Chapter 3

Andy led Samson into the main part of the warehouse where the air was heavy with the acrid scent of blood and metal.

"While the animal is still alive, we make every effort to ensure that part of the journey is as comfortable for them as possible."

"Oh, yeah?"

"By creating a calm environment, we keep their stress levels to a minimum."

"Is that what these corrals do?"

"Yes. We limit their range of sight so as not to put additional strain on them. They're very relaxed when it comes time to euthanize them."

Samson nodded, wondering if Andy had any idea what was going on in other parts of the warehouse. Judging by his build and demeanor, it was clear he wasn't one of Cramer's men, but that didn't mean he didn't play a part.

He'd be one of the lucky ones today. Samson would take him out of the picture before the big confrontation. Otherwise, he could end up with broken bones or worse.

"Most of the process is straightforward. We kill the animal and butcher it. Then we use nearly every part of the carcass. We work hard to limit waste."

"What about the bones?"

"The bones that we don't process as part of the meat—spare ribs, for example—get utilized in various ways. They could be used for dog food or ground up and added to animal feed. Fertilizers and gelatin production is another popular use. Some bones we ship overseas, and they get made into things like buttons."

That wasn't all they were doing with the bones. "Are any of those areas lucrative?"

"Anytime a part of the animal is not wasted, it's lucrative."

"True."

They passed through an area with large vats, and Samson knew they were getting close.

"Here is where we render the fats and other byproducts of the animals," Andy said.

"Is that what that smell is?"

"Yes, it can get quite pungent in here. But don't worry, we're almost to the end of our journey. If you'll follow me through here, I'll show you the loading docks where you can get some fresh air."

Samson followed him into an empty corridor and past a door marked "restricted."

"You mentioned about the bones being ground up for feed. Does that happen on site? I don't remember seeing that anywhere."

"We do grind them here, but it's in another section of the building. Unfortunately, it's not part of the tour as it's in a restricted area of the—" It was all Andy got out before Samson stuck him with a needle.

"Sorry, buddy," he said as he lowered Andy to the floor. "It's better if you sleep through this next part."

He unclipped the keycard from Andy's coat, then dragged him to a closet where he'd sleep off the drug for the next hour or so.

Back at the restricted door, Samson pressed the card against the panel and entered.

He'd already seen the floor plan of the building and knew what waited for him at the end of the hall.

When he reached the double doors, he stripped off his cleanroom suit and tossed the hardhat before pulling his gun.

He peered through a tiny window in the door and could see various animal bones traveling along a conveyor belt. Maybe some were shipped overseas or made into dog food, but the rest would be cleaned and ground down and added to illegal drugs to bulk them out before being packaged and sent out onto the street.

It was a pretty slick operation. When his contact at the DEA first brought him the case, he'd been intrigued. And as he'd investigated further, and discovered how big an operation it was, he'd been impressed. But that wasn't why he'd been given the job.

The DEA was having trouble making any headway; for Samson, this was a walk in the park. He always got answers, and the bigger the problem he faced, the better. It was what had given him his reputation and why the government gave him the freedom he enjoyed. One man against so many, and he never lost.

"At least you're not wasting any part of the animal," he murmured as he pushed the door open and entered the room. His voice was drowned out by the whir of machinery.

Two men stood midway across the room, facing away from him while they worked at a long table.

He moved slowly, hiding from view when he could while he scoped out the entire space and made note of the position of every man in the room.

A line of four more men stood along another table where they were cutting the drugs. Their movements were smooth and practiced, but these men were just as good with firearms.

He rounded the edge of a massive container to get another view. There were fewer men here than he'd expected. A touch disappointing.

"Hurry up!" someone shouted who'd entered from the loading bay on the other side of the room. It was Cramer. He was the one Samson really needed. Unfortunately, Agent Trevors had requested Samson take him alive. He'd do his best, like he always did, but he never made promises he wasn't confident he could keep.

A loud grinding sound bounced off the walls, and he turned in time to see a large man swinging a piece of steel at his head.

Samson dodged but couldn't avoid the hit and had to use his arm to block it. The impact sent his gun skittering under a large box.

He shook out his hand and faced off with his opponent. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that the others had been alerted and were moving in. More came through another door.

Samson blew out a quick breath. "This is more like it."

"I'll call security," one man said, turning back for the door now that Samson was surrounded.

"I don't think you should," Samson called out to him as he counted the fourteen men.

"Me either," said the man who'd knocked the gun from his hand. "I'd rather deal with you myself."

"You don't like sharing?"

The man smiled, then dove for Samson but missed as Samson ducked under a conveyor belt, ran across the room, then slid over a counter before sprinting past a line of bones. He snatched one up to use as a weapon.

Two men appeared at the end of a long bench. Easy pickings.

Samson kept running, and the men bent their legs at the knees, expecting to take the brunt of Samson's force. Instead, they got the teeth end of the jawbone he'd grabbed.

A round went off and sounded like it had bounced off the walls.

Samson finished off the second guy, leaving the two men unconscious on the floor, then skidded around a corner.

"Don't shoot in here, you idiot!" It sounded like Cramer yelling. "It's only one man. The doors are blocked. Go get him and bring him to me."

Samson ducked under a table and waited for someone to walk past. When one did, he jumped out, tackling him to the ground before knocking him out with the jawbone.

He continued around the room, picking them one by one, or sometimes by twos, if necessary, as more men joined the fight. Just more bodies to pile up.

He caught sight of Cramer and tried to move in on him, but three more men found him.

"We got him!" one shouted.

"No, you don't." He flew into action, using the attack of one against the others as their momentum became their own worst enemy.

As the fight went on, his buzz grew. He knew Agent Trevors and his team would be here soon, but they were only required for the cleanup. This was what Samson was made for. It was what he did best. His body moved exactly how and when it needed to for maximum impact.

He was unstoppable, and he knew it. Swing after swing, even as his arms tired, he kept going around the room, stepping over bodies and knocking out others that thought they wanted to have another try.

Finally, it was him and Cramer left.

Cramer pulled a gun.

"I didn't think you could use guns in here," Samson said.

"It's not a problem if I don't miss."

"Is it because you're afraid? You don't want to face me like a man?"

"I know who you are. I'm not stupid."

"I'd beg to differ. If you were smart, you'd put that gun down. The other guys in cheaper suits than mine are on their way."

"I don't believe you."

"Really? Did you not see what I did in here? Why would I lie?"

"It doesn't really matter what happens from here. You're still going to die."

Cramer straightened his arm to fire, and Samson dove sideways, but not before he hurled the jawbone. It hit its mark hard enough to knock Cramer back, and before he could right himself, Samson jumped on him, wrenching his arm around to hold him in place.

"Samson?" a voice called out.

"Over here, Trevors."

A man in his forties appeared across the room. "Is that Cramer?"

"Sure is. And I can deliver him alive as promised."

"You never promised."

"You know how I like to overdeliver. What took you so long?"

Trevors looked around the room as he approached. Two other men followed him in.

"Is that all you brought with you?" Samson said. "There are more than a dozen guys here you'll need to process."

"There's more coming. Was this all you?"

"You look surprised."

Cramer struggled under him, so he punched him in the ribs to quiet him down.

Trevors shook his head. "That's more than we thought."

"The drugs or the men?"

"Both."

"I told you this was big."

"We're going to have to get more vehicles in here." Trevors nodded down at the jawbone on the floor. "What's that?"

"Not a bad weapon in the end."

"You didn't bring a gun?"

"Lost it."

Trevors gave him a skeptical squint. "Did you really? Or were you looking for a challenge?"

"It worked out for the best. I didn't kill anyone."

"True. Okay, you can climb off him. I'll take it from here."

Samson pushed off of Cramer, dusting his hands as he stood. "Don't know how many of the others are in a condition to talk, but Cramer here is doing okay. I hope you are duly impressed."

"I'm supposed to be impressed that you didn't beat him to death with a dead animal? I hope we never get into an argument."

"Gentlemen like us can sort out our problems with words, don't you think?"

"I sure hope so." He cuffed Cramer, then passed him off to one of his men. "I know you're good, Samson, but I'm always astounded at what you manage to accomplish."

"All in a day's work."

"Work that you appear to enjoy."

"Come on, Trevors, you know me better than that. Of course I enjoy it. Don't you?"

"Cleaning up after you? Not always. But you've left me bigger messes than this before, so I'm not complaining."

"I didn't know you ever complained about my work."

"I have my moments. Your methods are often beyond my scope."

"That's why you love me."

"I might be crazy for it, but you're not far off."

Samson laughed and gave him a jab in the shoulder. "I'd like to stay and chat, but I've got an appointment I'll be late for if I don't leave now."

"As long as you get me your report."

"You'll have it by the end of the week."

"You say that every time, and every time I have to chase you up."

"I promise this time."

"Yeah, right."