by Jason Tucker
Contents
Title
Copyright Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Epilogue
Wetwork
By
Jason M. Tucker
What happens when a hitman hiding from his former boss finds out that a vampire is hunting him? Joey Sanders, and everyone he has ever cared for, is about to find out…
Other Works Available:
Lou vs. the Zombies
Uneasy Reading
Blood, Magic & a Concubine
Meat City
Dead Ahead
Jason M. Tucker
Wetwork
© 2012, Jason M. Tucker
[email protected]
Cover design © 2012, Jason M. Tucker
Photo used in cover from iStock.com
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under federal and international copyright laws and treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of the material contained herein is prohibited. No part of the book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author except for review purposes.
Chapter One
Joey Sanders closed his eyes for a moment and listened to the steady music of raindrops pounding on the roof of his old Cadillac. His fingers drummed a matching beat on the steering wheel and he waited.
Vincent needed to hurry his ass up. Joey hated sitting out in the open even in the middle of the night. Half the thugs in the city wouldn’t mind seeing him in the ground, especially with the price on his head. Most of them knew what his patched up Caddy looked like, and he doubted they would hesitate to put a bullet or three into him. He felt too exposed out on the street. But if the rain continued falling, it might keep every rat with a gat inside. At least the rain was good for something.
Joey’s eyes snapped open when he heard a sudden pounding on the passenger side window. His hand instinctively shot for the S&W .40 tucked into the rig beneath his left arm, even though none of the killers he knew bothered knocking.
It wasn’t a hitman.
Vincent stood there smiling like an idiot, skinny as a dried up French fry with sickly looking skin about the same color. Rain plastered his greasy blond hair to his head. He knocked again before Joey leaned over and unlocked the door. Vincent got in and shook himself like a dog.
“Rotten out there, man. Just fucking rotten,” Vincent said. “Even my dick is shriveled up.”
“That’s not the most comforting mental picture,” Joey said. “What is so damned important that you had me come all the way over to this crap neighborhood at one in the morning in the middle of a goddamned downpour?”
“What do you think?”
“I imagine it’s got something to do with Giovanni,” Joey said. These days, it always seemed to have something to do with her and the Family. Phantom pains surged down to his left hand and he glanced out to where his ring finger used to be. “But I don’t have time for guessing games, so tell me now or I’ll dump your ass back out into the rain.”
“Alright. Let’s just start the car and drive. I don’t like sitting here,” Vincent said. “Maybe we can hit Del Taco. They got an all night drive-thru over on Sunset.”
Joey started the car and pulled out into the empty street. The wiper blades didn’t work as well as they used to. Mostly, they just smeared the grime and dirt that had caked onto his windshield from weeks of neglect. It gave the world outside a blurry and surreal look that he didn’t like. Los Angeles through funhouse goggles.
“Say, Joey, you got a couple of bucks to spot me for a burrito?”
Nice to see it was the same old Vincent. Ugly and broke. Joey was sure the skinny prick was probably carrying at least a hundred in weed on him. The guy always stank of the stuff, but he never seemed to have enough money to buy a stick of deodorant.
“Tell me what you got to tell me and I’ll think about it,” Joey said.
“I was out walking the dog today and guess who I see? I see Giovanni’s little bitch Carlos and he’s eyeing me. Well, he comes up to me and tells me that his boss has an offer and that he’s been looking for me. He says I can get back into her good graces if I do them a favor.”
Joey twitched and thought about reaching for his gun. He wondered if Vincent was stupid enough to try to kill him while the car was moving. Vincent was that stupid, but he wasn’t a killer. He was a liar though, and he was classless through and through. Joey also knew that “walking the dog” meant that he was out with his girlfriend, the poor woman. But Vincent wasn’t a killer. Killing was something that Joey did.
“What’s that got to do with me?” Joey said.
“She’s offering you the same deal. They figured I might be able to get in touch with you, so here we are. You help and she’ll call off her goons.”
“What kind of favor?” Joey asked. He had plenty of reasons to distrust Rachelle Giovanni. She had her hand in various criminal enterprises. Everything from prostitution to extortion, murder, drugs and things a hell of a lot worse, were part of her domain just as they had been her father’s before her. Whatever it was that she wanted, he knew it wouldn’t be pleasant and it would definitely not be legal. Of course, he also didn’t trust Vincent.
“Moving some merchandise,” Vincent said.
“What type of merchandise? You’re being obtuse.”
“What the fuck is obtuse?”
“Jesus, just tell me what we’re moving,” Joey said.
“I don’t know, man. Merchandise.”
“I don’t like it. That woman doesn’t forgive easily,” Joey said. “She might just want to get us both together so she can torture and kill us personally in a nice quiet spot.”
“You got trust issues, bro,” Vincent said.
“Gee, you think?” Joey had history with Giovanni, good and bad. When her father had run everything, Joey worked as an enforcer, a hired killer when the occasion warranted. Along with older guys, legends in the business like Lou Black, he’d done dirty deeds for the family. During that time, Joey and Rachelle had even been involved in the most intimate sense of the word. Joey even thought he loved her for a time, but the feeling sure as hell wasn’t mutual. Rachelle took over the business when her old man died and things changed.
She changed.
A coldness had swept over her and she became distant and selfish. Well, more selfish than the Italian princess had been before. It didn’t take long for her to cast Joey aside, claiming that it was because of the mantle of leadership. How would it look for the crime boss to be involved with an underling? She’d actually called him an underling, which was damned near as bad as what came next. He was still the favored hitman for a while after the older guys got out of the business. Then everything went to hell. She started to unravel and even wanted him to kill som
e kid just to prove a point.
He refused and that was the end.
Sure, he was a dirtbag and murderer, but he wouldn’t kill a kid. Lou, the fellow who had trained him, had instilled at least a few morals. Giovanni perceived his refusal as disrespect and told him that was the last thing she needed as the new head of her criminal empire. Carlos had taken the job instead. Killed the kid and probably smiled while doing it. So much for standards amongst professionals.
The stump throbbed where Joey’s finger had once been. That had been his punishment. She’d cut off his finger with a pair of gardening shears and promised to cut off more. He’d escaped from the house and never looked back. “You can’t trust her.”
“Shit, they ain’t gonna kill us,” Vincent said. “You really think they couldn’t have found you a long time ago if they wanted to? I don’t imagine it would take much to find your address. They just want us to move this new product since they got heat on them. We ain’t been seen with them in ages so they figure we’re the best choice. It’s a good deal.”
It would make life a hell of a lot easier if he didn’t have to keep looking over his shoulder. He might even be able to move on with his life and do something worthwhile with it. Others had been able to get out, so he knew it was possible. But trusting Giovanni wasn’t going to come easy. A job arriving out of nowhere was usually a setup in Joey’s world. Hell, even Vincent should be smart enough to know that. “Where are we supposed to pick it up and where do they want us to take it?”
“I’ll tell you after I get my burrito,” Vincent said. He blew into his hands in what seemed to be to Joey a failing attempt to keep them warm.
“Right,” Joey said. If it was a setup then he was going to shoot first. Things would change tonight one way or another. Joey was tired of hiding.
“How about we turn on the radio and get some tunes?” Vincent said.
“I only get the easy listening station when it’s raining.”
Vincent reached over and turned on the radio. ‘Rocky Mountain High’ started just as they turned into the Del Taco drive-thru. Joey shook his head and stifled a laugh. That’s right, he thought. Former crime syndicate enforcers and small time drug dealers always listen to John Denver before a job… just because they’re that badass.
Chapter Two
The storage facility parking lot was empty. The late hour and the driving rain were to thank for that.
They’d driven down to the unit while Vincent slobbered on his burrito. Joey could barely make out what the dope was saying between bites. Apparently, the goods - whatever they were - were supposed to be in a storage unit under guard of the Haitian, a man named Robens. At least that was good news.
Joey liked Robens, well enough. They’d both helped one another out of trouble before. Robens was a good man, honorable as far as Joey could tell, especially for this line of work. He’d even been slipping information to Joey too, keeping him just ahead of Rachelle and her crew. He hoped Robens hadn’t been found out or, even worse, decided to betray him. Killing a friend was not something that Joey wanted to do.
Joey opened the automated gate with the code Vincent had provided and drove to storage locker 10B, located on the far side of the complex. He drove slowly, watching and waiting for signs of an ambush. He didn’t see anyone - but that didn’t mean the place was empty.
He parked and grabbed his shotgun from the trunk. His .40 was nice, but the scattergun could be a hell of a deterrent if Carlos of one of Rachelle’s other punks decided to show. “Where’s the Haitian?”
“He’s probably inside,” Vincent said. “Doesn’t make much sense to stand out in the rain, does it?”
“You’d better be carrying a piece,” Joey said, as they made their way toward the unit.
“Jesus, man, I told you it ain’t like that. This’ll square us with Rachelle,” Vincent said. “Besides, guns make me nervous.”
“You’re a real shitty drug dealer, you know that?”
“I’ve been told.”
“Yeah, well what exactly was it that put you on her bad side in the first place?”
“What do you think? I was sampling more of the goods than I was selling. She didn’t like that too much and threatened to break my hands,” Vincent said.
“Broken hands ain’t that bad. At least they’ll heal.”
“Shit, she knows how to hurt a person deep. How could I roll my smoke with busted hands? My dog can’t roll for shit.”
“You know there’s other methods of smoking, right?” Joey said.
“It’s all about tradition,” he said.
When they reached the unit, Joey saw the rollup aluminum door was already partially open - about two feet off the ground. It was dark inside. The lock was missing too. He wondered if Robens would be able to hear them approach over the sound of the driving rain. He wondered if Robens was even in the unit.
“Robens,” Joey called. When there was no response, he called out again. “Haitian, you in there?”
Silence.
Joey pumped the shotgun.
“He’s in there,” Vincent said. He was speaking so softly Joey could barely make out what he was saying. “He’s got to be in there. The door shouldn’t be open though. Why is the door open?”
“Open the door the rest of the way and find out,” Joey replied. He stepped back to give Vincent room.
“Great,” Vincent said. He hesitated a moment and then lifted the door.
“Go in and turn on the light,” Joey said. He held the shotgun to his shoulder, aiming at the dark maw of the open unit, well aware that he was a perfect target for anyone who might be inside and waiting for them.
“No, man, you can do it. You got the gun,” Vincent said.
“Damn straight I have the gun,” Joey said, moving the barrel of the shotgun slightly so that it pointed at Vincent’s chest. “Go in and turn on the light.”
“That’s cold, man.” Vincent took several slow and hesitant steps before he went inside. A moment later, light flooded the room. The sound of his retching came almost instantly.
Joey slipped inside to get a better look at the carnage. A crumpled body lay in the corner. It was a large man, dark skin and a shaved head. Gold rings adorned each finger of his left hand.
Robens.
The Haitian man’s eyes were open and staring at the ceiling. His mouth was slack and his neck ragged and torn. The savaged throat reminded Joey of the aftermath of a dog attack he’d seen once… but this was different. Not enough blood on the floor for starters. The wound was savage, but it was only the throat. No defensive wounds on the hands, no other flesh missing. This was not the work of a dog.
Too bad about Robens, Joey thought. He’d been one of the few good ones, relatively speaking, that was a part of the Giovanni syndicate. And here he was, killed by… killed by what?
Roben’s body lay next to an opened metal crate that was about four feet long and about a foot high. It reminded Joey of a coffin except for the digital padlock on the opened lid. He’d seen locks like it before, but this one looked as though it had some type of clock or timer attached to it. The coffin was quality handiwork, a custom job certainly. It looked like it might have come from Del Whitman, a gun seller and metalworker that Joey knew sometimes did jobs for the Giovanni family.
“The fucking burrito,” Vincent said. He spat more vomit and saliva onto the floor. “I’m so screwed. I fucking killed myself because I had the munchies.”
Joey paid little attention to Vincent. He was more concerned with the crate. He looked inside and saw crude wadded up bedding as well as a pillow. The box wasn’t large enough to hold a full-grown adult, even if they tucked their knees to their chest, but someone had definitely been in there. It was the right size for a child.
“What was supposed to happen here?” Joey asked. He turned to Vincent, who was leaning against the wall and weeping quietly.
“I fucked up,” he said. “I was supposed to get you here on time, but I was hungry.”
/> “You aren’t making a whole lot of sense right now,” Joey said.
“I knew you’d buy me something to eat. You’re a good guy, Joey. You remember that. You’re a good guy.”
“Do you know what happened to Robens?”
Vincent shrugged. “I really don’t know. I just know that I was supposed to get you here and I didn’t make it in time.” He slid onto the floor next to his own puke and placed his head in his hands.
“What were you going to do when you got me here?”
“You were supposed to go in there and help the Haitian with the box. When you went in, I was supposed to lock both of you inside. I was supposed to get you here at the right time.” Vincent wouldn’t make eye contact with Joey.
“How were you going to lock us inside?”
Vincent pulled out a padlock from his pocket. “Slam down the door and slip this on.”
“Then what was supposed to happen?”
“I don’t know. I was supposed to get out of here. I thought maybe it was a bomb or something,” Vincent said. “I really don’t know what was in the box.”
“You did this so you could clear your issues with Rachelle?”
“I was going nowhere without her. I couldn’t sell on her streets so I couldn’t make money. She offered to put me back on her payroll. I… I didn’t know what to do. I was looking out for me. You’re right, that crazy eyed bitch got a bug up her cooch about you for some reason, and she was pissed at him,” Vincent said, nodding at the dead man. “She knew the two of you were friends, and she probably thought he was feeding you info to keep you ahead of Carlos and his hounds.”
Joey pointed the barrel of the shotgun at Vincent’s face.
“Don’t shoot me,” Vincent said, his jaw quivering. “Remember what I said? You’re a good guy.”
Joey smiled. “I ain’t gonna shoot you. You said Rachelle knows how to hurt a person deep. I’m going to leave you here for her.”
“This is a big fuck up. She’ll kill me for this,” Vincent said.
