Page 25 of Killer Moonshine

“I can’t see what it is,” said Ghost. “It’s just a blur.”

“We ran it through the system that Ivy uses when she’s trying to bring clarity to old photos. When we did, this is what we got,” he said, tossing another photo down.

“Is that…”

“Yep. Merchant Marine. I’m guessing he just decided he would change which marine he actually is. The tattoo is old and faded, so I’m going to guess he got it when he first joined. I don’t see any others, so he may have left after just one tour.”

“So, he would have served five years and then maybe left. We can find records through the U.S. Merchant Marine Academy. We just need a date range,” said Ghost.

“We don’t need one. This shows his year of graduation,” said Pigsty, pointing to the photo. “We’re pulling the records and photos for those that enrolled during that year. We’ll let you know when we find something.”

“Nice work,” said Gaspar. “I’ll come check on you guys in a little while to see if we’ve found anything else.” Nine frowned at the others, shaking his head.

“So, he was a merchant marine faking that he was in the USMC. We’ve seen applicants who fake claims of their heroics in the military or as first responders. Why? The merchant marines are a tough bunch of bastards. They have to guard ships of commerce all over the world and are generally trained and armed. Even in history they’ve fought with the Navy. Why downplay that? And especially, why downplay it if it has nothing to do with selling moonshine on the black market.”

“I’m not sure,” said Ian, “but we’ll definitely figure it out. Or I should say the geeks will figure it out. We’ll do our best to not interfere.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Hugo stared at the folders and files in front of him, frowning. He needed these stills to bring in more money and more people if he had any hope of keeping his investors happy. He’d made a lot of promises, and these weren’t men who would be forgiving if he didn’t fulfill those promises.

If he could get everyone’s attention, this would take off for him, and he’d be wealthy. Hopefully, beyond wealthy. He wanted everyone to remember his name and to know that he was a successful businessman. More importantly, he would serve justice that had been eating at him for decades.

There was a loud sound of a door slamming outside his office, and he shook his head, then heard people running and shouting.

“What in the hell?” he muttered, standing and moving to the door. He opened it, prepared to unleash on the noisemakers, and then saw Johnny lying on the floor covered in blood. At first, he thought he’d simply been shot, but when he saw that his arms were missing, he nearly vomited.

“What happened? Where’s Manuel?” he asked, staring down at his face.

“D-dead,” he stuttered.

“Who did this to you? What happened?” His eyes went to the envelope pinned to his chest, and Hugo yanked it free, trying not to touch the fresh blood. “Get him out of here.”

“Sir, he needs an ambulance,” said one of the bodyguards.

“Then take him to one, but get him off my floor!”

Storming back into his office, he slammed the door and then pressed his fist against his abdomen, hoping to squelch the urge to vomit. What or who could have done that?

Taking his seat, he opened the envelope and then tossed the bloody covering into the trash. From his desk, he grabbed two wipes and swiped the blood from his hands. Throwing that away, he looked at the document and frowned.

“What in the hell is this?”

He scanned the words several times, flipping through the sheets as quickly as possible. Then he went back to the beginning, reading the first few lines once again.

It was very clear that it was a declaration of sale and of ownership of the land he wanted. His land had been sold right out from under his nose.

“No. No, how can this be? No!” he yelled. He stormed from his office, seeing the bodyguards place Johnny onto the gurney. “Wait! Who gave this to you?”

“D-don’t know,” he whispered.

“Who!”

“Sir, he’s in a great deal of pain. He’s losing consciousness,” said the bodyguard.

“You listen to me, all of you. Keep him alive long enough to learn what the fuck happened out there. I need to know who did this and who took that land! Is that clear to everyone?”

“Yes, sir.” The bodyguards stared at him, then wheeled the poor man from the room. It would be unlikely he’d survive, given the loss of blood. He didn’t care. What he cared about was finding out who was screwing with his plans.

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