The Suppressor Erik Carter (books suggested by bill gates TXT) 📖

Tanner’s eyes lingered on the self-satisfied son of a bitch for a moment, but before he could reply, his cellular phone rang.

The green-colored screen showed: 555-432-8913.

He immediately pressed END to terminate the incoming call, then turned back to Pace. “That was Rowe. He’s in position.”

He moved his thumb to the green rubber SEND button and left it there, hovering a quarter inch above, ready. As he looked down, he saw that the thumb was shaking.

Pace noticed too. His eyes flicked to the phone then back to Tanner, his cocky mug growing a bit cockier.

“Rowe called us, and now you’re gonna call him when we see the truck,” Pace said. “Then we ‘arrest’ him.”

“That’s right. He’ll stick to the back, as far away from the others as possible, and we’ll cut in before the Farone men can reach the Roja shipment.”

Pace shook his grinning head. “Why now? Why’d you wait so long? His girl is gonna give us everything we need to put away her brother and the rest of the Farones. You coulda gotten Rowe out of there weeks ago.”

Tanner was starting to understand why the FBI had chosen Pace as the consultant for this assignment. When Tanner had made the request, he’d assumed the Bureau would send someone from the local Pensacola office or possibly one of the nearby field offices in New Orleans or Atlanta. But Pace had come all the way from Kansas City. As annoying as the guy was, he was perceptive and he saw things for what the were. He asked the right questions.

“For the Rojas, that’s why,” Tanner said. “Our two-for-one. There had been word that something like this was going to happen with the Farones’ rivals. Jake got us to this point where we can dismantle both gangs at once.”

Pace shrugged. “I don’t know, Lieutenant. Seems like you’ve left the guy out to dry. You said we’re gonna cut in before the Farone men can reach the truck, but if you’re so sure this operation is safe, why’d you put us in this shit?” He tapped his black armored vest. “Seems to me you’re using Rowe as bait.”

Tanner shot him a look. “Rowe coordinated all of this. He’s a damn hero.” He paused. “And he knew the risks.”

Chapter Sixteen

Burton took a step into the rotting room, and two figures swept out of the darkness from either side of the doorway. Suited behemoths, shaved heads, one with a goatee, both towering over Burton.

He came to a stop, unalarmed. He’d known the men would be there, so he slowly lifted his arms as they patted him top to bottom. When they found him clean, one of them waved him on, and he crunched through the debris to the man at the windows.

Roja didn’t turn to face him, just continued to look through the grimy glass to the outside world below. A fraction of a smile played at the corner of his lips.

He was a short, stocky man, whose overall presence reminded Burton a bit of Glover, though Roja’s stoutness was of a softer variety—round cheeks with a burly beard and thick, doughy forearms. He wore a dark canvas jacket and oversized jeans with pockets that drooped beneath his ass cheeks. The baggy clothing further squashed his proportions.

Beyond the window lay the decrepit, poorly lit parking lot, then the street, then the alley—a narrow, single-car-width path that led between two darkened industrial buildings. A trio of cars sat in the alley.

Burton knew the vehicles well. He knew who owned each of them. And he knew that there were people in each of the vehicles, despite the fact that none of the vehicles’ lights were on.

“That’s all the Farone faithful, funneled right where I promised.” Burton said. “Satisfied?”

Roja finally turned to him. “Elated.”

He waved a hand without taking his eyes off Burton. One of the suited men approached, handed Burton a metal briefcase.

Burton popped it open. Stacks of cash. A quick visual approximation told him Roja had kept his end of the bargain. He wouldn’t count it. Not yet. He was showing Roja that he trusted him. It was another real-world lesson in diplomacy. International diplomacy. Something Burton was going to need to utilize frequently in the near future.

Roja’s smile grew wider, but there was a dark flash of speculation across his eyes. “My empty truck arrives; the Farone men make their move; my men mow them down; and then you and I have a newfound agreement, all the old strife forgotten.”

“Entirely forgotten, Mr. Roja,” Burton said. “In fact, it’ll be dead and buried. Your beef was with the Farone family. After tonight, you’ll be dealing with a new group: the Burton gang.”

Very diplomatic. More real-world experience.

Roja nodded his approval, hesitancy fading from his eyes, grin remaining. He returned his attention to the window.

And Burton headed for the door.

Roja turned. “Aren’t you going to stay for the fireworks?”

“I’m afraid I can’t,” Burton said. “I have a family matter to attend to.”

Chapter Seventeen

The alley was unnaturally quiet. The air was still, lifeless, and humidity had made it palpably thick. Time seemed to have slowed.

And there was a situation.

Jake leaned forward in his seat, looked outside. In front of Charlie’s Taurus were the two other cars that had been there when they arrived. None of the other cars had shown up.

He grabbed his cellular phone, which he’d placed in the cup holder clipped to the dash, one of those cheap, plastic, aftermarket jobs. He pressed the button on the top of the phone, and the LCD screen illuminated pale green, displaying the time as 6:22.

The springs in the driver-side seat squeaked as Charlie turned in his direction. “What’s the matter, Pete?”

Jake hadn’t realized he was frowning at the phone, but Charlie had perceived his tension. Like Jake, Charlie was good at reading people.

“Only half an hour to go,” Jake said and pointed through the windshield. “In these three cars we’ve got all the Farone faithful. But none of Burton’s men have shown up.”

Charlie gave a small, wobbling