MOB RULES (James Harris Book 2)

by Richard Nesbitt

  There were two other limousines parked outside the upscale restaurant, one in front and one behind the main vehicle. In these sat guests enjoying their customary Friday night out on the town. Drinks were passed around freely as were the tiny glass vials containing the expensive, white powder that financed all of the luxury which the revelers enjoyed. They paid no attention as the security detail ran their normal drill. They did not concern themselves with the help and viewed the time consuming precautions as a necessary inconvenience.

  Finally, the two large men who had entered the restaurant walked outside and gave the all clear signal. One of the bodyguards standing next to the limo opened the door and held it respectfully as four beautiful women climbed out of the vehicle and streamed into the restaurant. They were followed by three well-dressed men and then the boss himself, Rafael Castillo. The drug kingpin paused as he exited the limousine, scanned the street and spoke with authority to the man holding the door.

  As the other two limo’s emptied and the entourage all made their way into the restaurant, Rafael mingled among them, allowing both the men and the women to fawn over him. It had only been a few months since his cousin Salvador had been killed and Rafael was thrust into leadership of the powerful cartel, but the newly appointed drug lord gave the appearance of a man who had spent countless years in the spotlight. He had a voracious appetite for attention and never missed an opportunity to have a gaggle of lackey’s and boot-lickers by his side.

  Rafael entered the restaurant and made his way to the private dining room in the back. The owner of the establishment rushed about the well-appointed room nervously shouting at waiters and taking orders from the entire group as they expressed their desires before even taking a seat. The long, hand carved table was set with the best sterling silver, Waterford stemware and Schweitzer linen napkins. Rafael insisted that each of his guests try the Wagyu Kobe steak which was the equivalent of three hundred American dollars per plate. Cristal and Dom Perignon were on ice and sat in silver buckets against the walls behind the diners. Although not their normal duties, two sommelier’s stood at the ready to pour refills and suggest different options to fit the particular orders of each guest.

  All in all, it was a typical Friday night at Rafael Castillo’s favorite upscale Bogota restaurant.

  What was not typical was the large explosion that rocked the intimate gathering between the second round of appetizers and the main course.

  The doors to the private room were blasted out into the main floor of the restaurant and the sheer concussion blew out the eardrums of most of the other unlucky patrons.

  The plastic explosives had been placed in the lining of the two plush seats at both ends of the table as the bombers were unsure which seat Rafael would choose. What they had no way of knowing was that Rafael had chosen to sit in the middle of the table much as Jesus had done at the last supper.

  As the smoke began to clear amid small fires that dotted the restaurant, the panicked masses all rushed to get out and into the streets. Chaos ensued and sirens began to sound in the distance. An ambulance pulled up and two paramedics rushed into the smoking ruin that only moments before had been a happy, care-free environment.

  A bodyguard who had been outside the restaurant grabbed one of the paramedics by the arm and rushed him towards the back room as he shouted for the second medic to follow. Arms, legs and other body parts that had been torn from Rafael’s guests littered the dark, smoke filled room. The fires that burned randomly illuminated the area in a flickering and macabre glow that resembled hell itself. The stink of cordite and burnt flesh hung in the air to mix with the pathetic moans of the injured.

  The bodyguard quickly scanned the fallen, lifting people from atop one another. Desperation took hold of him as he waded through the gore to find his employer. He flipped the large table and quickly found the man he was looking for. Rafael Castillo was very much alive. The fact that he was the farthest from each blast had left him burned, blackened and in shock, but other than that, in one piece.

  “What happened” He asked incoherently in Spanish as his bodyguard grabbed him around the waist and lifted him from the floor.

  “Come on, boss,” his bodyguard urged. “We have to get you out of here.”

  “Where is everybody?” He mumbled as the scope of what had transpired had not yet registered.

  “You two!” The bodyguard yelled loudly. “Grab him!”

  The two paramedics rushed into action. One grabbed the drug kingpin’s legs while the other grabbed him around the torso. With the bodyguards assistance they quickly moved him out of the restaurant and towards their running ambulance. A second bodyguard appeared and helped them load the boss into the back of the vehicle.

  As they quickly placed the man atop the gurney that lay in the ambulance, one of the medics grabbed some gauze and antiseptic as the other rushed to the driver’s door. As he climbed behind the wheel the two bodyguards scrambled into the back of the ambulance.

  “You cannot ride back here,” the paramedic attending to Rafael spoke to the two men. “It is against regulations. Follow us to the hospital in your own vehicle.”

  One of the bodyguards pulled his jacket aside to show the Uzi that lay strapped to his side. He gave the man a hard look which said the discussion was over. They were not leaving their boss. The paramedic’s eyes went wide as he swallowed hard. He went back to work on his patient.

  “Where is everybody? Rafael repeated in a daze.

  “Drive!” The second bodyguard screamed towards the front of the vehicle.

  With a flip of a switch, the siren wailed and the ambulance pulled away from the scene of destruction.

  “What is going on, Diego?” Rafael said as he recognized his bodyguard. He was starting to come around. “Who has done this?”

  “I don’t know, boss,” the man answered as he grasped Rafael’s hand. “But I thank God that you are all right.”

  “Where are we heading?”

  “To the hospital, Senor Castillo.”

  “I do not want to go to the hospital! Take me back to the compound at once!” Rafael screamed in anger. As the fog cleared he finally understood that he had been the victim of an attempted assignation. Anger took the place of pain as he began to comprehend what had happened.

  “Where is Isabella!?”

  The two bodyguards looked at each other. Neither wanted to answer.

  “I asked you a question!”

  “There were many dead, boss. We had to get you to safety.”

  The ambulance careened around a corner, and then slowed for an even sharper turn. It then resumed speed.

  “Take me back at once!” Rafael screamed again. “We must find Isabella!”

  “Senor Castillo,” The bodyguard tried to reason with the man. “People have tried to murder you tonight. We have to make sure you are safe.”

  “Take me back to the restaurant immediately!”

  “Senor, you are injured,” the medic working on Castillo spoke meekly. “You should go to the hospital.”

  “Stop touching me!” Rafael yelled at the man. He turned to his bodyguard. “Who are these men?”

  “Senor Castillo, they arrived to help after the explosion.”

  The medic continued to wrap the man’s burned arm with gauze.

  “I said to stop touching me! Touch me again and I will cut your fucking head off!”

  The startled man jumped back and looked to the two guards. One of them motioned for the man to join the driver up front. The medic did just that, scrambling over the small partition to take a seat next to the driver.

  “We have to go back and find Isabella!”

  “Senor Castillo, there are many people helping the injured but the threat may not be over. We must get you to safety.”

  The ambulance made a right turn and drove into a wide alley between two large buildings. It slowed and came to a stop. Without warning, both the driver and the other medic leapt out of the vehicle. Their footsteps could be heard s
lapping against the concrete as they ran off into the night.

  “Where are you going?!” One of the bodyguards yelled after them.

  “Fucking cowards!” The other guard spat in anger. He started to maneuver to the front of the vehicle. “I will drive.”

  Rafael grabbed the man’s arm. His eyes were wide.

  “How long after the explosion was this ambulance at the restaurant?”

  “I-I don’t understand, boss.”

  “How quickly did this ambulance arrive!?” Rafael screamed the question as a cold dread swept over him.

  “Well…almost immediately. It was just there.” the man answered. His eyes also grew wide as he finally understood his boss’s hysteria.

  “Fools!” Castillo yelled as he bolted upright and grabbed for the handle of the back door.

  The bullets were everywhere and all at once, ripping through the back and both sides of the ambulance. The three men had no time to react, no time to even scream as each was hit with multiple shots. In all, over one hundred high caliber machine gun rounds passed through the thin aluminum. The men were dead before the shooting stopped.

  Silence followed and then the back doors were thrown open. Smoke from the assault wafted out into the night air.

  A lone man stepped up and crouched into the back of the ambulance. He was dressed all in black clothing including black gloves. He recognized the body of Rafael Castillo and reached forward with a cell phone to snap a picture of the dead man. He then pulled a pistol from his shoulder holster. He pointed the gun at the head of Castillo and fired two shots into his forehead. This done, the man calmly put the gun back in its holster and then leaned in and snapped a second picture.

  He then casually exited the smoking ambulance and got into a waiting car. As the car pulled away slowly, the man opened his phone. He placed a text to a local number, telling the third assault team that they would not be needed.

  He then scrolled down and sent both pictures to a cell phone whose number was located in the United States.

  New York to be specific.

  Mob Rules

  59

  Anthony Scalaro sat behind his desk and pored over the racing forms. The ponies were running at Rillito Park in Tucson and he was stuck between two different horses in the second race scheduled for this Sunday. Running Free was going off at 27 to 1 odds and Laughing Gazelle was at 32 to 1. His contact in Arizona had assured him that the second race was where to look for a longshot win. His contact was rarely wrong.

  Clenched between his teeth was the ever present Cuban cigar, smoke wafting past his face and spiraling upwards. He chewed on the end as he pondered the amount of the wager he was going to place. Although the information was generally solid, it was not infallible. There was still risk. But that was part of the juice. Otherwise it would be like fishing with dynamite. No action except the boom.

  Last night he had heard from his people in Colombia.

  It had been a simple matter of threatening the restaurant owner. If he did not agree to the demands that Scalaro’s associates made, he would be fed to feral hogs. While he was still alive. On the other hand, if he did as he was instructed, he would be rewarded with more money than he could make in five years. The man had no way of knowing that they would use explosives, only that they wanted access to the restaurant earlier that afternoon. It was a double cross of course, not only would the man go unrewarded, he would not live to see the next sunrise. Loose ends had to be snipped.

  There were three separate waves of attack planned. The explosion was the initial attack of course. This was coordinated with the ambulance which would be parked and waiting just around the corner. This was to ensure that they were first on the scene. They were there for the body of Rafael Castillo, to confirm he was dead. If it turned out he was alive, they would get him into the ambulance and a separate car would follow to a designated spot where he would be finished. In the unlikely event that all of that had gone wrong, if the bodyguards had not allowed Castillo to be placed in the ambulance or if the explosives had not detonated, there was a third team of six men with AK-47’s who would have rushed in and leveled a full scale assault on the restaurant.

  Scalaro knew that if they failed, there would be no second chance. He also knew that many people would be hurt and killed. He would have preferred that only Rafael die, but he and his men were looking at life behind bars. Also, his beloved, Don Franco was faced with dying in a cold, dank prison cell. This could not be allowed to happen. Not ever.

  There was no room for error. It went down exactly as he’d ordered it.

  Boom.

  The different news organizations in Bogota all agreed that it would take some time to count the dead accurately. The initial number was at least seven dead with many more horribly injured. The story was soon picked up by every news outlet in the world. Terrorism was first suspected but it didn’t take long for the press to learn that there were cartels involved. That changed the narrative. After Rafael Castillo had been found along with his two bodyguards in the bullet riddled ambulance, the picture started to come into focus. There was a coup afoot in the drug world.

  Almost immediately in the city of Bogota, and throughout the country, gang violence erupted as the power vacuum had to be filled with the blood of many cocaine warriors.

  The Ramirez cartel, which had been the Castillo’s greatest rivals, were the prime suspects and they did nothing to squelch this belief. If people wanted to think that they had such bravado, such brazen cajones, then let them think that. It would serve to keep their own rivals in check.

  The multitude of cable news network’s in America showed the graphic blast zone every hour on the hour, bodies digitally blurred and censored. Blood and gore always raised ratings.

  Now, as he made his decision on the second race at Rillito Park this coming Sunday, Scalaro reached for his cell phone to call the man who placed his bets. As he grabbed for his phone it began to ring. It was a familiar number.

  “Hello, Captain Harris,” he said with a warm smile that registered through the phone. “How the hell are you?”

  “”I’m not sure, Tony.” Harris said coldly. “To be honest with you I feel a little sick to my stomach.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  There was silence on the line. Neither man spoke. Finally Harris broke.

  “That many people, Tony?! Are you fucking serious!?”

  “Whoa, what the hell are you talking about, Jimmy?”

  “You know what the hell I’m talking about! You know damn well what the fuck I’m talking about!”

  “You’d better check your tone, Jimmy,” the underboss spoke coolly, his voice a razors edge. “You’re not talking to one of your cop buddies.”

  “That wasn’t part of the fucking deal. I never signed on for that!” Harris growled into the phone as he did his best to control his temper.

  “Signed on for what?” Scalaro answered. “I have no idea what you’re talking about but from what I’m hearing, your problem in South America just got solved. I would think you’d be grateful to whoever did this.”

  “Jesus Christ, Tony,” Harris tried to collect himself. He realized that he would get nowhere losing his temper. “How the fuck am I supposed to live with this?”

  “I believe the optimal word here is live, Jimmy. You and your family will live.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Harris repeated, his voice calmed. “So many people, Tony.”

  “Mostly other drug pushers and their whores I’m hearing.”

  “That doesn’t make it any better. There had to be another way.”

  “Well,” the underboss spoke slowly as he searched for the right words. “I’m sure whoever did this would have preferred another way. But sometimes you don’t have time to wait for the perfect scenario. As you so eloquently put it, there was no time to fuck around.”

  Silence.

  “Did you not say that the time for action was now?” Scalaro finished.

  More silence. />
  “In any case, what’s done is done,” Scalaro finished. “I would imagine that you’d be grateful to whoever solved your problem.”

  “I’ll be honest with you, I don’t know what to feel,” Harris slowed his speech as he wrestled with different emotions.

  “These were bad people, Captain Harris. The world’s a better place without them.”

  “Okay, Tony,” Harris said in a low voice. He felt deflated. Now that this was over, he just wanted to crawl into a hole and stay there for a month. The entire ordeal had pushed him beyond his limit. “I guess it’s done. It’s over.”

  “Well,” Scalaro spoke up, concern growing in his voice. “I would hardly say that. There is the other matter we discussed.”

  “No Tony,” Harris spoke softly as he kept a low key. “I’m done. It’s over.”

  Scalaro sat up straight in his chair. His mood darkened and he dropped the racing form. He hesitated as he once again chose his words carefully.

  “Jimmy,” Scalaro breathed into the phone. “Gratitude is something I expect in a man. That and keeping ones word.”

  “I understand that, Tony. What I’m telling you is that I’m done. Our arrangement is over.”

  “How do you figure?” Scalaro asked in a low growl, his voice an ice pick.

  “Mr. Scalaro, we have concluded our business. Once I hang up this phone there is no reason for us to ever speak again. Do you understand?”

  Scalaro rose from his chair. He allowed a few seconds to pass before he responded.

  “You’d better explain yourself,” he said doing his best to remain calm.

  “My family is safe now, Tony,” Harris paused. “And so is yours.”

  “What?” Scalaro asked doing little to mask his confusion.

  “Go open the back door to your office,” Harris said with an air of finality. “Goodbye, Tony.”

  With a click the call ended.

  Tony’s eyes shot towards the back door. He stood in place, his mind furiously running through the possibilities. What the hell had he done trusting this cop? He reached down and pulled open the top drawer of his desk. Grabbing his handgun, Tony walked slowly towards the door leading to the pool hall. He opened it and motioned to the two men sitting at the table closet to his office. The men, noting both the gun and the look on their bosses face, reached for their own weapons as Tony walked back into his office and over to the back door. His men followed.