He happened to have a few bricks rumbling around in the back of his SUV, left over from a landscaping project. He always kept twine in his glove compartment. The idea developed from there. He debated whether to even bother but eventually decided it couldn’t do any harm. It might have been the final piece to convince Carter Ross to back off. What said you were dealing with an old-school tough guy—the kind who wouldn’t be afraid to follow through on his threats—better than a brick through the window? He should have known better. Ross just didn’t scare that easily. Seeing Ross at the funeral—as apparently resolute as ever—made that altogether too obvious. This was the one reporter who wouldn’t quit until he was in the grave. It was finally time to make arrangements for that. His first task was to find a place. He had a few spots in mind and the second one he scouted turned out to suit his needs. It was deep in the swampy reaches of the Jersey Meadowlands, the kind of spot where the mob had been stashing bodies for decades.
