Tainted Waters

Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

There was a knock.

"Who is it?"

"Jaico."

Mr. Ozz smiled. He'd already seen him approach from the road, but it was good to know his employee followed protocol and didn't just barge in. His high-tech security cameras, well camouflaged and unknown to any of his staff, those living or dead, let him know when anyone was approaching. The brilliance of technology allowed him to install security everywhere throughout his ramshackle house—that his men thought was his 'office'—and yard surrounding his house. It also allowed him to monitor his real home and all of the surrounding area. No one would ever sneak up on him. He had a mini TV screen in the bottom right corner of his sunglasses that was a feed to all of his cameras. Even though he had all of this, he still appreciated that this man, who knew nothing of the security system, knew to be cautious.

"Come in." The door squeaked as it swung inward and a man, who could have easily passed as a model, stepped through. A little too pretty-boy but the ladies seemed to love it. His shiny black hair and swagger were a good disguise to what kind of person he truly was—a hardened criminal. One that Mr. Ozz had handpicked himself, from the federal pen. He'd been graced with the luck of showing nothing of his hard-lived life in his face. At least not yet. The guy had perfected the party-boy-good-time look. He'd been a very loyal employee since he'd started over three years before. He'd done everything he'd been asked to do. His indiscretions hadn't become a problem yet; Mr. Ozz knew that he thought he was keeping them a secret. For now, he'd let them slide. As long as it didn't interfere with his work, or draw attention, he could look the other way.

Jaico nodded. "Mr. Ozz." He stopped a few feet inside the room. The door closed behind him.

There was silence except for the distinct sound of a round being loaded into the chamber of a gun. Jaico kept his gaze leveled a few inches above his head, never flinching or changing his blank, stern expression. He'd been properly trained.

"Excellent, Jaico." He made an almost negligible gesture of flicking his head slightly backward and to the side. A man standing in the shadows in the corner put the safety back on his gun and slid it into his waistband at the center of his back.

"What have you got for me?"

"She lives alone. Fired as you know, last week. Has changed jobs five times in the last few years. Either quits or gets fired. Longest she lasted was five months."

"No boyfriend? No family?"

"No boyfriend. Family, but not a lot of contact. Some phone calls. All live at least thirty to fifty minutes away."

"Friends?"

"Best friend, Cathy. She works as a realtor for TriGlobe Realtors, a mickey-mouse outfit."

"Hmmm. To worry or not to worry?"

Neither man moved nor replied to the rhetorical question. Mr. Ozz, as he liked to be called, tapped his finger against his chin. Anyone who knew him knew he'd already decided. He made quick decisions; he didn't always share them right away.

Turning his attention to Jaico, his black eyes dark and penetrating. "Get one of your guys to keep an eye on her. I don't want any surprises. Got it?"

He nodded.

"I don't want her hurt, either. At least not yet." It didn't need to be said, Jaico knew that if he was to follow someone it was for exactly that reason. Do exactly as Mr. Ozz says or else.

"We know she's good at snooping. Very good. I wonder what else she found out."

"I'm on it. I have a few contacts down at the paper. I can get some answers."

"Don't get caught."

Jaico nodded before leaving. He'd learned that meant—don't screw up, don't be suspicious, don't connect any dots back to him, don't draw attention, and don't piss anyone off or you're dead—as had happened to four of his previous right-hand men, or as close as any of them came to that description. Mr. Ozz had several men in his pocket, some willingly, some unwillingly, all who worked different avenues for him. Many who didn't know the others existed, at least not until it was too late. And none who knew his full operation.

"You're done for the night."

"I'll check the perimeter before I go."

His man, Koby, who was his new driver and bodyguard when he needed him, left. He didn't bother to tell him he could see the whole perimeter and then some. He watched with amusement as his guy was very thorough, checking to make sure there were no surprises. Twenty minutes later, he left. So far, he had been showing he was invaluable. He might last a while.

Mr. Ozz's lips stretched thin with just a hint of a curve upward. He thought about the contacts he had down at Tennison Post and laughed. His men didn't know that. No one did. It was his best-kept secret. Besides, having Jaico snoop around might bring him something more that he didn't know. Doubtful, because he made it his business to be informed. The bigwigs rarely had a clue what was going on with their staff. He, on the other hand, knew just about everything his employees and almost everyone else of any significance in his small city were doing—when, where, how, and with whom.

The information Jaico had just brought him wasn't anything he didn't already know. Miss Samantha Overton was someone he had such plans for. She was going to be a big benefit to him.

There wasn't much that he didn't know about anyone. Not much that he didn't control.

Checking his monitors one more time to ensure his men had left, he closed the place down. The painted, wooden end table beside his chair didn't look like it could hold itself upright, but Mr. Ozz pulled out a hidden drawer. Punching in a code that locked the door. Four deadbolts slid into place. Then he set the silent alarm system that would alert only him of any intruders.

Once that was done, he pushed himself to his feet and took a tentative step. The pain was instant as he set his right foot down and shifted his weight forward, the unevenness of the floor made him lean heavier than he normally would have. Anger boiled through him at the injustice of his injury. It should never have happened. Carelessness on his part, so long ago. Underestimating the strength of someone he'd always thought weak. It would never happen again.

Turning, he grabbed the cane he had hidden in the arm of the beat-up stuffed chair he'd just vacated. No one knew he used a cane and as far as he was concerned ever would. Most days, he could do without any help but today he'd been sitting too long. Immobile too long. First, he'd had to deal with the customers his staff couldn't, because they didn't know how to accommodate their requests. And then he'd had to meet with his other employees. The ones who made things happen for him. Do the things he could no longer do. The things that many would be shocked to find out he was behind. He yanked on the aluminum cane, stretching it from its fifteen-inch size to the full thirty inches.

The frustration at losing his youth was almost overwhelming. The need to have musclemen do all the work for him, of not being able to take care of things himself—as he had in the old days—angered him to no end. Making his way from the room, he stripped off his grey suit with the oversized, shiny black lapels, underwear, sunglasses, brown wig, mustache and beard, and hung them in the hidden wall unit. Closing it, he opened another one that held his pristine white valor robe. After shrugging into it, he thought about walking the long tunnel to his house but knew his hip wasn't up to it.

With a grimace, he climbed onto the bright red scooter. He rode it through a series of connecting doors and down a long hallway. Those who had known it existed, no longer did themselves. He climbed off his mode of transportation and entered his house, securely locking the secret door and ensuring the bookcase had slid back in place. Once that was done, he continued through his expansive house to his exercise and pool room. Stripping off his housecoat, he tossed it onto a chair and eased himself, naked, into the water. Twenty minutes of swimming followed by fifteen minutes in the hot tub and fifteen minutes in the steam room and he'd be walking like he was twenty-five again. Something he hadn't been in a long, long time.