The Butcher of Caracas : A Vigilante Justice Thriller (Atlas Hargrove Book 5) by R.B. Schow

Author:R.B. Schow [Schow, R.B.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: River City Publishing
Published: 2022-06-08T16:00:00+00:00

twenty-four

maurice d’angelo

Maurice had hauled plenty of things working as a through-trailer carrier, but he had never driven children into Mexico, let alone even farther south to Venezuela. The client paid an enormous premium, and he had security with him for the duration of the drive, but nothing about the trip felt normal.

When his boss first came to him with the job, Maurice said, “It’s customary to change freight on longer international hauls, as well as drivers…”

“You don’t need to tell me my job, Maurice,” Dave said. “You’re the only driver I have with a B-1 visa, so you’re the one hauling this freight down to Caracas.”

“Same freight, the same trailer, right?” he asked again. “Because other guys on the other side of the border, more familiar with—”

Dave held up his hand to stop him from speaking. “You’re going to take 6 months of pay for a single haul, man. Stop whining.”

“Yeah, but…Venezuela.”

“That’s why you have armed security,” Dave said.

“What am I carrying, then?” Maurice asked.

“Does it matter? We’re CTPAT members, so we’ll be fine. Besides, they consider us low-risk, which means you’ll sail right through CBP.”

“Border patrol is okay here,” Maurice said. “But what about every other border I have to cross?”

“I’ve never put you in harm’s way, and I’m not going to start now.”

Maurice frowned, but then he shrugged his shoulders, a soft indication that he would make the trip. That was a few days ago. But now, everything had changed. He suspected he was not carrying low-risk freight and, for that reason, wished he would not have dismissed the issue so easily that day. Looking back, he should have quit instead.

Maurice heard the load before he saw it, which was to say, something inside his trailer started to cry, and then something else inside made it stop. A couple of the security guys heard the noise, too. They didn’t flinch. Maurice looked at them quizzically. He started to open the back gates to see what he was carrying, but one of the men stepped forward and said, “No.”

He didn’t explain. He just said no.

“I’m driving this rig,” Maurice argued, “so I need to see what is crying in my trailer.”

“Knowing what you’re carrying won’t make the journey easier or harder. Information, at this point, is a zero-sum game,” the security man said. He had a sidearm on his hip, mirrored sunglasses concealing his eyes, and not one ounce of personality.

Maurice was about to go to his boss when he saw the man headed his way. Dave was a flimsy soul, his moral compass pointed southeast, and the only thing that mattered to him was staying afloat, which was to say money.

“I don’t know about this,” Maurice said, confiding in him. “These guys won’t even let me know what I’m carrying.”

“It’s fine,” Dave said. “We’ve already cleared your load through customs.”

“But in how many countries?” Maurice asked, aghast.

“All of them,” Dave said with confidence.

The two men looked at each other for a long time, and then Dave said, “Your wife is leaving you, Maurice.

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