Page 69 of Gentleman Sadist
“Good to know.” He pointed to himself and Benjamin. “Agents Famosa and Wilcox.”
“Yeah, my daughter told me about you guys,” Hannover said. “She got to play with your data last night. To say she was hyped...”
“The kids AJ told us about,” Robert said.
"Yep." Hannover nodded. "She's the cartel connection if you ever need her assistance."
The admission left Robert with so many more questions than answers, but he nodded, appreciating the guy's candor. "We're all in, let's go."
Twenty minutes on the dot, the helicopter landed in an empty field. Waiting for them was their next mode of transportation, fan-boats. Three of them to be exact. The FBI paid a pretty penny to have them waiting to take them where they needed to go. The biggest and most likely the baddest motherfucker of the three boat pilots approached. He held his hand out and introduced himself. “Names Jake.”
Robert gave his name then introduced the rest of the group. “You know where we need to go?”
“Yup. Make sure you keep hands and feet in the boats at all times,” Jake warned. “This time of day is prime time for the gators to be out warming themselves in the mid-day sun and they’re probably hungry.”
Robert nodded. All of them were native to Florida and knew the do’s and don’ts when it came to their state’s most well-known apex predator. “Not a problem. We all like our appendages where they are.”
“How long until we get to the property?” Benjamin asked as they hustled into the metal boats popular for travel on the waterways of the Everglades.
“Twenty minutes,” Jake answered from his position at the back.
The engines came to life and they took off through the murky water. Robert loved living in Florida. Loved the fact, they could count on it to rain at some point every single day and loved the little lizards who often clung to the outsides of the houses. The only thing he didn't like, was the marshy swamplands. Mostly because he hated mosquitos with a passion, but those fucking bloodsuckers loved him, and the bastards swarmed the swamplands.
The pilot handed him a bottle of repellant as if he heard Robert’s thoughts and he’d been grateful. The plan, once they were a mile out from the property, was to cut the small outboard engines to give them the element of surprise. The last thing they needed was to get into a standoff with Justin in the middle of the swamp. Jake, familiar with the area, claimed there was a well-worn path from a drop point to the house. Jake and the other pilots would wait for them there while they went on foot the rest of the way.
When they arrived, Robert went to the bow of the boat in anticipation of stopping. He jumped from the boat, crouching down, using some of the overgrown foliage as a cover. When they were all together, they picked their way through the wet soil up to the house in question.
The place was older than the photograph could convey. There were sheets of plywood covering some of the windows. An old swamp cooler lay limp and broken to the right of the house. The back door was held in place with three pieces of thin sheet metal. The roof toward the front was caved in whether from storms or negligence Robert didn’t know. The remaining windows were dingy caked in years of disrepair. The state of the house made getting inside nearly impossible without fearing the place could come down on them.
Benjamin and he broke off from the remaining agents, going for the front door. Agents Cullen and Faris took the backdoor while the other members surrounded the house. Once they were in position, they silently counted down from three to breach the structure.
Robert held up 3 fingers then counted down. On one, he kicked in the door without much effort. “FBI! Search Warrant. Come out Justin, we know you’re in here!”
Shuffling from the right, caught his attention. Together, Robert and Benjamin stepped into the house. He went in high and Benjamin went low. They swept the room, clearing the area before they stepped farther into the space. Methodically, they made their way through the old house, the smell of dust and mildew mixed with the swampy air, burning Robert’s nostrils. If the stolen artwork had been hidden there, he worried how the damp, humid air would affect the medium of the paint used on the work along with their canvases.
“Hands up!” Cullen yelled as they came around the corner into the far back bedroom of the house. Robert and Benjamin joined the agent. There Justin sat, cowering in the corner, hands up over his head.
Not so cocky now.
Benjamin pulled him out, knowing if he did it, he wouldn’t be nice and would most likely rough up the asshole. “We’ve been looking for you, for a long time, Justin.”
Robert did read him his Miranda rights though and took immense pleasure in it. “Justin Davis, you have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you can't afford one, one will be provided for you. Do you understand these rights as I've explained them to you?"
Justin nodded. “Yes.”
“Do you wish to speak to me?” Robert bit back the snarl in his tone, though it was hard.
“I want my lawyer. I ain’t got nothing to say.”
“Fine by me.” Robert motioned for Benjamin to take him out of the bedroom so they could continue to search the house.
“God he’s a sniveling weasel,” Benjamin muttered as he joined Robert.
Justin sat, handcuffed, on his beat-up couch in the rundown living room. He whimpered and cried, rocking back and forth while whining they had the wrong guy. Robert shook his head as he passed the guy. Too bad he didn’t want to give the FBI his version of the events.
He followed the sound of the agents talking into a side room. They were going through boxes and shelves searching for the missing art pieces. Robert, because of his involvement with Will, took a step back, allowing Benjamin to join the other agents. He’d been reduced to taking notes of what they found and where. He didn’t mind though, they all wanted to make sure the little asshole had no grounds for dismissal when this case went to court.
As they were looking through the debris and trash, one of the agents from up in the attic crawl space, called out. Robert closed his notebook and headed toward the stairs.