CHAPTER 31

Clay stood in the plastic-lined paint booth. The blood-spattered shield balanced on his forehead. He’d just sawed through the ribs of Jesse Connor’s chest and was ready to apply the retractor. Clay looked down at the blood-covered and sawn-through bone of the man’s chest. The portable freezer sat on top of a cart at Clay’s hip, waiting to accept the heart once removed. The sound of the phone ringing in the office caught Clay’s ear again. Someone had been repeatedly calling for the last fifteen minutes. Clay couldn’t imagine who it could have been. Anthony wouldn’t be arriving until ten and, as far as Clay knew, didn’t have the shop phone number. Clay continued with his work. He positioned the fingers of the retractor and began spreading open Jesse Conner’s chest cavity. When the cavity was opened to his satisfaction, Clay reached a bloody glove–covered hand for his scalpel. He’d just reached into Conner’s chest to begin his first cut when another sound caught Clay’s ear—it sounded like banging on the back garage door.

“What the hell,” Clay mumbled. He glanced up at the clock. Anthony, who he figured was the person at the back door, was almost an hour early. Clay looked down at Connor and then placed the scalpel down on his body, just below Conner’s throat. He took the gloves from his hands and the shield from his forehead. The gloves were tossed in a wastebasket, the shield set on the bench. Clay took off the white plastic smock he wore, hung it on the tab on the wall, and walked from the paint booth. The sound of someone banging on the back garage door continued. Clay entered his office, quickly looked in the mirror to confirm he was free of any visible blood spatter, and grabbed his pistol from his desk. He tucked the weapon into his back waistline and made for the garage door. Clay walked to the service door beside the rear overhead garage door and looked out the peephole. A pair of black vans were parked near the back door. Two men in all-black coveralls stood outside.

The guys were from Skelletti’s Cleaning. “What the hell are they doing here?” Clay muttered.

It was odd that the vans and men were there. Clay had made no call for pickup, though he needed to—as it was, the body of Jerry Dunn lay in the center floor of his filled-up freezer.

Clay unlatched the bar lock on the back door and stepped out.

Both men were standing near the garage doors, and their heads snapped toward Clay.

“Fire sale,” one of the men said.

“What?” Clay asked.

The guy, six foot and midforties with a long beard, walked to Clay. “You’re compromised,” he said. “Everything has to go.”

Clay ran his hand over his bald head. He knew why they were there and what they were there to do. It was part of his contract with Skelletti’s. The company had eyes and ears everywhere. If the word came through of a warrant for any of their top clients’ properties, they’d come and do an immediate cleaning.

“You’re certain?” Clay asked. “How?”

“Unfortunately it was something on our end. Thus no charge from us, and there will be financial compensation for you. Now are we going to sit here and bullshit, or do you want this done? We’ve been calling for twenty minutes. Time is of the essence.”

“How long do we have?”

“I don’t know,” the man said. “We got the word before the warrant was actually filed, but we need to get started.”

“The warrant was just requested,” the other man said, standing a few feet away and staring down at his phone. “We got maybe a half hour. A hell of a lot less if they send cars out here beforehand.”

“Come on,” the bearded man said. He motioned Clay toward the door that led inside. “Get this garage door open. What has to go?”

“Son of a bitch,” Clay said. He took fast steps into the building and hit the button for the garage door. “The freezer is filled with bodies. Seventeen. Plus another in the back room.”

“We don’t have the time for that. Personal items. Business-related items,” the bearded guy said. He motioned the trucks into the building.

The vans parked and multiple men emerged from inside of them. Clay counted at least eight guys all wearing black coveralls.

“The bodies go,” Clay said. “I’m not leaving anyone who comes here something to work with. Get everything in the office. Computer, files from the cabinets, whatever you can find. I need a couple minutes in the paint booth, and then I need all the tools from inside.”

“Couple minutes for what?” he asked.

“I was right in the middle of something. I’m not losing out on the money from it.”

“Whatever the hell you have to do, get to doing it. This place is going up in five minutes.”

“Then your guys better hurry the hell up and get all of the bodies out of here.” Clay jogged to the paint booth. He could hear the bearded man barking orders at his back as he entered. Clay didn’t bother putting on his smock or even gloving his hands. He snatched the scalpel from where it rested on Jesse Conner’s body and cut the man’s heart from his chest. He placed it in the box just as the men from Skelletti’s were entering the room.

“All the tools. And get this body the hell out of here,” Clay said.

The pair of men that entered looked at the body with the spread-open chest on the table and then at Clay. Neither moved.

“Let’s go, let’s go,” the bearded man said, shouldering his way past the other two and into the room. “Three minutes,” he said.

The pair of men grabbed the body from the table’s surface and removed it from the room.

Clay closed the top of the portable freezer and wiped his hands on a rag that was within his grasp. He threw the rag to the ground. “I want to know how the hell this happened,” Clay said.

“We don’t have time for that right now.”

“We sure as hell do. Why is there a warrant for my place?”

“One of the new guys that disposed of a body got pinched,” the bearded man said.

“Are your people representing him?” Clay asked.

“He called his family attorney instead of calling us.”

“And he’s talking?”

The man gave a nod. “He’ll be dealt with accordingly. As will the person who brought him into our organization.”

The other two men had returned to the room and began grabbing whatever they could and taking it out.

“What does he know?” Clay asked. “What is the warrant for?”

“He’s saying that he picked up a body from here. It’s a search warrant for the premises.”

Clay ground his teeth. “Was the body disposed of?”

“The police have it.”

“How in the hell do the police have it? They’re supposed to go straight from here to a crematorium.”

“Sometimes that service isn’t available to us, and we have to dispose of the bodies by other methods. We had him drop the body in the Ybor Channel. It was just chance that the police found it. They were there looking for something unrelated.”

“So I’m screwed. My business in this city is done.” Clay’s mind went to what could be tied to his alias and to him personally.

“You may have to relocate, but as long as we get this place cleaned out, you should be fine.”

“I should be fine?” Clay scoffed. “No longer having my business, no longer being able to stay in my home is considered fine. What if they get my actual identity? They’ll freeze accounts, seize my holdings.”

“We’re working right now to try to ensure that does not happen. The lease that you have here is under the assumed name that you use, correct?”

“Yes, but the property owner knew my father. He could reveal that identity. The police could do enough with it. I don’t imagine his loyalty to me will hold up if his livelihood is in jeopardy.”

“The landlord won’t be a problem. It’s being taken care of as we speak,” the bearded man said. “And from what I was told, your finances and personal holdings are fairly well protected. Is that correct?”

“They are, but there’s still going to be people sniffing around. I mean hell, people have seen me come and go from here for years. Sooner or later dots will be connected.”

“And if we get this place cleaned out, what will they have even if they do catch up to you? Nothing. The word of a little deal-making rat. A deal-making rat that will be dead and no longer able to give them anything.”

Clay didn’t respond.

The pair of men returned and loaded up with more of Clay’s equipment before leaving the room.

“As I said, this isn’t the time for this conversation,” the bearded man said. “Just know that whatever documentation is needed for a new identity, if it gets to that point, will be provided. Anything financial will be compensated as well as future income potential lost. Right now, we need to get the hell out of here.”

“Your bosses better have some deep pockets,” Clay said. “Or damn good bodyguards. This shit is your fault, and when it’s all said and done, I’m going to have some really fat pockets or really bloody hands.” Clay shouldered his way past the bearded man and left the paint booth.