Free Wounded Earth by Mary Anna Evans

all its people would feel his outrage.
    He was almost too weak to make it happen, but he had Gerald. Gerald was the perfect employee—competent, courteous, discreet, and damn intelligent. He'd been with Babykiller's organization since he was a fresh-faced college boy.
    Gerald had started at the bottom, as a runner. Every Friday, after class, like all Babykiller's lowly campus runners, Gerald pulled a set of car keys and an envelope out of his post office box. After pocketing the cash and reading the directions, Gerald got on the road and drove, sometimes for 24 hours straight, until he reached the rendezvous. Then he put the keys under the mat, got into the waiting car, pulled its keys from under its mat, and drove home. That was all.
    Gerald was a runner for three years and the easy money had paid for his education and more. He was never late, he never got a speeding ticket, and he never once peeked in the trunk with its tamper-evident seal. During that time, he moved literally tons of assorted drugs into the reach of bored college students. When he graduated, his dispatcher recommended that he be retained in the organization. Within a year, the dispatcher was out of work and Gerald was doing his job.
    Gerald never forgot the rules. Babykiller's organization dealt in shipping and nothing else. Its members bought and sold no drugs, no weapons, no child pornography. They laundered no dirty money. They just moved it, then charged a hefty fee for the service.
    Gerald learned that expensive goods should never languish in a warehouse for long. It made the client unhappy. He learned to schedule his drivers so that their trunks and truck trailers were full, going and coming, because running empty vehicles cut deeply into the profit margin.
    He learned to deal quickly with problem workers. Once, early in his career, he fired an unreliable employee who couldn't manage a simple inside job at the post office. The guy, faced with losing both his real job and his illegal second job—and panicked by the thought of being arrested for tampering with the mail—had flipped out. He'd shown up at work with an assault weapon and blown four people away, including his ex-girlfriend.
    If Gerald felt any remorse, no one around him could tell. He just tightened his hold on his remaining employees and concentrated on avoiding similar problems in the future. Thus far, he had been successful.
    From a safe distance, Babykiller watched Gerald's steady rise through the ranks and calculated the man's trajectory. He would be Babykiller's number-two man by the time he was thirty. Or he would be dead.
    When Gerald was directing all operations in the Northeast, Babykiller decided it was time to take the man's measure. It was time to meet him in person.
    He had browsed at a newstand outside Gerald's Manhattan apartment and watched his employee walk to work. Gerald had worn a frighteningly well-tailored dark suit and a tie that had been knotted with care. He'd looked like a divorce attorney for the well-heeled. Babykiller knew that was what Gerald claimed to be.
    After paying the landlord a healthy entrance fee, Babykiller had toured Gerald's home. The spacious penthouse was decorated with the passion-free elegance of an Architectural Digest cover. There was no sign that a woman had ever lived there, but the drawer in the bedside table was chock-full of condoms.
    Babykiller had picked up the phone and called Gerald for an appointment, knowing full well that Caller ID would tell his quarry that the call originated only a short walk from the office where Gerald did Babykiller's business. Babykiller had walked deliberately, nursing his bad leg, so that Gerald would have time to think about what he wanted and what he planned to do.
    Gerald had passed the first test by greeting him calmly at his office door, saying only, “I've waited a long time to meet you.”
    “Most people are afraid of me.”
    “I've done a good job. I've never stolen from you. I've made you