The Steve Williams Series Boxed Set

by J. E. Taylor

  He turned to leave and paused, glancing back at him with a thoughtful expression. “You feel like going for a ride?” he asked.

  “Where to?”

  “I think it’s time I show you the operation.”

  Steve raised his eyebrows. Careful now. “I really don’t want to know any more details than I already do, Charlie,” he said, but remained standing and prayed he had an expression that crossed between apprehension and curiosity on his face. His heart was doubling down, sending adrenaline pumping through his skin. None of the others ever found out where Charlie’s drug factory was, or if they knew, they didn’t live long enough to report to their superiors. He shifted his weight and kept eye contact with Charlie.

  Charlie closed the door. “Did the FBI have any questions relating to me?”

  Steve’s muscles tensed at the question. “No. They were a little more concerned with catching the Slasher.”

  Ignored the snide remark, he asked, “What did they say when you turned their protection down?”

  “They weren’t very happy, but Jennifer didn’t want a stranger hanging around the apartment, even if he was FBI. That idea freaked her out and in light of what she’s been through, they backed off. I saw a fed camped out on the street this morning, but he didn’t follow me, so I think they’re watching the apartment.”

  “They think he’ll come back?”

  “Yeah, he threatened to finish the job. We put a dead bolt on the apartment door as a precaution.” He sat in his chair and closed his eyes. “If I ever get my hands on the bastard…” When he opened his eyes, Charlie shivered.

  “You know, I’d actually feel sorry for that son of a bitch if you do get hold of him.”

  Steve smiled. “If that happens, the fucker is going to experience a prolonged suffering death.”

  Charlie shifted in his seat and glanced away. “Come on.” He stood and headed for the door. The request had come out in the snap of an order that Steve couldn’t refuse.

  Steve followed him to his SUV in the garage. He slid into the passenger seat and whistled. The vehicle was beautifully equipped with leather-heated seats, a sound system that most street punks would envy and a G.P.S. system in the dash all hidden from view behind tinted windows. “Nice wheels.”

  “Not as sweet as your beemer.”

  “I restored it myself.”

  Charlie shot a wide-eyed glance at Steve. “Seriously?”

  He nodded.

  “You’re just full of surprises.”

  “It took about a year to fix that baby up.” He leaned back, memorizing the route. Taking a deep breath, he asked, “Why now?”

  Charlie glanced at him, his brow scrunched together.

  “Why trust me now?”

  Navigating the streets from Manhattan into Brooklyn, he finally said, “Who says I trust you?”

  Steve twitched in the seat and glanced at Charlie. “Where exactly are we going?”

  He shot a glare in his direction. “Don’t worry Steve—I’m not going to kill you.” He tilted his head. “At least not today,” he added, focusing back on the road.

  “That makes me feel so much better.”

  Charlie laughed at the sarcasm-laced response. “I told you, I’m showing you the operation. I want you to start helping me run things both here and at the office.”

  “How so?”

  “Manage the money and the traffic flow as well as the overhead.”

  Steve blew the air out of his chest audibly. He just hit the mother lode and how he played this was important. “That’s a little out of my league.”

  “You’re a sharp kid. You’ll learn quickly enough. I’m looking for insight on how to be more productive. Maybe you can see different avenues of distribution that we haven’t thought of.”

  He raised his eyebrows.

  “I’ve got faith in you.”

  Faith? Where the hell had that come from? He shook his head and continued to stare out the window before swinging his gaze back to Charlie. “Why don’t you get someone who really wants to do this?”

  His smile disappeared. “Because anyone who wants to manage my business has delusions of taking it over—or worse, they’re moles.” He glanced at Steve. “Either way, anyone gung ho on getting to this level is taken out. Besides, you’ve done a brilliant job with my finances and I want that innovative spirit applied here.”

  “You kissing my ass?”

  He burst out laughing. “Not in the least. This is business and you’ve got business savvy. I need that to get to the next level.” He nodded toward the giant warehouse as he pulled over into a vacant parking spot along the sidewalk.

  Steve’s eyebrows creased. “This is the fiber optics plant.” He had been out to this plant several times in the six months at C.W. FOGs, and while he noticed the warehouses on either side of the plant, he never really gave it a second thought. He’d miscalculated, thinking Charlie wouldn’t dare have his cocaine operation next to his legitimate business.

  Charlie pointed to the warehouse on the right of the fiber optics plant. “This one is, but the one next door isn’t.”

  Steve surveyed the building, noting several cameras mounted under the roof’s canopy. “Cameras?”

  Charlie answered with a nod. “This place has a state of the art security system. Cameras inside and out. That way we’ll know if a sting is going down.” He got out of the car and Steve followed suit. “On first glance it just looks like a packing company, but behind the line of bubble wrap and cardboard boxes, there’s a lab.” He hesitated before punching in the access code. “You’ll need to memorize this number,” he said and pressed five, six, four, nine, seven, zero into the keypad.

  “Five, six, four, nine, seven, zero?”

  Charlie nodded and swung the door open.

  “Any significance?”

  “May sixth is the day my brother died. Four, nine, seventy is my birthday.”

  “You should never use your birthday as a security code,” he replied. After a quick calculation, Steve said, “That makes you forty.”

  Charlie sent a glare in his direction and pointed to the inside of the door. “The entry way is rigged with explosives and the trigger is in my office,” he said. “If I ever see cops coming, I can set these puppies so when the door opens; anyone near them is blown to Timbuktu.”

  “That’s a little extreme,” he answered, studying the explosives.

  Charlie chuckled. “Not as extreme as the interior defenses.”

  Steve turned toward him, allowing the shock to register in his face.

  “Come, I’ll show you.” He headed across the concrete floor to an open stairwell that ascended to an office overlooking the length of the warehouse.

  His heart plummeted when he walked into the office. A bank of monitors showed all facets of the warehouse, inside and out. There were windows on three sides of the room, one looking out on the street with windows that reminded him of those you’d find in schools. They were long, and pushed out once the heavy latch was disengaged. “All the windows are tinted?”

  “And bulletproof.”

  Charlie’s answer caused Steve to glance in his direction. “I’m impressed.” He walked over to the bank of glass overlooking the warehouse and whistled. He had to give Charlie credit—this was one slick operation. The monitors showed the production facility, but the view from the glass only showed the packing facility. “Where is it?”

  Charlie smiled and flipped a switch.

  Steve’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head as the silk screen slowly rose and the cocaine lab came into view. No one below so much as blinked when the curtain rose. He turned to Charlie in stunned silence. Holy fucking shit.

  “Sweet set-up, eh?”

  He nodded, returning his gaze out the window. No wonder no one’s been able to nail this bastard. “Jesus.” He took a deep breath and regained his composure.

  “I move close to twenty-five kilos a year through this warehouse. My clientele is high end, not street punks,�
� he explained, glancing at Steve.

  Nodding, he tore his eyes away from the warehouse. “I can see why the doors are booby trapped.”

  Charlie smiled and walked over to a bank of switches. “These control the triggers on the door,” he began, “and this activates the triggers for the explosives around and under the lab. I’ve got enough nitroglycerine and C-4 under this building to leave a crater the size of a city block.”

  Steve turned to the window overlooking the lab. “Where are the triggers for that?” His voice actually cracked and he cleared his throat.

  Charlie joined him at the window and pointed to doors along the fake wall separating the packing façade with the lab. “There are floor sensors under those doors. If the trigger is live, anyone stepping on the threshold won’t know what hit him and everything in the building will disintegrate. Hell, everything for a couple of hundred yards will disintegrate.”

  “Even the fiber optics plant.” Steve couldn’t believe the precautions he had in place and shook his head a fraction.

  “Yes.”

  “Well, that would be a pisser.”

  Charlie burst out laughing at the unexpected comment. “No shit.” He turned and took a seat behind the large desk, opening the top drawer and pulling out a small bag of blow. “Sit down,” he ordered.

  He turned and stared at him. “Jennifer will kill me if I get high again.”

  Charlie reached under the desk and pulled out a nine millimeter. “I’ll kill you if you don’t.” He set the gun on the desk.

  “Is this your plan? Show me the organization, get me hooked on coke, and make me your bitch?” He didn’t move from the spot where he stood.

  “Hadn’t thought of making you my bitch.” Charlie picked up the gun, swiveling the muzzle in his direction. He pushed the paraphernalia to the other side of the desk. “Just four lines today.” He nodded toward the bag of cocaine. “Come on.”

  Steve crossed his arms awkwardly and held his ground. “Go ahead, shoot me.” He saw a flash in Charlie’s eyes and thought he was a goner, but he refused to move from the spot where he stood. He kept eye contact, praying he had played this hand right. “I’m nobody’s bitch,” he said after a moment of strained silence.

  Cocking his head, Charlie flipped the safety on the gun, setting it down on the desk. He leaned back in the chair, crossing his arms and shaking his head. “But you are whipped.”

  He gave a huff and turned back toward the lab. “Do you distribute to the street at all?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t want to get into gang turf. It’s too volatile. Besides, the normal street addict couldn’t afford this stuff. A gram of street coke goes for a little over a hundred. This goes for a grand.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s more refined than your average street blow.”

  “Ah, okay,” he said and shrugged, giving the impression he had no clue of what that meant. “What’s your profit per gram?”

  “Fifty percent of the retail value.”

  Steve did the math. “You clear 12 million a year?”

  Charlie snorted the lines he cut and nodded. “Yes,” he said but didn’t expand on his links to the Bondino family as Steve hoped he would.

  “And you’d like to increase your profit.” Greedy son of a bitch is clearing twelve million a year and wants more? That’s fucked up. He crossed the office and sat down in one of the chairs facing the desk. “And you’re against branching out to the street?”

  Charlie finished cutting four more lines and slid the mirror toward him with a clean straw. “Not if it means enlisting gangs to distribute and, as I said, the normal street junkie can’t afford this.” He pointed his chin toward the mirror.

  Steve looked at the neat lines of powder. “How much does that represent?”

  “A couple of hundred.” Charlie waited, watching Steve stare at the powder.

  “What do you cut it with?”

  “Flour.”

  Steve raised his eyes and sighed. “Jennifer’s going to kill me.” He picked up the straw and inhaled all four lines, ignoring the sudden burning in his nostrils. Not to mention Jack. He sniffled and stood, crossing to the windows overlooking the road while Charlie stashed the mirror away. The rush was a fraction of what it had been the other night, settling into his skin like a dozen shots of espresso. “What if you cut more flour into a gram and lowered the price for street distribution?”

  “I already thought about that route, but distribution on the street is more risky than the circles I deal in. It’s not a viable avenue. Think of something else.”

  “What about pharmaceutical use?”

  His eyebrows rose. “That’s regulated by the government.”

  “Yeah, but I’m sure there’s a way in.”

  “They only distribute pure cocaine.”

  He shrugged. “How pure is that?”

  “Ninety percent—that’s why it’s so expensive.”

  “So, produce a small amount of pure cocaine and find a way to distribute through pharmacies.”

  Charlie leaned back in the seat, his fingertips resting together in a teepee as he mulled over his proposition. “I’ve got to admit, I’m impressed. That’s an avenue that hasn’t been mentioned before.”

  Steve offered another shrug. “Isn’t that why you let me live? Because I’m… what’d you say?” He tapped his lip with his index finger then pointed at him. “An innovative thinker?”

  He offered a slight nod. “How do you propose we go about contact?”

  The question threw him and he didn’t have an answer. “Do you have any contacts in your distribution circle that have an in on that front?”

  Charlie’s eyebrows rose again as he mentally scanned his client list. “Possibly.”

  “There you go,” he said and glanced at his watch. It was almost five. “What time was Desiree supposed to show up at the apartment?” He scanned the bank of monitors and controls, memorizing the layout before returning his gaze to Charlie.

  “She said she’d swing by around seven.” Charlie glanced at his own watch. “We’d better go. We’ll take a ride tomorrow and I’ll show you the lab.” He grabbed a small vial of powder, handing it to him. “Don’t use it all at once,” he said as he flipped the control that brought the silk screen back into place, creating the illusion of only a packing company.

  Steve pocketed the vial, watching the screen lower, and had to suppress the feeling of admiration that surfaced. It didn’t matter how brilliantly conceived and executed this operation was, he was still a criminal. Jack’s snide remark about money being a seductive bitch surfaced in his mind.

  He wasn’t kidding.

  * * * *

  By the time he walked in the door of his apartment, the cocaine high had melted away. Steve pulled the vial out of his pocket and stared at the finely cut powder. He unscrewed the lid and scooped a small spoonful, bringing it to his nose. Without further thought, he inhaled the fine powder and the burn tingled through his nostril. Before tucking the vial back in his pocket, he repeated with the other nostril.

  The rush hit and he paced, clicking through the different news stations, unable to sit still. When the soft rap on the wood filtered above the television, he pressed the mute button tossing the remote on the couch before bounding to the door. He beheld the stunning blonde standing on his doorstep and his breath caught in his throat. “Desiree?”

  Her luscious lips curved into the sexiest smile he had ever seen and he let his eyes wander down her lithe five foot ten frame as she stepped inside the apartment.

  “You’re a body guard?”

  Desiree looked around the apartment. “Where’s your girlfriend?”

  “At work,” he answered, still ogling. He tore his eyes away from her and glanced at the clock. “I’m heading over to pick her up in a couple of hours.” He closed the door.

  She studied him, her eyes falling on the cast on his arm. “What’d you do there?”

&n
bsp; Steve glanced at his cast. “I punched the door.” He let his eyes drift up her jean clad legs to the ample breasts pressing against the tight sweater and finally to her perfectly oval face. Her pale blue eyes peered at him curiously.

  “Charlie hasn’t told me a great deal of why I’m here. You want to fill me in?”

  “Sure. Have you eaten?” He turned away from her and headed into the kitchen, mentally scolding himself for the inappropriate thoughts filling his head.

  “Not yet. I was planning on grabbing something on my way out.”

  He opened the refrigerator, scanning the contents. He wasn’t the least bit hungry, not for food at least, and every time he glanced at Desiree, he envisioned what she’d taste like. “I can throw something together if you’d like.” He glanced back at her and stood straight, shocked that she was only a step away from him.

  “I’d like that,” she said, scanning the items in the refrigerator as well. “What’d you have in mind?”

  When her eyes returned to his, he closed the refrigerator. “Um, maybe we should go out.” Much to his chagrin, she stepped closer, putting her hand on his chest. He let out a nervous laugh and tried to sidestep her, but found himself cornered between the refrigerator and the kitchen sink.

  Desiree grinned at his nervous response.

  “Um, my girlfriend,” he began.

  Her hand slid down to his belt. She took his left hand and placed it on her breast.

  The sweater was chenille, soft and plush against his fingertips. He pulled his hand away despite the need fuelled by cocaine. Again, he tried to sidestep, but her hand found its way down to the front of his jeans, rubbing suggestively.

  “Um.”

  She cut him off with a kiss.

  Steve’s resolve melted and he opened his mouth, perhaps to protest, but her tongue playfully flicked against his. Stale coffee and cigarettes filled his mouth and he pulled away in momentary disgust.

  She unzipped his pants, finding his hard shaft and stroking him.

  Dumbfounded at her bold advance, he blinked and opened his mouth to protest, but only a low rumble emitted from between his parted lips. The caress of her slender fingers disrupted all logical thought. It was only after she knelt and slid his hard shaft into her mouth, sucking him with each sinuous stroke of her lips, that sensibility took over with one thought. Jenny’s going to kill me! “I can’t do this,” he whispered, and pushed her away, awkwardly zipping up his pants and crossing to the couch.