Earthbound : A gripping crime thriller full of twists and supernatural suspense Fynn Perry (if you liked this book TXT) 📖

“There was no way you could expect to keep the clubs closed for two weekends in a row. You managed one weekend, and you got his lieutenant put away. That has to hurt his delivery schedule and sales. He must be pissing off some clients who he has every reason to not piss off.” Markle’s smile faded. “You know that El Gordito will focus all his blame on you?” he warned.

“I’ll be ready,” Lazlo said defiantly. His phone then rang and he answered it. “OK, I’ll be right there,” he said. He relayed the news to Markle. “There’s a homicide in Queens—looks like a drowning in a bathtub. I’ll see you later.”

John figured Lazlo had done all he could, for the time being, to weaken El Gordito’s operations. He didn’t have time to wait around and see if the setbacks would pressure El Gordito into making mistakes that were sufficiently serious to jeopardize his drug operations. Only through the catastrophic failure of those businesses, John believed, would he be rid of Santiago’s spirit and New York free of El Gordito. He had to make the errors happen now. He had to do something. Something that would make the Feds take notice and cause them to raid the fulfillment center and the port storage facility. After that and some further investigation, a raid of the medical research center was inevitable.

He pondered this further, looking for a way to achieve his aim. It seemed obvious that the drugs were most vulnerable to discovery during transit, and there was ample opportunity, as the fulfillment center in New Jersey was sending out many truckloads of appliances daily. After the raid by ICE, El Gordito would have been forced to hire new staff. With the replacement of so much labor, the operation would be running less smoothly, surely, and that, too, had to mean an opportunity for disruption.

John considered some ways in which he could cause an incident that would attract the attention of the FBI. The only thing he could think of was causing a truck to shed its cargo after leaving the fulfillment center in Newstone, on a highway in a state other than New Jersey, since offenses that crossed state lines were federal and automatically came under the jurisdiction of the FBI. As he considered this, Lazlo’s voice replayed inside his head: He’s not stupid, so he’s not going to pack drugs into every machine on the truck in case it gets stopped and checked…

Lazlo was right, and it meant John would have to ensure that all the contents spilled out of the truck. It would have to be one hell of an accident. It seemed to be the only way, and it could cost lives. Taking a bus to Newstone and then finding a ride to take him to the fulfillment center seemed like the easiest way to get there. It would also give him plenty of time to figure out how to avoid casualties.

John’s bus arrived at the Newstone Terminal in New Jersey after a two-hour journey from the Port Authority in Midtown Manhattan. Like most bus stations it was run-down and malodorous and situated in the poorer part of town where the wealthier classes rarely ventured. He noticed several homeless people sleeping on park benches, loitering gangs of teenagers, and many beggars. He had seen similar scenes in New York, but never on this scale in the mortal or spirit world.

He headed for a line of bus stops as quickly as he could, careful to avoid the marauding spirits of some gunshot and drug overdose victims. From the maps he had seen on Jennifer’s laptop, Bellevue Logistics Park, where El Gordito’s fulfillment center and his hidden drug operation were located, was close to Newstone’s northernmost city limits. It should therefore be accessible by bus, at least for most of the way. None of the timetables mentioned Bellevue Lane, which was the name of the street where Bellevue Logistics Park was located. As he looked at the schedule on the last timetable, he did, however, see the name Wiltshire Boulevard, which he remembered was the name of the street where he had left the truck driver he had possessed on his previous journey from the fulfillment center. Three routes had Wiltshire Boulevard as a stop. The next bus going that way was in ten minutes.

The faces of the passengers on the bus looked mostly tired, depressed, or desolate. Their eyes were resigned or vacant from drug abuse; some were scheming and duplicitous. The spirit passengers were a similar mix, with a couple of walking homicide victims. John had thought that Hamilton had been using journalistic license in exaggerating the desperation in Newstone, but from what John could see, he hadn’t been. People around here weren’t about to make a fuss over any illegal trade—they wanted to be part of it. With its corrupt administration and police force, Newstone was the perfect location for a large-scale drug business.

As soon as he saw a sign marking and a turning to Bellevue Logistics Park, John had jumped from the bus toward the trailer of a passing eighteen-wheeler, which he hoped was going in the right direction. Now lying on the floor of the empty trailer, after nearly falling underneath the vehicle in his attempt to haul himself into it, he figured he still had time to get some rest before the truck arrived at its destination. He was sure that he would need all his energy for later. The truck rumbled along and he fell asleep.

The sound of metal hitting metal roused him from his sleep. As soon as he opened his eyes and saw light pouring into the trailer, he realized one of the trailer’s curtain walls was being pulled back toward him. Lowering himself through the floor, he crouched in the gap between the underside of the trailer and the floor of a building.

He wasn’t in El Gordito’s fulfillment center. It was another warehouse. The racks weren’t bright