by Frank Perry
stepped down, it was completely quiet on the airport, no aircraft noises anywhere. The car pulled up next to the plane, and Ramon stepped out of the passenger side to open the rear door for his boss, always remaining alert for anything threatening around the perimeter. They departed immediately.
The ride from the airport to the Biltmore took less than twenty minutes. The pilot was told to stay by the plane and be prepared to leave at any time. They still had plenty of fuel to return back to San Francisco. The Biltmore was located along beautiful Channel Drive in Montecito, the exclusive community south of Santa Barbara. Its expansive single-story Spanish architecture is spread across twenty acres of pristine beach with the Channel Islands consuming the western view and the massive coastal mountains to the east. It’s truly one of the most magnificent locations in California, and Peña reserved the Grande Suite with ocean views on three sides surrounded by manicured grounds in every direction. As they approached, he regretted that he would not spend the night. It was the location that he shared with Melanie on their honeymoon, and she would never forgive him for coming without her. But this was business, dangerous business if anything went wrong.
The car stopped at the lobby entrance, and the driver would park nearby for the remainder of the day, in case needed. Ramon led the way through the open oaken doorway, walking on gleaming terracotta tiles. With Ramon ahead, Peña was completely hidden from the front. Ramon slowed when he saw a familiar man standing at the corner of the lobby near a glass wall overlooking a tropical pond. The big black man wore a suit to disguise his weaponry. Ramon recognized him as one of Mojo’s men and left Peña at the front desk to register while he went to stand by the other body guard. Mojo’s man had a shaved head and distinctive gold chains around his neck, visible through his open collar. There was no mystery about his physical state or weapons cache. He was amply prepared in both regards. Ramon was fifty pounds heavier, six inches taller and equally armed. Standing next to each other, Ramon asked in a deep gravelly voice, “Where’s your man?”
The body guard kept his eyes on Peña across the lobby and simply twitched his head toward the lounge chairs outside under the covered veranda. Ramon looked briefly then returned to focus on the man next to him. When Peña finished checking in, with no luggage, he walked toward the two men, handing a key to Mojo’s man. “Tell him to join us.” Then he and Ramon walked away, but Ramon never lost sight of the other man, who watched him just as cautiously.
The suite consisted of a bedroom adjoining the great room with a bar. It had two bathrooms with Jacuzzi tubs. Sadly, none of the luxury amenities or accommodations would be used. The bed served for Peña to lay his coat. Ramon walked around each of the rooms looking behind doors, under beds and behind curtains. He had no professional security training and didn’t know what he was looking for, but it kept him occupied while Peña relaxed. Moments after arriving, there was a knock at the door. Ramon initially pulled his gun, but Peña signaled him to put it away. The giant man peered through the fish-eye lens in the door and saw only Mojo and his body guard grinning at him. At Peña’s signal, Ramon opened the door, and Mojo entered quickly with his guard close behind.
Mohamed Al-Zeid, Mojo, walked quickly to Peña, who stood in the middle of the room, smiling broadly. “Luca, my friend. How are you?”
Peña answered, “Fine,” while both men embraced in the ritual pat-down each expected. It was a silly way for two men to act, but something both learned in the trade.
Peña gestured for Al-Zeid to sit with him. “Can I order something delivered to the room?”
Mojo snickered, not unless you got some sweet young beach bunny’s standing by.”
Peña smiled, “Not so lucky today, my friend. So, tell me, do you think we should ask our companions to take a walk together?”
It was Al-Zeid’s chance to chuckle. “Yeah. That would be a good idea. These two walking together in the halls of this glorious establishment would cause everyone to panic. I trust my man, do you?”
Peña nodded in agreement. “I trust Ramon with my life, so we can proceed.”
For the next two hours, the two largest drug criminals in the western United States set up the parameters for their new consortium. Both were satisfied that their personal wealth, and safety was enhanced by collaboration. They shook hands. There would be no formal agreements or anything in writing.
At the conclusion, Al-Zeid said, “So, this should be good for us and our distributors, Luca.”
Peña became very serious. “Mojo, I have told you about my agreements below the border to stop the violence. It’s important to get through the next election without passage of new policies legalizing drugs.”
“Hey, Luca. I’m hip, I don’ need no stuff from Mexico no mo’ if yo’ supply is good.”
Peña continued. “We got another problem. There’s some people in Congress that are starting to back the California reforms because they need some votes. It’s all the violence and money spent fighting our people that they want to change.”
“Ain’t gonna happen.”
“You say that, but you need to see the big picture.”
Al-Zeid took offence. “You sayin’ I’m too dumb to unnastand?”
“Look, Mojo, I mean there’s a real chance our businesses could be lost if the drugs are legalized and produced in the States, particularly in California.”
Both men were standing, and Peña was trying desperately to get the other man to understand without maddening him. Mojo responded. “So’s what we gotta do ‘bout it?”
He seemed to be calming down and listening as Peña explained. “We need to turn off the zeal. Certain Legislators need to change their minds.”
Mojo showed his big toothy grin. “One of my specialties.”
Peña remained serious. “Look, Mojo. We gotta use some finesse here. This whole thing could blow up. We can’t go whacking national figures. It’s not the same as offing the scumbags we do every day. Nobody cares about them; they’re dog shit. The police cheer for us. This is different.”
Al-Zeid ran his thick tongue around the inside of his closed cheeks. “Alright, Luca. What you mean finesse?”
Peña took a deep breath, finally getting through to the street thug. “You got people in the East, right?”
“Yeah. You done a purdy good joba’ keepin’ me outa the west, so’s I moved my trade east -- got some fair people.”
“Good. Here’s what I have in mind.”
It took about half an hour to set things in motion. The plan was actually quite simple, but he had to explain it several different ways to Al-Zeid for him to understand it in a way that wouldn’t cause him to take extreme actions that would lead to their destruction.
It was nearing three in the afternoon when all four men walked through the lobby together. Their business dress and menacing appearance drew glances from everyone, but no one dared to stare. None of the lobby staff said a word about wishing them a pleasant evening as they would any other guests going out to local destinations or dinner. The room was paid for and would go unused. Both limousines were parked together.
As they approached their cars, Peña extended his hand to Al-Zeid. “Live long and prosper, my friend.”
Mojo smiled through his pearly teeth, “You, too, Luca.”
Romanoff
Aaron Romanoff led a charmed life. In his mid-forties, he wasn’t married and, more importantly, wasn’t obliged to support anyone else. His constituents in Cleveland loved him or loved the idea of him. As a young man, he’d always wanted to fly jet fighters. His parents were active in the Republican Party, and they were successful getting their long-time family friend elected for several terms. Their support of the Congressman was unwavering and their friendship grew stronger after several years in Washington. Aaron didn’t have bad grades, but he wasn’t the top of his class either. He was active in sports, but never a star. His father and the Congressman had a lot to do with helping
Aaron rise through scouting to Eagle Scout without much effort. The one thing Aaron excelled at was girls. He was extraordinarily handsome.
When Aaron was a senior in high school, he got his dream shot. He received an appointment to the Air Force Academy from their Congressman friend. Just as in high school, he didn’t excel at anything, but wasn’t at the bottom either. He was an average Cadet. His curriculum was centered on International Studies, which eliminated many of the technical career fields. This opened his chances to enter flight training. He had another advantage in flight school because his parents had paid for flying lessons from the time he was fifteen, so he entered the Air Force Program as an experienced pilot. Although most Cadets that meet the physical requirements with 20/20 vision get to explore basic aviation, few matriculate to the top of the class and really get to fly. Fewer yet get to fly fighters. Aaron was at the top of every category in his flight evaluations and realized his dream. He became a fighter pilot.
After completing his obligated service, he was encouraged to return to civilian life in Cleveland by his parents and the retiring Congressman. They didn’t want to force him into politics, but he had powerful endorsements and a ready-made campaign committee made up of party leaders and his parents. He wasn’t actually flying much with cutbacks, just enough
