Every Waking Moment
CHAPTER SIX
The hulking man in the cheap suit entered the room with cautiousness and trepidation in his every move and fear in his voice as he spoke the words he knew would bring him pain, "Uh…sir…."
"What?" came the terse unfriendly reply.
The man swallowed hard, "We…we uh…we lost'em."
The elder man ran a hand through his salt and peppered hair and issued a heavy, ragged, disappointed sigh. "Didn't I tell you not to underestimate them?"
'They were in his…" the strong man began his excuse, "we thought they'd stay put…"
The rest of his excuse died on his lips as a sharp staccato sounded from the silenced pistol, making a perfectly round hole in his forehead. His mouth held a rounded "o" as a formed word stayed on his tongue. He seemed shocked to be dead - right before he fell face first onto the floor with a resounding wet smack and thud.
"I don't pay you to think," the grey haired man shouted. "I pay you to do as you're told - and I told you – NOT to let them out of your sight! One of you apes get in here," he barked.
Another burly, nondescript man appeared in the doorway, looking uneasy and for all intents and purposes as if he'd been shoved by his cohorts. He even stumbled getting through the door.
"It seems this is your lucky day. You've been promoted," the grey haired man smiled sadistically. "Get that," he gestured at the body pooling blood on the floor, "out of here and see that he is not found."
The new head henchman nodded mutely and swallowed nervously.
"Then reacquire Detective Crews and his partner," the boss directed.
"How are we supposed to?" the burly man asked hesitantly.
"Christ Almighty! Do I have to do everything myself?" the elder man shouted, his temper renowned for the obvious reason. "Track his cell, track hers, track the GPS in his car," the man groaned. "Our people in the Department will help."
"Yes, sir." The young man nearly yelped in response, "Got it."
"And son? Unless you want to join your friend there," he dismissively flung the back of his hand toward the dead man, "contemplating your screw ups in the next life – don't lose them."
"Yes, sir," the burly man managed as he grabbed his predecessor by the ankles and dragged him out the door leaving a bloody swath on the white tiled floor.
The sound of the body sliding on the tile was the only noise in the room as silence descended once more and the grey haired man returned to his cigarette. He lazily blew smoke rings at the ceiling. The way to Crews was through his partner.
As a young man, Crews had impeccable standards, top of his class, keen, physically fit and intelligent both intellectually and in other ways – for example, when it came to reading people. He was a natural – it was one of the reasons he was chosen. Didn't matter that he didn't want it – when "they" chose you – you didn't decline their offer.
The botched thing with the Seybolt family was a huge mistake; an aberration and then the boy became a sacrificial lamb to protect the project. Prison had placed him out of their reach or so they thought – and yet?
Here he was again – tougher than ever – their phoenix risen from the ashes of Pelican Bay – sullied, but street wise. After prison, Crews was even more attractive to them, if he could be convinced to join - he would never betray them. Post prison Charlie Crews couldn't be broken, not by the LAPD, not by the DA, not by the feds, not if even J Edgar Hoover had himself rose from the grave. Crews would assure the success of their enterprise. Because while the Charlie Crews who went into prison was a straight arrow; the Charlie Crews that came out of prison was a straight razor.
He had high castle walls and surrounded himself with a moat made of Zen. He was tougher than ever, but not impenetrable - not with the right tool… Everyone knew Crews was far too stubborn to be turned on his own, but find something – someone he cared about? That was the key.
The chink in his armor was his affection for those closest to him; his blindness where they were concerned. While the effort with Tom Seybolt was horribly botched, they'd miraculously been given a second chance – with Jack Reese's daughter, of all people. It was almost poetic justice – nearly too good, too rich, to be true. Jack walked away from them and they hadn't been able to punish for his insolence at the time, but this? This was a way to kill two proverbial birds with one very sharp stone.
The man laughed, but without gusto. His laugh was a sibilant whisper filled with smoke like the man who owned it – it was a ghost, a shadow – not there at all.