The Devil's Right Hand - J. D. Rhoades [71]
“Yeah,” Raymond said. “Like you said, things have got out of hand. I need to get out of the country for a while.”
“That is putting it mildly,” Suarez said. “And what will become of your business?”
“It’s yours,” Raymond said.
Suarez’ normally impassive face registered shock for the first time. “All of it?”
“All of it,” Raymond said. “The club, the labs, the warehouses, even the trucks. All yours.” He pulled a small notebook from his back pocket. “It’s all in the lists right here. Nothin’s in my name, but my lawyer can draw up papers to have it put in any name you want.”
Suarez leaned back and steepled his fingers beneath his chin. “Just for a way out of the country.”
“No,” Raymond said. “That’s not all.”
“Ah,” Suarez said. “And what else?”
“I want Puryear. I want the other guy that was there, the one who shot my brother. He’s a bondsman out of Wilmington, name of Keller. And there’s one other.”
Suarez sighed. “This will be the last condition, I hope?”
“Yeah,” Raymond said. “There was a Latino guy that was helping us. Said his name was Oscar Sanchez.”
“Probably not his real name,” Geronimo offered.
“Probably. But he ran out on me. He took my truck.”
Suarez looked amused. “You want to kill a man over a truck?”
“No,” Raymond said. “But I want him taught a lesson.”
Suarez nodded. “Is that all?”
“That’s it.”
Suarez thought for a moment. Then he stood up. “Allow me a few minutes to confer with my associates.” Geronimo stood as well. The two men headed to the door.
Raymond stood up and went to let them out. He almost stumbled from the light-headedness of the pain pills, but caught himself.
“We’ll let ourselves out,” Suarez said.
Outside of the house, the Colombians gathered on the far side of the truck. “Guillermo,” Suarez said to the man Raymond called Geronimo, “Your thoughts.”
“The man is a fool,” Guillermo said in Spanish. “He’s throwing everything away for the sake of killing some two-bit punk.”
“He’s dying,” Suarez said. “Or so he has convinced himself. The last thing he wants before he goes into the ground is his revenge. And when he goes, what will become of his network? He has the facilities, the people, police contacts...and he is willing to turn them all over for the sake of his vengeance. So,” he said, “we give it to him. Guillermo, take care of this. Use some of your trusted men, good shooters. And do it quickly.”
“What about this way out of the country he says he wants?”
Suarez shrugged. “He may survive this,” he said. “When everything is done and all the assets have been turned over, get him on one of our planes. Tell him we’re taking him someplace safe. When you get over the water...” Suarez smiled and pantomimed throwing something, his arms held low so as not to be seen from behind the truck.
Guillermo responded with an ugly grin. “Before I do, I’ll make him say my name right.”
Suarez clapped him on the shoulder. “Let’s go in and tell him we have a deal.”
Angela looked up from behind the counter as the bells on the front door jingled. Angela immediately pegged the two men who walked in as cops. The first one was short and balding. He was wearing a pair of wraparound sunglasses that hid his eyes. The one who followed was tall, broad-shouldered, red-faced. His shades were mirrored. The outside heat had them sweating slightly in their cheap sport coats. .
The balding man took off his shades. He tucked them in an inside jacket pocket. His hand came out of the pocket with a slim brown wallet. “Ms. Hager?” he said. Without waiting for an answer, he flipped the wallet open, showing a flash of gold badge that swiftly disappeared as he tucked the wallet back in his pocket. “I’m Detective Barnes, Fayetteville P.D. This is my partner, Detective Stacy.” Stacy crossed his arms across his chest. He didn’t show a badge or take of his sunglasses.
“I’m Angela Hager,” she said, standing up. “What can I do for you?”
“We’re attempting to locate a Jackson Keller,” Barnes said. “I understand that he’s employed here.”
“Mr. Keller is an employee of mine,” Angela said guardedly. “May I ask what...”
“What