Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 76881 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76881 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
“June birthday? Good to know.” I keep her on the line while I try it. The bay door rolls open on squeaky wheels. A sick stench hits us in the fucking face. I pull a bandana out of my pocket that I use to cover my face sometimes while riding and tie it over my nose. Crank does the same. “Holy shit, what is that smell?”
Savage gets an intense look on his face, one that spells danger. He covers his face with the bottom of his shirt and moves in.
“Is it bad? If nobody’s been working and the dirty carts have been sitting there for days it could be pretty gross. Sometimes we get literal shit in the hotel deliveries.”
I scratch my nose while I try to file the smell under things to ignore, but it clings to everything. The whole room really is full of nearly identical commercial sized laundry carts. They vary a little in color, and some have covers, but otherwise it’s a lot of the same. “That’s fucking disgusting. Do you charge them extra?”
“There’s an extra fee for anything really nasty, but it depends a little on the customer.”
“Yeah, well trust me, you don't wanna be in here. I think you might need to call in some cleaning people once you get this place up and running again. Just drag all this out and burn it.” I grimace as the stench gets worse farther in. I’m already breathing in through my mouth, and only doing that as little as possible.
“I hope it’s not an animal. Once in a while they run in when people drop off their carts and we find them in the morning. Someone always comes in every day, though, so it’s not usually a big deal. Just scares the crap out of whoever opens the door.”
“That would fucking suck.” The three of us go from cart to cart, looking for whatever’s off. All I see so far is sheets, towels and tablecloths.
“We shoulda fucking brought hazmat suits,” Crank grumbles.
“Over here.” Savage moves closer to a cart near the front, grimacing as he does. “Whatever it is, I think it’s in here. Poe, you might want to hang up.”
“No! Why would he say that?” Paige asks. “It’s just trash or something, right? It’s my business. I have the right to know what’s going on.”
Savage peels back the cover off the laundry cart. If I thought it couldn’t get worse, I was wrong.
“Looks like sheets. There’s a nasty fucking stain on the top,” I tell Paige, not mentioning that it looks like blood.
Savage pulls his knife and uses the blade to remove the top layers of laundry, dumping them on the floor next to the cart. “There’s something in there.”
“What?” Despite the stench I walk closer.
He continues pulling things out, and each one is nastier than the last, and I’m becoming more and more sure that it’s blood. A lot of it. That’s no fucking stray cat. Every cell of my body wants to get the fuck out of that bay, but we can’t walk away without finding out what’s going on. Crank covers his nose with his arm, breathing harshly though his mouth.
“Jackpot,” Savage hisses to keep from drawing a deeper breath. He reaches in and pulls out a duffel bag that looks similar to the one Paige found. He grabs an unstained towel and uses that to grab the handle, haul out the bag and jog out of the delivery bay. He drops the bag on the ground, gagging.
I step forward and use the corner of the towel to unzip the top. “Oh fuck.” Bile floods the back of my mouth and I turn, spitting it out before I full on puke.
Crank looks. “Jesus.”
Savage wipes his arm over his mouth. “Fuck me. I was hoping I was wrong, but that scent sticks with you.”
I’ve seen death. Shit, I’ve caused it, but it didn’t prepare me for seeing a rotting head and various body parts shoved into a sack like the prize at the bottom of a cereal box. Shriveled eyes stare out at us, unseeing.
“Paige? Describe your uncle to me,” I ask softly.
“Poe, what's going on?” Paige is still on the line and maybe she's been talking, but I haven't been hearing it. “Why are you asking me that?”
“Just tell me.”
“Um, he’s about fifty. His hair’s short, and he’s going gray, but he dyes it this crazy black that only looks halfway decent when it’s almost faded. He has a scar on his left cheek from when he got skin cancer a couple years ago. Now tell me what's going on. Did you find him? Is that why you’re freaking out?”
Definitely Uncle Walter.
I exchange a brief glance with Savage. He nods.
“It's your uncle, baby. He’s dead.” She doesn't need more details than that. He might have been a greedy fucker, but I know she didn’t want this for him . Fuck, I know the Mafia don't mess around, but this is nasty.