Bait: A Novel (17 page)

Felix’s eyes widened. “You know Catraz?”

“We supply him with product. We’ve supplied a lot of people.”

“And you’re going to . . . kill him? I don’t get it.”

“He’s been a dead man walking since we first made contact.”

“Contact?”

“Every connection we make in the drug trade is allowed to live long enough to serve their purpose and help further our mission. We work from home now, play by our own rules, wage our own war. Catraz, and dealers like him, they unknowingly help us gather intel and infiltrate the networks, distributors, organizations that we target. When we have no more use for them, they’re retired.”

“Which is what you’re about to do to me,” Felix growled. “Go fuck yourself.”

Greer didn’t hesitate for a second, leaning in as he took the cigar from his mouth. He crushed the smoldering tip into the flesh of Felix’s forearm and held it there against the screaming and writhing. The smell of burned meat mixed with that of the Cuban tobacco.

“You stupid shit,” Greer hissed. “I’d have smothered you in your sleep if I wanted you dead. You really, really don’t know how good you’ve got it right now, do you?”

Greer held it for another second then threw the crumpled cigar away. Felix’s wails wound down, threatening to turn into sobs. He held back the tears as Greer walked around the bed to where the IV bag hung and prodded the clear plastic bag with a finger.

“You know what they got you on? You’re pumped full of OxyContin. That’s some of the best shit they got to help you junkies kick the habit. I’d say you’ve fallen ass backward into a good thing here, the best rehabilitation money can buy.”

“Yeah, until they realize I can’t pay,” Felix moaned. “Soon as that happens they’ll disconnect me and toss my ass out on the street.”

“That won’t happen,” Greer replied. “We’re the ones footing your bill, and we’re going to continue to pay it until you’re fully recovered.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Because we think you’ve earned it, Mr. Fenton. You are the exception.”

Greer paused, an unexpected emotion creeping into his face. Felix wouldn’t have thought it possible, but for one brief moment the captain appeared to sadden. He let out a long, aggravated breath and continued.

“Things didn’t end the way we planned this time.”

“You mean because I didn’t die?”

“Among other things,” Greer said. “There was collateral damage, unforeseen and unfortunate, when the coast guard came to investigate the aftermath of your ordeal and tried to locate your money.”

“Money? What money?”

“The money we lied about in the letter that you never read. It was a smart move on your part to ignore our last note, Felix, because we were betting on your greed and need for the grand finale. We proposed a hell of a payday, something that would end everything with a bang. Even good men in the service succumbed to the temptation.”

One of the other men stepped from the shadows and handed Greer something rectangular in the gloom. Greer held it up to the light, showing off the black briefcase. He unlocked the latches and opened it to reveal stacks of money inside.

“Fifty thousand dollars,” Greer said. “More than enough money to start over.”

He closed the case with a snap.

“Or enough cash to keep you supplied with smack for a good while.”

Greer placed the case at the foot of the bed and took a step back into the dark. Felix stared at the case that contained more money than he’d ever hoped to see at one time. He thought about what that money could buy. The dreams he could fulfill were endless, but that quantity of cash could score the kind of highs he’d only ever hoped to afford.

The sliding click of metal on metal came, the unmistakable sound of a round being chambered. Greer stepped forward into the light, .45 automatic held out before him and pointed at Felix’s head. Felix tried to scoot backward, bobbing his head away from the gun’s line of fire until he banged it against the headboard. The beep of the heart monitor began to gallop. Greer kept coming until he pushed the cold steel barrel up against Felix’s right eye. The smell of gun oil chased away that of the cigar.

“W-w-what are you doing?” Felix stammered.

Greer’s words slid through clenched teeth. “You of all people should appreciate the second chance you’ve got here. I don’t know what you’re going to do when you get out, Felix Fenton, but know that I’ll be keeping tabs on you. And if I think you haven’t gotten my point, rest assured that I’ll do you in before the heroin does. Understand?”

Felix’s nod was little more than a tremble. He sat rigid, every muscle in his body stringent, anticipating the gun to go off and splatter the last of his frantic thoughts over the wall behind him. Too soon this terror was being visited upon him. He thought his damaged body might give out. His head felt compressed, dry throat bouncing his Adam’s apple, teeth grinding, one brown eye squinted against the muzzle of the gun. His heart hammered, pumping blood through weak flesh. Trickles of sweat ran from his temple. Greer pushed the gun harder into Felix’s eye before pulling it back and gently releasing the hammer with his thumb.

“Don’t test me.”

Greer backed away into the shadows, his men gathering around him. Felix closed his eyes and whispered a prayer of sorts, thanking whatever may have been watching over him for staving off death once more. Shuffling sounds and the soft click of a door being closed came to his ears. By the time Felix dared to look again the room was empty.

Felix breathed deep and listened to his heart monitor. The beeping began to smooth out. He regarded the case of money at his feet, his bandaged body, the needle scars on both his arms. He weighed his options, wondering how long he could stay clean if he tried and how well he could disappear with the cash if he didn’t. Nine out of ten addicts never recover. Felix never liked those odds.

I
owe a heartfelt thanks to my family: my father, Tony, my mother, Angela, and my sister, Emma. Your love, support, and influence are immeasurable.

To Dr. Dominik Zbogar for putting up with me and never letting me down.

To Peter Sellers for always setting the bar just out of reach.

To Annabel Merullo, Rachel Mills, Laura Williams, and all the incredible people at
Peters, Fraser, & Dunlop.

To my excellent editors, Denise Roy and Adrienne Kerr, and the great folks at Plume.

Last, but not least, to Kara for having the utmost faith in my abilities, especially when I don’t. She knows things long before I do.