Page 36 of Fatal Strike
“What about Tanitox, the laboratory in Austin?” he said.
“I assume they’re regulated. Hold on while I check.” She navigated to Tanitox’s website. “Okay, they operate legally under a state wildlife dealer’s license. After the venom is extracted and processed, it’s still a raw material and therefore not regulated by the USDA or the FDA, but the manufacturers who use the venom have guidelines. Only two facilities in Texas extract venom regularly, Tanitox and a branch of A&M University.”
“Someone’s supplying venom.”
She googled a video about milking snake venom. Her pulse raced.
The narrator’s voice must have snatched Jon’s interest. “What are you listening to?”
Her heart hammered. She swallowed the familiar panic. “Watching a video—how to milk a rattler. Looks like the venom has to be kept frozen or freeze-dried.”
“I’m familiar with the process. When I was a kid in Oklahoma, I had an uncle who kept a pit of rattlers and milked them for sale. Dangerous job, but he kept the snakes sedated for easier handling. He sank a mint into lab equipment, thinking he’d hit a gold mine.” Jon shook his head. “It’s impossible to get rich from antivenom production. About a year later, he sold the business. It’s worth looking deeper into private snake farms, but with a little guts and know-how, any person can extract venom.”
Not her—ever. But Jon was right about finding the source of venom. “How can these guys ever hope to pull off a takeover of southwestern states with a few rattlers? Unless we’re right about the gang using their battle cry as a cover for something else.”
“The rapid spread to other cities likely means massive organization is in place—cells of Venenos recruiting other members. We haven’t seen a rise in illegal drugs, prostitution, illegal weapons, gambling, money laundering, or any of the other violent crime methods of making money, only their mantra and eliminating those who take a position against them.”
“Judge Mendez was one of those voices speaking strongly against the gang’s illegal activities,” she said. “But did he know his killer?”
“Another reason to have a list of those the judge sentenced in the last year, active cases on his desk, and the whereabouts of the six people on Rachel Mendez’s list.”
She wrapped her fingers around the glass of water. “Three people who were connected through law enforcement are dead because of the Venenos.” Her thoughts lingered on Dylan. “How much did Elena know about Dylan?”
“Or how much did Dylan reveal about himself?”
Their food was served, and they ate in silence except for an occasional comment. Leah’s phone rang.
She recognized Silvia’s number and answered. “Ms. Ortega, this is Leah Riesel.”
“I’ve talked to Dylan.” Her voice quaked. “He’s agreed to turn himself in to you and Agent Colbert.”
“That is wonderful news. Very wise. Is he with you now?”
“No.”
“Where would you like for us to meet?” Leah captured Jon’s attention. “We’re at Willy G’s, but we can meet Dylan anywhere.”
“I’ll suggest the parking lot there in an hour. It’s a busy spot, and he should be safe.”
“Yes, ma’am.” She described Jon’s truck and where it was parked.
“Promise me you won’t call the police.”
“I promise. This will be between your son and us.”
24
JON APPRECIATED THE RELATIONSHIPLeah had established with Silvia Ortega. Thanks to his partner’s communication skills, the Veneno killings in Galveston could end tonight. Outside the restaurant, he and Leah walked to the corner and turned right toward the parking lot and his truck. A light flickered across the street between a Jimmy John’s sandwich shop and aStarbucks, but Jon’s gaze settled on the people standing close to him and Leah. He scanned the surroundings and obscure shadows, weighing, analyzing. From the intensity on Leah’s face, she was probably doing the same. Somewhere Dylan waited for them.
Clusters of people talked and laughed—all ages, all cultures. Live music blared, blending a humid August night with a light Gulf breeze. A perfect evening for most. A light rain began tofall. When the narrow street cleared, they crossed to the busy parking lot.
Jon spoke in a hushed tone as they headed toward his truck in the third row. “Did Silvia say Dylan would turn state’s evidence?”
“No, but a plea bargain is in his best interest.”
The light rain quickly increased to a downpour. A group of teens hastened their pace across the lot toward the live music. Jon’s sixth sense detected an ominous presence. Hanson used to tell him his premonitions were a gift from God.
Straight ahead, standing near the driver’s side of his truck was a man, alone and concealed in the darkness. A streak of lightning illuminated the area, and Jon recognized it was Dylan.
