The Greatest of These by Greg Wendleton (have you read this book .txt) 📗

was the small matter of the rendezvous planned with his three stooges this coming Saturday, at six in the evening. All three had confirmed they would be there, but now he knew only two would show up. Conrad would not be there to greet them, especially now that he knew Jones had been compromised. Instead, he would leave them a gift and instructions on how to receive the promised two-million-dollar payday.

The two men continued driving, now on a sandy, desert-like road about five miles outside of Helotes. Jackie broke the silence, “You live out here among the scrub brush and tarantulas?”

“Some of the time. It’s a place I’ve called The Farm for many years. I’ve trained my men out here and taught them how to survive. They all think this is my home.”

“Why are we going there then?”

“I need to grab some things from my armory and leave a little gift for the boys that arrive Saturday evening.”

Jackie’s head bobbed a few times in understanding. “No loose ends.” It was not a question, but an acknowledgement.

“Exactly. It’s not like they are my family. They are contract killers. Everyone has to pay the price at some point. Some sooner than others.”

They pulled through an iron gate with a metal sign arched over the entrance. It read ‘The Farm’. Simple, with significance for some and insignificant for most. Conrad parked the old Blazer in front of a small house on a circular sand driveway created over many years of repetition. The duo exited the vehicle and Jackie followed Conrad through the front door. In the past few hours, they had developed an uneasy alliance, with Conrad holding a decided advantage as he was the only one armed. Nevertheless, Conrad held the killing skills of his companion in high regard.

Conrad led the way down a set of stairs, off the kitchen, into an unfinished basement. He pulled a chain attached to an overhead lightbulb and it illuminated a space about the size of a normal bedroom, maybe twelve feet square. It was enclosed with a heavy gauge chain-link fence attached to six steel posts mounted to the floor and ceiling. Two of the foundation walls acted as the rear and a side wall of the secured zone. This area was filled with weapons of all types: rifles, automatic weapons, pistols, hand grenades, C4 and dynamite.

“Welcome to my armory.”

“It’s very impressive. What is your plan for all of this?”

“I’m going to give the feds a show, a really big show.”

Over the course of the next two hours, Conrad worked alone, rigging his house for a timed explosion. He allowed Jackie access to his armory to select a single weapon of his choice. As did most of his boys, and he himself, Jackie chose a Glock 17 9mm pistol. It was widely used with law enforcement and hard to pinpoint a specific shooter, unlike someone who used an exotic weapon. Conrad decided to keep the ammunition locked up for the time being. Trust would take a long time to build between the men.

After completing the rigging, Conrad wrote notes to all three men he had invited to the celebration on Saturday. He knew only two would show up, but they didn’t know that. The notes provided the details on how to access three separate bank accounts to transfer the promised payment to the account of their choosing. Of course, the accounts weren’t real and the money would never be made available to them. As a tribute to their past meetings and celebrations, Conrad anchored each note in place, on the kitchen table, with a bottle of Jose Cuervo tequila. Probably what Jones had used to drink himself to death.

With his tasks completed, the men departed the same way they had driven into The Farm. Once outside the gate, Conrad stopped the truck and took a last look at the property that he had come to love over the past two decades. He was confident he would never see The Farm again. Releasing the brake, they drove the five miles back to the main road and continued west. Passing through Helotes he thought of stopping at the bank to withdraw some cash and nearly kept on going. But he did stop and walked into the bank lobby. He was recognizable by the employees, but not well known. He had banked with the local institution for twenty years.

As he pulled his gaiter up over his mouth and nose, he joked, “Don’t worry folks, this isn’t a stick up!”

“Good afternoon sir. What can we do for you today?”

“Well, I need to withdraw some funds. I’m going on a trip and I’m buying a truck. I’d like to get twenty thousand from my account.”

“Do you want that all in cash?”

“That would be my preference. Is that a problem?”

“I’ll need to check with the manager to see if we have the reserves to cover that amount. I’ll just be a few minutes.”

As promised, a few minutes later, the manager returned along with the cashier. “Mr. Bishop, good afternoon. You’re wanting to withdraw twenty thousand dollars from your account, is that correct?”

“Yes, it is Mr. Pearson, can you not handle my request? I’m heading out of town to purchase a truck and the man wants to be paid in cash.”

“We have the cash on hand. It will just cut into our reserve percentage. Hang on, we’ll get the money together. How are you wanting that money?”

“Franklins would be great. If you have McKinleys that would be fine too.”

“Very well, please give us five minutes and we will have you ready to go.”

Mr. Pearson returned in less than the promised five minutes with a combination of twenty, five-hundred-dollar bills and a hundred, one-hundred-dollar bills stacked and bundled. He placed them into a zippered money pouch, similar to what businesses use, and handed the cash over to Conrad along with his withdrawal receipt. “Have a safe trip, Mr. Bishop.”

As he tipped his ballcap, he said, “Thank you. It’s been a pleasure doing business