Page 135 of Wounded King

The silence on the other side is telling and holds too long, but my idea is perfect. I just need to get the personnel out of the morgue for a few hours. The environment alone should make those two bastards piss their pants and talk.

"Put them both in one of those body bins and let them wait for me," I add. This might be even more effective than my sharks.

"You're the boss," Luciano says, warming up to my idea.

I make sure the doctors will know how to get hold of me and head down to the basement where the morgue is located.

"I need this place for a few hours. Alone," I say after I shoulder my way past the security guards.

"I'm so sorry," an older woman in a white coat approaches me, "for your loss, but you can't be?—"

"Doctor Grand," I interrupt her, reading the name on her badge. "I will pay anybody working here one million dollars to go take an early, very long lunch."

She stares at me, dumbfounded, blinks a few times, "Mr…" she looks at me questioningly.

"It's better you don't know my name, Doctor. Give me your banking information, and I'll deposit the money, or… " I shift my jacket over where my Glock is holstered, letting the threat hang in the air.

She swallows, visibly shaken, and appears about to call security.

A young man, also wearing a white coat, holds out his phone to me. "Here."

His banking app is up. I pull my phone out and within seconds, he stares at the new amount in his account, going from a hundred and six dollars to one million and a hundred and six. "I'm outta here," he announces.

I tilt my head, looking at the good doctor. Seems like it's only her and her assistant here. With a nod, she pulls out her phone, and I repeat the transaction, noting that her account looked a bit healthier even before the million went through.

"I'd appreciate it if you kept anybody else who might show up here away," I add.

She nods. "It's all yours until eight this evening, that's when the shift changes."

"That should do."

I watch her walk out and text Luciano that the coast is clear on my end. While I wait for my second to show up with ourguests, I take the opportunity to look around the morgue. Four metallic tables stand in the center, one of which is occupied by a naked, middle-aged man with a tag tied to his toe. His grayish coloring tells me that he's dead. The other tables are empty. The walls and floor, even the ceiling, are tiled in subdued gray. One wall reminds me of a doctor's office, lined with cupboards and drawers and a long counter, filled with instruments, cotton balls in glass containers, gauze, and so on. Several industrial-looking sinks occupy a smaller wall, and the last is filled with the ominous-looking refrigerated body chambers you see in all the TV shows.

The floor is slanted and interspersed with six drains to facilitate easier cleanup. This place is fucking perfect and gets even better when I take a look at all the instruments, scalpels, saws, scissors, and two of my favorites: rib cutters and bone chisels. Fucking perfect.

The door opens. Luciano and four of my guards push two gurneys in; the bodies on them are covered with sheets from head to toe, and neither shows any movement. Not until Luciano lifts the sheet off the first. The man is tied to the gurney with a gag shoved down his throat. His head moves from side to side in wild terror. Terror that grows when he realizes where he is. His eyes nearly bulge out of his head.

Marco begins to open the body chambers. "This one is empty."

Dario and Kurt push the gurney with the muzzled man toward it. He thrashes as much as his bindings allow, but the process of transferring him from the gurney to the refrigerated unit is pretty simple. Marco closes the door.

"Not sure how long the air inside will last," Kurt advises.

He's right. The last thing I will allow for those bastards is the easy way out by suffocating.

"Open the door every ten minutes to let some air in," I order. "I'll be back in thirty. Keep 'em alive."

"You've got it, boss." Luciano busies himself helping get the second man into a unit, while I step into the hall. The security guards from earlier have left. Doctor Grand must have called them off. Smart woman.

I take the elevator up and march by the waiting line of people by the registration desk, uncaring of the young man holding his obviously broken arm, and demand, "Violet Orsi."

I signed her in under my name; that will carry more weight with the doctors and nurses treating her.

"Uhm, one second, sir," the young woman behind the ridiculous Plexiglas wall looks flustered. Annoyed, I watch her fingers fly over the keyboard.

"She's in surgery, sir." She announces in a wavering voice. "Would you like me to?—"

I turn away, uninterested in the rest of her answer. She knows shit.