Murder List

Chapter Six

The alley smelled like wet dog hair and puke. The over-flowing Dumpster that Detective Alec Buchanan had spent most of the night behind smelled much, much worse.

In all, there were now seven detectives working the case. Alec had drawn the short straw and was relegated to doing backup for another detective named Mike Ta

Undercover detectives Dutton and Nellis were across the street, watching the entrance to the warehouse from different angles.

Two other detectives were across town at a restaurant, looking as young and clean-cut as high school honor-roll students dressed in the uniform of all the teenagers in the city-Old Navy T-shirts, Gap loose-fit jeans, and scuffed white Nikes. They were impatiently waiting for a fresh supply intended for the streets of suburbia.

The seventh detective was following the money.

Detective Dutton was officially ru

Ta

Alec had been told to expect the deal to go down around three or four in the morning, when the scum crawled out from under their rocks to buy and sell anything and everything. These two lawyers were a different breed, though. They apparently started their workday around noon.

The attorneys, Lyle and Lester Sisley, were identical twins who had migrated to Chicago from a 7-Eleven-sized town in Georgia. They sounded and acted like good ol’, down-home, country boys who pledged allegiance to the flag and to Elvis every morning, and who liked to go out on the town and kick up their boots every now and then, but who would never ever get into any real trouble. Casual acquaintances considered the twins a little slow-witted, but sweet, terribly sweet.

The opposite was the case. There was nothing sweet or slow-witted about them. Their IQs were identical and hovered just one point above genius. It was reported that they had partied their way through law school and still had managed to graduate at the top of their class.

The twins had been in Chicago for a little over a year when they came to the conclusion that they were working too much and making too little. They decided then that they needed to branch out.

Five years later, they were taking in millions, and it sure as certain wasn’t from their legal fees. They continued to practice law and maintained offices on Elm Street, but they had very few clients. The two shared an impressive title, yet neither dared print it on the glass of their office door. They were quite simply known as the premier drug lords of Chicago.

And more. Much, much more. It was estimated that in the past twelve months, Lyle and Lester had sold more drugs than Pfizer Pharmaceuticals. There wasn’t a pill they didn’t push or a drug they didn’t lace with other, more addictive substances.

Needless to say, the undercover detectives had been trying to nail their sorry asses for a long, long time. Today would hopefully be the end for Lyle and Lester, if all went as pla

Most of their illegal business transactions were conducted in the warehouse where Ta

The twins were the odd couple. They did almost everything together. They worked together, played together, and lived together in a high-rise apartment on Lake Shore Drive. They would even occasionally dress alike in cowboy attire.

There were a few differences. Lyle had a thing for buxom women. He consumed them like a baseball player chewing on sunflower seeds and spitting out the shells when the taste was gone. Yet, the women he so casually discarded couldn’t say enough nice things about him. After he finished with them, he lavished them with expensive “parting” gifts. The women called Lyle the ultimate gentleman.

Lester had a thing for cars, Rolls-Royces to be specific. He had over fifteen of them stored in his warehouse now and had just purchased another one. The cost was a mere one hundred fifty-three thousand, but that was chump change to the drug lord.

Lester never drove the cars. Every Friday he liked to walk around the warehouse and look at them. He was overheard telling a friend that he was saving the cars and needed to keep them in mint condition, but he didn’t explain exactly what he was saving them for.

“Heads up.”

The whisper came through Alec’s earpiece. Dutton, from his position across the street, had spotted the twins.

Alec dropped into the Dumpster and squeezed down in the garbage. Something crawled up his neck, and he fought the urge to slap it away as he turned ever so slightly and peered out the hole he’d drilled in the metal. The lousy hiding place had been Ta

Alec told Dutton he had no intention of waiting in the damn Dumpster. Dutton agreed. Ta

Alec kept watching the street. No one there yet.

“We’ve got a problem.” The voice belonged to Detective Nellis. “There’s a uniform talking to the twins. Ah, hell, he’s go

“No,” Dutton said. “He’s not writing a ticket. They’re all walking toward the warehouse now. The uniform’s between them.”

“Is he willingly going with them?”

“Can’t tell,” Dutton said.

“What about a gun? Does Lyle or Lester have a gun on him?” Nellis was angry. “Can you see, Dutton?”

“I can’t tell about the gun,” he whispered. “Alec, you’ve got time to get inside and warn Ta

“Tell Ta

“He won’t, he won’t,” Dutton argued. “Alec, go. They’ve stopped in front of the main entrance, so they’re not go

Alec was already moving. He swung out of the Dumpster, raced across the alley, and climbed up the fire escape. The window was just out of reach. He jumped, grabbed the ledge, and then lifted himself through the window.

Dutton was right behind him. The detective wasn’t as big or as muscular as Alec, but he was just as nimble and didn’t make a sound.

There were boxes of auto parts stacked six feet high all over the loft and video cameras attached to the rafters. The twins didn’t have an alarm system. They took care of their own problems, and anyone who was crazy enough to rob or vandalize any of their property simply disappeared.

Dutton was slowly crawling toward the rail. Alec held up a hand to stop him and pointed to one of the cameras.