“We vacated that location several weeks ago, if I recall.” Julian kept his expression purposely neutral, calibrating his tone to match even though his senses were on high alert. The only thing he hated more than problems were surprises. “How is an accidental fire in an empty facility we can’t be tied to problematic?”
Julian had gone to great lengths to make sure no names were ever used to secure his holding facilities, no rental agreements, no middlemen, no paper trail whatsoever. Using vacant houses in low rent neighborhoods to house his girls meant frequent and strategic movement on his part, but since it also kept him six steps ahead of law enforcement, the effort paid off.
Plus, the girls were filthy anyway. Turning them out in dirty, abandoned flophouses actually seemed quite fitting.
Charles shifted his weight, his cheap work boots becoming suddenly riveting. “The fire is being ruled an accident, but the location wasn’t quite empty. There…might have been some photos left behind.”
“I see.” Julian remained perfectly still even though his anger slithered beneath his skin like a living thing. “Would these be photos of my merchandise?”
He kept his girls carefully catalogued, just as he did with all of his investment property. All hard copy photos, carefully posed for anonymity, and never, ever put on the Internet. Vaughn was good, and so far, loyal. But anyone could be bought. Or sold, as it turned out. No sense in taking chances.
“Uh,” Charles said, his beady eyes still focused on the Aubusson beneath his clumsy feet, and the grunt was all the answer Julian needed. “They were just some of the extra pictures, mostly duplicates. But yeah, of the stuff we used to keep there.”
Julian’s anger flirted with rage, making his pulse pound and pushing his next question between his teeth. “And where are the photos now?”
“I’m not sure. I went back to try and find them after Best Buy over there told me a nine-one-one call had popped on the address.” Charles hooked a meaty thumb over his shoulder, gesturing in the direction of the server room down the hall where Vaughn worked, ate, and slept. “But it took a couple of days before I could dodge the cops and the fire department. The place was pretty fucked up. Barely anything left. The pictures might’ve burned along with most everything else.”
“But they weren’t there when you went back,” Julian said, his rage growing sharper and more focused as the man shook his fat, bald head.
“No, but Vaughn said the fire marshal doesn’t have the case listed as pending investigation from the RPD, and—”
Julian silenced him with nothing more than a look. “Even if the police department did open an investigation, they wouldn’t get anywhere. Do you know how I know this, Charles?”
“Uh. No, sir.”
“Because I don’t make errors. And do you know what those photos being left behind at that holding facility is?”
Charles swallowed, but at least he had the decency to answer. “An error.”
“Exactly.” Julian folded his hands over the long-forgotten paperwork placed neatly on his desk. He had far more important things to deal with than sloppy work. “Tell me, Charles. Why were the photos not moved along with the merchandise in the first place?”
“I thought…the rental company didn’t have anyone scheduled to move into the house”—Charles’s brick-end chin jerked up at the error, and he took an awkward step back on the ornately patterned rug—“uh, I mean the facility, any time soon, so I thought I had more time to get everything out of there.”
Julian knew running an organization like his meant delegating certain tasks. After all, he certainly wasn’t going to stay in some hovel on Glendale fucking Avenue to guard a bunch of junkie whores. Bad enough that he had to go to these flophouses on occasion to break their spirits and their bodies in order to show them to whom they belonged. But loose ends and negligent work by his subordinates, in his organization? That simply wouldn’t do.
“That’s not how we do business,” Julian said, forging his words in cool, quiet steel. “The photos should’ve been the first thing you took care of after the merchandise had been moved.”
“I know, boss.” Unease flooded Charles’s beefy features. “But they were just the extras. I figured keeping them wouldn’t hurt. You know. For, uh. Personal use.”
One corner of Julian’s mouth lifted. Weak bastard. Just like the rest of them.
“Ah, Charles.” Pushing back from his desk, he slipped out of his charcoal gray suit jacket, letting the lush fabric slide through his fingers before starting to roll up his shirt sleeves with meticulous care. “That’s where you’re wrong.”
This time, the man didn’t frown at the formal address. “I am?”
“Yes.” Julian opened his desk drawer, his heart pumping faster at the gleam of razor-sharp stainless steel. Yes. Yes. “Your error is going to hurt. A lot.”
Looked like he was going to get his suit dirty after all.
* * *