The Price Of Justice

Chapter Nine

"Keep a lookout on all the exits." I called over my shoulder. I held my Sig firmly in my grasp as I scanned the interior of the building, searching for signs of movement. I knew that my coworkers and I weren't welcomed here.

"Unbelievable." Behind me, Hayes' deep timbre broke the deathly silence. I nodded my head with a knowing smile.

"I know, right?" I surveyed the messy living room. Objects had been thrown onto the hardwood floor, beer bottles and needles distributed throughout the furniture. A few joints were scattered on the coffee table. "Either these guys never figured on getting caught, or they're flat out idiots."

"Probably a little of both," Walker stepped over to the collapsible table in the corner of the room. A thin white powder graced the surface. He swiped his gloved hand across it and held it to his nose. "Tay, you're a genius." He turned and grinned at me. "Morphine. Smells like it's been tampered with. Maybe they were trying to make coke?"

"Maybe." I peered out the front window, then stole a quick glance at my watch. It was six-thirty. Mr. Mason and his partners would arrive in half a hour. "But regardless, we're running out of time here. What do you say we go ahead and scope out the place, see where we can stay hidden while these morons give us some more evidence?"

"Sounds good." Hayes replied.

"Okay, I'll go check out the second floor, yell if either of you find anything."

"Sure thing." I nodded in acknowledgement of Walker's response, then sprinted to the staircase. I carefully picked my way up the wooden steps, cautiously stepping only near the edge of the boards and testing each one before I placed my full weight on it.

The moment I ascended the last step, a horribly foul odor assaulted my nose. My stomach churned. "Tell me that's not what I think it is." I murmered as the stench grew stronger.

A stout fragrance all its own filled the silent air, making me feel sick to my stomach. I had first been exposed to that smell when I was only thirteen, but every time I caught a hint of it in the air it always made me nauseous.

The scent of death.

I took several stabilizing breaths and breathed deeply. The scent was coming from down the hall. I gingerly stepped toward it, praying only a dead animal awaited me. But as I picked my way across the worn wooden boards, that hope was quickly dashed. A faint red streak had stained the wood. I knelt and gently brushed my hand against the floor. Please, no. I silently pleaded.

But all the begging in the world wouldn't spare me from what I was about to find.

I straightened and directed my steps toward the source of the smell. My left hand slid to cover my firearm. The rotting wood floor creaked beneath my feet, fraying my already unsettled nerves.

Deep breath, Justice. Keep it together.

I quickened my pace.

I halted as I came to the last door in the hallway. The stench was now so strong I almost gagged on it. I pulled a latex glove from my pocket and slipped it over my right hand. If I was right about this, the last thing I needed was for my fingerprints to end up on that door. I gingerly placed my hand on the door handle.

Locked.

I backed up several steps, then thrust my boot into the wooden door. The frame bent as the door ripped from its hinges, resulting in a loud crash. The odor rushed to great me as I peered inside the dimly lit room. Bile formed in my throat, threatening to spill any second. I swallowed hard and stepped over the threshold. "Oh, dear God." My shoulders dropped.