"You did what?" He demanded.
The man in front of him cowered back a little. He was just another addict, someone trying to get a hit, someone to pay him. He made a mistake by saying how they got their workers.
"I, um, I took her," the man said. "You were grumbling about how much time it took to make the stuff. She was right there, so I thought-"
"No, you didn't think!" He boomed. "You didn't think about how we now have the police looking for her. Now we're gonna have to move our entire operation to the Brazil safe house. You just caused more problems then what you're worth."
"I'm sorry," the man apologized. "I-I'll fix it. It won't happen again."
He took a breath, leaned his hands on the desk in front of him. "You're right. It won't."
The men placed by the door didn't even flinch when the gunshot went off. They barely moved when the body dropped to the floor. They waited for their boss's order.
"Get rid of the body," he commanded. The one on the left of the door stepped forward. He grabbed the arms. The other guard opened the door as the body was dragged through it.
"Open the crate."
The guard stepped to the wooden crate. It was a rectangular shape, the size of a bathtub with small two inch holes on the sides. Enough for a human to breathe. There was a skid on the bottom that allowed the forklift to pick it up. The guard grabbed the crowbar and shoved it between the side and the lid. He pushed down and the lid came up. The guard leaned it against the side of the crate.
He stepped forward and looked inside the crate. He was disappointed.
The girl barely looked eight years old. Her skin was slightly tanned, her brown hair covered her face. He moved it away. She still had baby fat. She didn't look like she had worked a day in her life.
Useless. Unimpressive. She didn't look like she would amount to anything.
"Put her with the others," he told the guard. "We'll whip her into shape soon enough."