Deadly Lode (Trace Brandon Book 1) (61 page)

“
Three, please,
”
the chauffe
u
r replied.

The workman pushed
the button for floor
three and then stepped back and slightly behind Wu. As the elevator passed the first floor
,
a chime sounded
. I
t was the
last sound Wu would ever hear. The two pops from the silenced .22 were barely audible above the chime. Both hollow points hit Wu in the back of the head. He was dead before he crumpled on the plastic liner.

The chauffe
u
r hit the emergency stop button and locked the elevator between the first and second floors.

The chauffe
u
r looked at the shooter
.
“
W
rap a towel around his head
. H
e
’
s bleeding like a stuck pig
. A
nd
find the key
to the cuffs
.
”

The
shooter
tied a dirty towel around Wu
’
s head and then rifled his
pockets
. He found the key
tucked in
Wu
’
s
wallet.

“
Got
‘
em, and
, hey, lookie here,
”
the
shooter
said, pulling several
one
hundred dollar bills from Wu
’
s wallet.

“
Come on,
”
the chauffe
u
r growled, taking the key and unlocking the cuffs.
“
Quit fucking around and help me get
Mr. O
ne
H
ung
L
ow
rolled up in the plastic.
”

Together they rolled Wu up in the thick plastic sheeting. The chauffe
u
r released the emergency stop and hit the parking level button. As soon as the elevator doors opened, the chauffe
u
r
looked around the parking garage. Seeing no one, he pushed
the trunk
-
release button on
the limo
key
fob
. Together the two men carried the
bundle of
plastic
a
nd deposited
it
in the trunk
of the limo
.

“
Sanitize the elevator
,
”
the chauffe
u
r ordered
.
“
Make sure you pick up your brass and
wipe everything down. No finger
-
prints, no blood.
Got it?
”

“
Yes,
sir
. I
’
ve got it,
”
the
shooter
replied, holding out an open palm with the two shell casings.
“
This
ain
’
t my first
hit.
”

The chauffe
u
r nodded and
opened the driver
’s
side door.
“
Disappear.
The rest of your dough will be wired to your account.
”

The chauffe
u
r headed for the docks. The
Pantelli
family owned a fleet of offshore oil rig service boats
,
and
Mr. Wu was
schedule
d
to take a short cruise
, one way
.
The limo pulled into the
service company
warehouse and stopped. Two rough
-
looking longshoreman types walked up to the
driver
’
s door.

“
The package is in the trunk,
”
the chauffe
u
r told the two men.
“
Put the whole mess in a fifty
-
five
-
gallon drum. Seal it and then load it on the
Konny Kay
. She
’
s due to shove off in about an hour.
”

With Mr. Wu safely on
board,
the
Konny Kay
put to sea.
When the boat reached
the
one
-
hundred
-
fathom contour, the captain cut the engines and signaled to a deck
-
hand. Two minutes later
a single
fifty
-
five
-
gallon drum rolled o
f
f the
boat
’
s
stern
,
like a World War
II
depth charge.

C
hapter
6
5

C
hang was worried. He should have had confirmation from Wu by now. He
flipped his cell phone open and
called Al
Pantelli
.

“
Mr.
Pantelli
, Lei Chang
,
here. Has my courier shown up?
”

Al
wagged his index finger at
Pino and
silently
mouthed the word
“
Chang
.
”

“
No,
sir
, h
e hasn
’
t showed up yet.
”

“
That
’
s odd. The charter landed on time
,
in New Orleans.
”

“
Well, maybe they had car trouble
,
or an accident,
”
Al said, barely able to control
his mirth
.

“
No, my man would have called immediately.
”

“
Of course. Well, I
’
ll have him call you the moment he shows up.
”

“
Please do so, Mr.
Pantelli
. And for your sake, I hope there
are no problems
.
”

Al looked at the
de
a
d courier
’
s a
luminum brief
-
case
sitting
on his desk
.

“
Well, New Orleans can be a pretty rough town. Especially if you
’
re carrying a lot of cash.
”

“
I warn you,
Mr.
Pantelli
. Y
ou
’
d better hope nothing
’
s happened to my courier
,
or my cash.
”

“
You should be careful how you talk to me, Mr. Chang. This ain
’
t Hong Kong
,
and you ain
’
t Bruce Lee.
”

Cyrus and I landed at Louis Armstrong in New Orleans and waited in the terminal for Jim
’
s plane to arrive.
We
’
d just ordered a couple of
c
oke
s when my cell phone started vibrating
. I
t was Jim.

“
We
’
re in the
we
st gate area at the
Caf
é
Beignet
.
”

“
Okay, I
’
ll be there in a couple of minutes.
”

I looked over at Cyrus
.
“
Jim
’
s on his way.
”

“
Good deal
.
T
he sooner we get this done
,
the better.
”

“
Second thoughts on trouble with the
Pantelli
s?
”

“
No, it
’
s Chang that keeps bothering me. Why wouldn
’
t he trump IUC
’
s offer. Hell, it
’
s chump change to them.
”

“
Yeah, I know
.
I
’
m thinking the same thing. Who knows
? M
aybe the
Pantelli
s don
’
t like the Chicoms any better than we do?
”

Jim walked into the
café
and over to
our
table.

“
Why the long faces, fellas?
”
Jim asked.

“
Neither one of us can figure out why
URAN
-China didn
’
t top your offer. Hell, you know Al was on the phone
with Chang
ten seconds after he got your offer.
”

“
I
’
ve got to admit I
’
ve been wondering the same thing,
”
Jim replied.
“
Maybe Chang refused to be worked
.
”

I looked at Cyrus
.
“
Yeah, maybe. But I think Chang wants the Sullivan
uranium
reserves
,
a
nd I don
’
t think money is an issue.
”

Jim nodded in agreement
.
“
W
ell
, all I know is, I
’
ve got a cashier
’
s check for five point six million
. And
i
t
’
s m
ade out to Albert A.
Pantelli
, s
o let
’
s go buy some shares.
”

We grabbed a cab and headed to the
Pantelli
’
s
’
office building in the French Quarter.

“
Does Al know Cyrus and I are coming with you?
”
I asked.

“
Nope,
”
Jim replied.
“
I thought we
’
d surprise him.
”

Cyrus turned from his seat in the front of the cab
.
“
I think it was a good move, Jim. Three witness
es
are a lot better than one
,
in any scenario.
”