Blood Line (A Tom Rollins Thriller Book 1) by Paul Heatley (korean ebook reader txt) 📕

raises an eyebrow. “You’ll have to remain professionally curious.”

Vlad’s smile never falters. “I hear rumblings, Mr. Chuck. A man in my profession, I have to keep my ear to the ground. And I hear talk of something being planned. An attack, on American soil.”

Chuck stays loose, but inside he’s on springs, ready to react at a moment’s notice. “Oh?”

“Yes, that’s correct. I believe the term is domestic terrorism. I heard the name Oklahoma City. I think to myself, an attack in Oklahoma, this does not concern me. But again, this professional curiosity, it gets the better of me. So I look up Oklahoma City. And I find out what happened there. I assume you know what happened in Oklahoma City, Mr. Chuck, Mr. Dix?”

Dix nods.

“Of course,” Chuck says.

“Mm, yes, I’m sure,” Vlad says. “It sounds as if it was a big event. Of course, I was not in America at that time.” He shrugs. “How am I to know? I did not concern myself with world affairs, not back then.”

“If you have a point to make,” Chuck says, “I hope you’re gonna get to it soon.”

“My point is this – can I allow myself to run the risk of being associated with something as big as Oklahoma City? I don’t believe I can.”

“What makes you think this new thing has anything to do with us?”

Vlad gives him a look, silently asking him who he thinks he’s kidding.

Chuck runs his tongue around the inside of his mouth. “So who was it told you about this prospective attack?”

Vlad waves his hand around in the air. “Oh, you know how it is. Word gets out in our community; it gets around. If you’re the men who have been hired to carry it out, do you really believe you would have been the first ones asked? I doubt it, and I’m sure you do, too. You are simply the first ones who said yes. The first ones to accept the money and believe you can get away with it.”

Dix is looking at Chuck. He has an eyebrow raised. He, like Chuck, has worked out how this is going down.

“So you keep the goods, and you’re stealing our money,” Chuck says.

“I believe it’s best for all involved,” Vlad says.

His three men reach inside their leather jackets, pull out handguns.

“And clean up after yourselves,” Chuck says, eyeing the guns.

“Of course,” Vlad says, holding out his hands. “It wouldn’t be very wise of me to not.”

Chuck and Dix remain calm. Chuck spots a flicker of doubt cross Vlad’s face at this. His smile falters. He was expecting fear, panic.

“You should’ve just taken the money,” Chuck says.

A shot, silenced and fired from a distance, cuts through the air, hits one of the goons. The one who did not carry the bag of goods, the one who did not count the money. It hits him in the eye, drops him. The others flinch, look around, frantic.

“I wouldn’t move if I were you,” Chuck says.

Vlad’s smile is gone completely. He looks at Chuck, shocked.

The distant shooter was Al. Jimmy and Pat appear now, behind the goons. They grab the one with the bag and the one with the money, respectively, and cut their throats. Vlad is all alone. He looks very aware of this fact.

He chuckles nervously. “Take them,” he says, pushing the bag of goods toward Chuck with his foot. “Keep the money! Have them on the house. Let’s just not do anything hasty, eh? Anything that might be regretted later.”

Chuck steps forward. He pulls his own knife, clipped to his belt at the back, concealed by his jacket. He grabs Vlad by the throat. “This isn’t hasty,” he says. “I’ve given it some thought.”

He sticks the knife in Vlad’s belly, twists it, drags it to the side and pulls it loose. He drops Vlad to the ground. Ordinarily, he’d like to leave him to bleed out, to think about what he’s done. In this instance, he can’t take a risk of someone finding him, saving his life. He leans down, cuts his throat.

Dix grabs the two bags.

“Are they real?” Chuck says.

Dix checks the goods. “They’re real,” he says. “Looks like they were going for authenticity with their con.”

“In case we got a good look,” Chuck says. “All right, we got what we came for and an extra payday to boot. Let’s go.”

22

Tom reaches the neighborhood Cindy pinpointed for him. There aren’t many houses. He’s aware that it’s the kind of affluent area cops will regularly drive through. He can’t stay parked on the road, or else one of the neighbors is likely to report him for loitering, suspecting him of scoping the houses out for a prospective burglary.

He goes to the end of the road, parks under a tree. It gives him a view of the whole street. All the front doors, all the driveways. It’s currently midday, and he doesn’t see many people coming or going. The few he does, they don’t fit the idea he has in his mind of the caller, though he inspects them nonetheless. They look retired, old and fat and bored, nothing to do but go to the store and tend to their gardens.

Tom is watching out for an FBI type. If Anthony was undercover, it was more than likely for the FBI.

Hours go by. The day passes. Tom sits low in his seat, but he remains vigilant. As he suspected, a couple of cop cars have cruised through. Tom sank lower down each time, hidden behind the steering wheel and the dashboard. It gets to after six, and most of the houses are occupied by now, most of the people home.

One house remains empty. He hasn’t seen anyone go into or out of it all day. It is the only home that has remained as such. Tom keeps one eye on it now while his other continues to monitor the street.

It’s eight before a car pulls onto the driveway. It’s still light enough for Tom to make out the driver.