The Mitch Herron Series: Books 4-6 by Steve P. Vincent

Author:Steve P. Vincent [Vincent, Steve P.]
Language: eng
Format: epub

It was amazing what twenty bucks could still buy you.

As Herron watched the kids haul the junk to the drop-off—two to a bag—he checked up ahead, then used the mirrors to scan the street behind him, knowing the hijackers could show up at any moment. There were still twenty minutes to go before the scheduled pickup, but Herron did not know if the crew was punctual.

Nobody had arrived by the time the kids were done. When they returned, he held a hand through the window with their cash in it. One of the kids snatched away. The boy—the oldest in the group—gave a conspiratorial grin, then set off back towards his house, his younger peers on his heels. Herron paid them no more heed, shifting his focus to the bags.

The kids had dropped them right where he’d told them to: near the entry to the alley and visible to anyone who passed, but likely to be written off quickly as garbage. They certainly weren’t of interest enough that anyone should stop their car to inspect them, although a curious pedestrian might stop for a look. If that happened, he’d have to warn them off as quickly as he could.

Fortunately, the next twenty minutes passed uneventfully. A few cars passed, so did a handful of pedestrians, but nobody took any interest in the bags, if they even noticed them there at all. The whole time, Herron tapped a tune on the wheel, eager to see what he’d have to deal with when the pickup crew arrived.

“Showtime.” Herron spotted a car in his rear-view. It slowed down as it passed him, then stopped right next to the bags by the alleyway. “Who do we have here?”

Unlike many of the cars in the area, this one was a far nicer model, a black Mercedes sedan that looked stupidly out of place in such a run-down part of town. It proved whoever oversaw the piracy operation lived a better life than Bautista and his ilk.

He stayed in his seat as the rear doors of the Mercedes opened and two suited Asian men climbed out. From this distance, he figured they were about twenty-five—too young to be the ringleaders but plenty old enough to be the muscle. They proved it a moment later when they hefted the bags into the trunk of the Mercedes, either not curious to check inside or ordered not to.

“Guess we’re doing this the easy way…” Herron murmured. “For once.”

If the goons had opened the bags and seen what was inside, it would’ve made following them much harder. As it was, he watched in silence as they loaded all six duffel bags inside the trunk and then slammed it closed. Less than sixty seconds after they’d climbed out of the car, the enforcers were getting back inside.

They hadn’t even looked up and down the street to check the coast was clear.

Their lack of caution was a dead giveaway—these men thought they had nothing to fear. They thought the bags contained millions

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