Read Online Wood's Wall by Steven Becker - Free Book Online Page B

knuckle.
    “Better find your friend there, or we’ll have to go deeper.”
    “He’s not answering. I don’t know what’s up. I need a freakin’ doctor.” He whimpered.
    “When I have my property back I will dump your sorry Cajun ass at the hospital”
    Trufante was desperately trying to save his remaining digits. Torture was not in his wheelhouse, and he would have caved in before losing the tip of his finger if the sadistic bastard in the apron hadn’t wanted to draw blood so badly. “We can just go over there.”
    “What about the driver, how do we find him? First we take care of that loose end, then we can go see your friend.”
    “Yeah, whatever, just get me away from this butcher shop.”
     
    ***
     
    Pete pulled into the parking lot of the bar where he’d met Trufante the other night, still shaking. He sat in the car, not knowing what to do. The deal had gone south — no money, no drugs, and some serious badasses were after him. He didn’t think they’d look for him in a bar, but he had to hide the car. He pulled out and headed around the back of the building, the driveway running parallel with the dock that serviced the charter boats. He carefully selected a space not visible from the road, parked, and headed into the bar.

 
     
     
     
     
     

    13
    Trufante’s finger, or what was left of it, throbbed. He’d controlled the bleeding by tying a piece of monofilament fishing line he’d found on the floor of the bait house around it and cinched it tight. A dirty rag was clutched over it, absorbing any wayward blood.
    “Don’t bleed in the truck, Cajun. I’ll make you ride in the back,” Cesar snorted from the front seat.
    Trufante didn’t answer. He had no idea how to get out of this. He’d willingly given up the address where Pete was staying — how else did you deal with these psychos, who cut off body parts first and ask questions later? Besides, Pete had ditched him as fast as he could, saving his own skin, and he figured that meant he had the right to do the same. 
    They pulled up to the rented house and parked next to the Excursion in the driveway. The house was dark and quiet as they walked up the path. Trufante had begged to stay in the truck, but Cesar opened the door and grabbed his good arm, dragging him towards the house. 
    “Knock.” Cesar ordered as he ducked out of view. Trufante knocked on the door and waited. 
    “Maybe no one’s home.”
    “The car is here, and it’s not the same one as the guy who was with you. That means someone’s here, and I’m betting they know where my drugs are.” Cesar knocked harder, with the butt of his gun. Still no answer. He signaled one of his men to go around back while he waited in front. 
    “Back door is open.” The guy’s voice came from around the corner. 
    Cesar pushed Trufante in front of him as they made their way around the house. Cool air escaped as the sliding glass door opened. They entered slowly, the two men fanning out, checking the kitchen, bathroom, and garage. They concentrated on the bedrooms next. A closed door appeared on the right, two others on the left. One door was open, the room empty. They moved past the bathroom to the two closed doors.
    One swift kick from Cesar’s boot left the door hanging on one hinge. Two lumps in the bed shifted, but didn’t wake as they entered the room. Trufante stayed behind in the hall. 
    “That’s my shit.” Cesar walked over and stuck his finger in the mountain of white powder on the table. He licked his finger, confirming his initial reaction. “These fuckin’ gringos are partying on my shit,” he screamed.
    He went to the bed and stared at the two sleeping bodies. Incensed, he grabbed the mattress and dumped it on the floor. The bodies landed on top of each other. They started to unravel themselves from the sheets when a booted toe landed on each of them. 
    “Stay where you are.” He turned as he heard the other door open. “Jose, take these two into the