Clean – Della Jordan Series Book One

By CJ Elliott

copyright Cindy Jacks 2009

Excerpt:

At a stoplight on the way to the scene, I flipped through dossier on my BlackBerry. The target was a high-level player in the Turkish opium market which meant there would be collateral damage in the form of his two bodyguards. Gone were the days of drug syndicates taking care of their own trash. Outsourcing had even reached the criminal world. That’s where my employer, the Agency, came in. Our specialty—dirty deeds, but not dirt-cheap.

Other than the extra bodies, there was nothing special about this job, a straight hose down and liquidation. I loved the machine I’d nicknamed the Liquidator. Alkaline hydrolysis would turn the Turks into an environmentally friendly liquid the consistency and color of motor oil. The end result smelled only of ammonia and could be poured down any kitchen sink. If that isn’t poetic, I don’t know what is. As for the rest of target 47621, hospital-grade disinfectant and some elbow grease would erase all traces of him. He’d become just another missing traveler.

The wipe down procedure varied little once I made it to the scene. I’d spend a minimum of ten and as much as forty hours in the space to be cleaned, which meant I always packed my twenty gig mp3 player. First things first, I had to gain entry to the scene. In this case, a swanky hotel suite.

I walked through the lobby with my gear in a rolling suitcase. A business outfit and understated hair and makeup helped me blend in with the other guests. I had schematics of the security cameras and I made sure I avoided them. Looking at my shoes during an elevator ride had become a habit. Mickey would doctor the elevator and room key records in the hotel’s security log and insert a fake express check-out confirmation for the Turk, but gaps in video time stamps made investigators nervous. Assuming investigators would ever become involved which was unlikely. Drug lords didn’t often file missing persons reports. Still, best to avoid the need to scrub video records if possible.

Once inside the suite, I changed into a jumpsuit, goggles, gloves, respirator and booties. So stylish. Actually I looked a bit like the Stay-Puff marshmallow man. Oh well. No one to impress here.

I surveyed the scene to make sure no surprises waited for me. Not too a big mess considering I had three corpses to process. Two in the heart, one in the head. Judging from the size of the holes, Angelo had gone with a twenty-two as he’d indicated he would in the project plan. So thoughtful of him. I didn’t have to dig bullets out of the carpets or the walls. All nine slugs should be safely contained inside the Turk and his goons. As they say, it’s not the size of the gun but the skill of the shooter. I rolled over the bodies to be sure there hadn’t been any through-and-throughs. A smile tugged at my lips; as I suspected not one bullet had made an exit wound.

Next, I bagged the guys. The target’s slim frame made maneuvering him easy enough; the body guards not so much. But with the right leverage I’d managed to wrangle all of them into the PVC sacks and drag them to the foyer without making a bigger mess of the blood pooled in the carpet.

I wet down the stained rug with a proprietary blend of solvent, disinfectant, and deodorizer. My compact wet/dry vac made short work of the bodily fluids and sealed the sludge in an airtight canister. The gadget was quieter than an electric toothbrush. The Agency equipped me with such wonderful toys. Already the room looked as though nothing sinister had occurred, but I had much left to do—Mop down the walls and hard surfaces, treat and vacuum the soft surfaces, and run the ozone machine to eliminate any residual odors. Then it was time to pack up and wait. And catch up on my favorite TV shows. Mickey had loaded CSI and Dexter on my portable video player.

At four in the morning, I placed a call asking Mickey to schedule the pick-up crew for six. The boys arrived right on time dressed in recycling center coveralls, packed the Turk and his guards into plastic bins and wheeled them out. Anyone who might catch a glimpse of my movers would feel warm and fuzzy that the hotel cared enough to go green.

“Meet you back at the airport,” I said, closing the door behind the crew.

I finished cleaning the foyer, made one last inspection and changed into my street clothes. Leaving the way I came, I pulled my rolling case behind me through the lobby and parking lot, out to my car.

From the hotel, I drove to a privately owned airport nearby. The Agency’s jet waited for me. I confirmed the movers had properly secured the bins containing the bodies in the cargo hold. We boarded the plane and I verified a cargo truck would be waiting for us when we landed.

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