For a guy who was supposed to specialize in security, Joe Tolleson was relatively easy to track down. Three of his clients notified him of this failing and he would have perhaps been more appreciative of their diligence and courtesy had it not been for the business end of Wade's Glock waving perilously close to his left eyeball.
When the doorbell had rung, Joe thought the man at the door looked vaguely familiar. But they had never met, not in person. Nor had Joe met Wade's two business partners, Leo and Pete. However, introductions were promptly made as the trio pushed their way inside and, after slamming and locking the front door, escorted Joe back to his den. After Joe was seated, following a hammer-like blow into his midsection by way of Pete's fist, Wade aired their grievances.
"You fucking, shit eating cunt!" Wade said in his opening statement. "What were you getting paid to fuck us over, you fuck?"
Leo thought that Wade was being a tad too gratuitous in his use of the word, "fuck", when there were other colorful invectives available. But when someone's on an inspired roll, it's best not to get in the way. Besides, Leo was fantasizing about hooking a car battery up to Joe's balls at the moment so he was not concerned about any offense that Joe might take from Wade's remarks.
"I don't..." Joe began as sweat started tracking down his forehead.
"Richardson, Texas," Wade growled. "We were supposed to pick up the equipment left at the drop site - that closed meat packing plant. But the place was crawling with feds. Did someone pay you to fuck us or did you get nabbed and were working on a plea deal?"
Wade, Leo, and Pete specialized in high-tech burglary for very exclusive items and corporate product and trade secrets. Although the rewards were great, the risks ran high as well. Even outwardly respectable corporations had their own human hunting dogs on their off-the-record payrolls. Not to mention the nasty competition.
Joe was supposed to have arranged a drop of some contraband equipment they needed and they would have been nailed had Leo not had a craving for a certain local chain's hamburger. They arrived a little late and casually drove past when they spotted BDU-clad figures in some brush and a few too many vehicles parked a block away. Oddly enough, it was the sixth time throughout the country that Leo's burger fetish had saved their necks.
Joe was shaking his head, protesting his innocence.
"The stuff never made it there," he explained. "They couldn't have made any charges stick since there was nothing there to pick up."
"And why weren't we told?' Leo asked, temporarily distracted from his musing about a Hawaiian burger that a diner not far from here served.
"Hell, I tried to reach you, really." Joe croaked as Wade's pistol stopped moving and remained locked on his eye.
"Then where's our gear?" Wade asked, suddenly disturbingly calm as if he had come to a decision about something.
This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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Changes last made on: Thursday, January 05, 2017