Page 50 of Fighting for Tawny

Whitcomb was in no mood to deal with Stoltz. Working for the network was becoming too complicated now that the DOC had required them to reinstitute the fire program. Controlling the women outside the prison posed a whole new set of problems, like the murder of Gary Colfer. Who the hell was he anyway?

That was Stoltz’s first question when Whitcomb returned to his office and closed the door. “Who the fuck was Gary Colfer?”

“How the hell should I know? He was already on the bus when we took the women to the fire camp. I thought he was one of us until he let it slip that he had search and rescue experience. That’s why I called it in.”

“Did you kill him?”

“Fuck no.”

“And you’re sure Joy and Precious didn’t either?”

“Absolutely sure. They’re not killers. Besides, their fingerprints weren’t found on the rock used to crack his skull open, and I doubt any DNA evidence will be linked to them. And any hair or fibers will be coincidental.”

“It doesn’t matter. Joy and Precious are loose ends and must be eliminated.”

Whitcomb lifted a brow. “Mickey, I don’t think that’s smart. Remember, their lawyer is the Cameron McAdams. He’s famous for bringing down drug cartels. You know he’s going to keep tabs on them.”

Stoltz huffed in annoyance. “Yes, an inconvenience we can ill afford. Whoever Gary Colfer was, the network murdered him so stealthily, I can hardly believe it happened. And we can’t risk Joy and Precious recalling a stupid detail they overlooked.” He shook his head. “No. They must disappear. Immediately.”

“Drug overdose?”

Stoltz considered it. “No. No one will believe they overdosed in solitary. Inject them with enough fentanyl to kill a horse. Then we’ll remove the bodies after dark. If anyone asks about them, we’ll give the usual excuse that they transferred.”

“You won’t be able to fool Cameron McAdams with that excuse.”

“No. But the network will protect its interests.”

And Whitcomb intended to protect his. A tidy sum of money sat in an offshore account in the Cayman Islands under an alias with a fake online profile. After he stumbled onto the network by asking too many troubling questions about drugs coming into the prison, they offered to bring him on board. Only the money made it worthwhile to him.

Cohen, Stoltz, and Jones didn’t know where he hid his profits, and he preferred to keep it that way. He assumed they also stashed their drug money in offshore accounts. These days, with cybercrimes at an all-time high, it was best to bounce the money from bank to bank. Before he returned to the fire camp, he’d stop by his place and move his money. Hell, he might even cash it out and disappear. He wouldn’t put it past Stoltz to do the same.

“When do you want to take care of our problem?”

“Tonight.”

“I’m heading home, but I’ll tell anyone who asks that I’m returning to the fire camp. I’ll meet you down in solitary at midnight.”

“In the meantime, I’ll contact the network and request a hacker to control the closed-circuit security system.”

Whitcomb nodded and left Stoltz’s office. As he passed Wendy’s desk, he smiled. “I’m on my way back to the fire camp.”

She returned his smile and continued punching the keys on her laptop. He often wondered about the nature of her job because she never seemed to be doing anything constructive. And Stoltz sometimes complained about her being a nuisance. Her perky attitude annoyed him.

Whitcomb was halfway to his apartment when he received a call from Stoltz. He pressed the green phone icon on the dashboard display. “Yeah, go ahead.”

“Change of plans. OD after they’re released from solitary.”

“That’s going to be a hard sell.”

“They’ve been disgraced. Accused of murder. Kicked out of the fire program. We’ll plant drugs in their cells and invent an excuse for how they got there.”

Whitcomb remained skeptical. “Sounds iffy to me.”

“It’s a direct order from the network,” Stoltz snapped.

“All right, all right. No need to get testy with me. Just let me know when so I can come back and get the job done. Unless…unless you’d like to do it yourself. See what it feels like when you stick the needle in their arms and watch the fear cloud their eyes before they roll back into their heads.”

“You sick bastard.”

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