing from him, and now this?
“No, no! I had some pig's blood in the car. Got it and splattered some around the bathroom, broke the mirror. Made it look like something out of a horror movie, a real grizzly scene.”
Webster pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at it before putting it back to his ear. “I really don't want to know why you had pig's blood with you. But it sounds like it will send an effective message.” He paused and the silence was nearly deafening. He clenched and unclenched his fist twice before talking.
“However, do not ever do something like this again without checking with me first. Otherwise, next time the blood won't belong to a pig. Are we clear?” While he spoke softly, the menace beneath his words screamed louder than any verbal shout.
“Uh, yes sir, boss. I understand.”
“Good. Now keep watch. Have Simpkins monitor the police dispatch, because they will be called as soon as Ms. Kirkland goes into the office.”
“Yes, sir. Is there anything else I can do?” The voice had a pleading whine and Webster's lips quirked up at the corners. Ah, yes, he loved the power he had over others. He'd handpicked Lenny Gomez because he'd known from the first he'd be malleable, manipulated into doing whatever needed doing with the minimum of fuss. Pay him enough money and you bought his loyalty. Ask him to put a bullet between somebody's eyes, Lenny wouldn't hesitate. The only problem was Lenny tended to improvise, and it looked like that might be a problem.
Webster didn't like problems. He liked order and rules. He didn't like chaos.
First things first, though. He needed to find Mitchell and deal with the man keeping his mouth shut. In the beginning, their arrangement progressed profitably for all concerned. Lately, Mitchell had begun indulging in their imports a little too freely, which was a mistake. And Webster wouldn't tolerate mistakes. They arose from bad planning and a lack of control, two things he wouldn't tolerate.
Mitchell had now moved up on his agenda as one more problem that needed to be resolved. Then he'd finalize the details of the coup of his career, his final hurrah before retiring permanently.
There was just one loose end that needed snipping and his name was Samuel Carpenter. He thought he'd dealt with the sorry bastard three years ago in Brownsville, but Sammy was his one true failure. The lone black mark tarnishing his otherwise pristine record.
He should have died on the dirty concrete floor of the storage unit along with the rest of his team, but Sammy proved stronger than he'd anticipated. Still, with all the evidence he'd planted to frame him, the man ought to be rotting in prison.
Carpenter had fooled everybody in the DEA, working under an assumed name. Damn, if he'd known how stinking rich Sammy was, along with his family connections, he'd have done a lot of things differently. Hell, the man had inherited billions, had the kind of money Webster could only dream of, and he was still walking around free, and searching for him in a misguided vendetta.
He was a thorn in
“Do you have any idea where he is?”
“Not a clue. The fat chick that works for him didn't have anything on her desk calendar saying where he was. He was supposed to be at some charity event last night, but he never showed. I checked his condo, and he wasn't there either.”
“Hmm. Maybe he'll get the message. I'd hate to have to threaten him…”
“Uh, boss, I kinda left a threat behind.”
Mitchell jerked to a stand, the chair rolling back with the rapid movement. “What did you say?”
“When I tore up the office, I might have left some blood behind—in the bathroom.”
“Your blood?” Was he suddenly dealing with a bunch of incompetent idiots? The last thing he needed was DNA that might be linked back to him somehow. First Mitchell stealing from him, and now this?
“No, no! I had some pig's blood in the car. Got it and splattered some around the bathroom, broke the mirror. Made it look like something out of a horror movie, a real grizzly scene.”
Webster pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at it before putting it back to his ear. “I really don't want to know why you had pig's blood with you. But it sounds like it will send an effective message.” He paused and the silence was nearly deafening. He clenched and unclenched his fist twice before talking.
“However, do not ever do something like this again without checking with me first. Otherwise, next time the blood won't belong to a pig. Are we clear?” While he spoke softly, the menace beneath his words screamed louder than any verbal shout.
“Uh, yes sir, boss. I understand.”
“Good. Now keep watch. Have Simpkins monitor the police dispatch, because they will be called as soon as Ms. Kirkland goes into the office.”
“Yes, sir. Is there anything else I can do?” The voice had a pleading whine and Webster's lips quirked up at the corners. Ah, yes, he loved the power he had over others. He'd handpicked Lenny Gomez because he'd known from the first he'd be malleable, manipulated into doing whatever needed doing with the minimum of fuss. Pay him enough money and you bought his loyalty. Ask him to put a bullet between somebody's eyes, Lenny wouldn't hesitate. The only problem was Lenny tended to improvise, and it looked like that might be a problem.
Webster didn't like problems. He liked order and rules. He didn't like chaos.
First things first, though. He needed to find Mitchell and deal with the man keeping his mouth shut. In the beginning, their arrangement progressed profitably for all concerned. Lately, Mitchell had begun indulging in their imports a little too freely, which was a mistake. And Webster wouldn't tolerate mistakes. They arose from bad planning and a lack of control, two things he wouldn't tolerate.
Mitchell had now moved up on his agenda as one more problem that needed to be resolved. Then he'd finalize the details of the coup of his career, his final hurrah before retiring permanently.
There was just one loose end that needed snipping and his name was Samuel Carpenter. He thought he'd dealt with the sorry bastard three years ago in Brownsville, but Sammy was his one true failure. The lone black mark tarnishing his otherwise pristine record.
He should have died on the dirty concrete floor of the storage unit along with the rest of his team, but Sammy proved stronger than he'd anticipated. Still, with all the evidence he'd planted to frame him, the man ought to be rotting in prison.
Carpenter had fooled everybody in the DEA, working under an assumed name. Damn, if he'd known how stinking rich Sammy was, along with his family connections, he'd have done a lot of things differently. Hell, the man had inherited billions, had the kind of money Webster could only dream of, and he was still walking around free, and searching for him in a misguided vendetta.
He was a thorn in
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