by AJ Adams
The boat was beginning to pitch and roll, a sign that we’d arrived. I clicked open the cuffs and pulled Gina off the bed. She fell at my feet, whimpering and moaning.
It enraged me to see her sprawled there. I grabbed her hair and pulled her to her knees. “How much did they pay you?”
“Nothing! You’re wrong! This is a mistake!”
I slapped her face. “How much, Gina?” I slapped her again. “How much did Jimenez pay you to set me up?”
“I didn’t know it was a set-up!” Gina was babbling now, frightened that I knew his name.
“How much?”
Two slaps later, she caved. “Fifty thousand dollars! He said he’d give me fifty thousand dollars.”
It silenced me. I couldn’t believe she’d betrayed me for small change.
“I didn’t know!” Gina cried. “He said he wanted to talk to you, that’s all.”
The lying, conniving bitch! As if she didn’t know we Zetas have been fighting the Gulf for decades. I wanted to bitch slap her, but I controlled myself; I wanted to know exactly how the Gulf had hoped to work this. I was curious, because this attempt was uncharacteristic.
When the Gulf attack, they usually opt for a straightforward sniper scheme or a car bomb, but this time they’d resorted to working with the Drug Enforcement Agency in the US – a new low, even for the Gulf. They’d set up a buy, scheming to get me into American waters with a two hundred fifty kis of coke, which would give the DEA authority to take me out. Jimenez, the Gulf capo who’d planned it, was tracking my movements with Gina’s help and keeping the DEA in the loop.
Gina Garcia Ortega, that bleeding, shivering, snivelling wreck clutching my knees, was a bright young lawyer who had been top of her class. She had trained at a prestigious legal firm in Mexico City and then returned home to Nuevo Laredo to set up her own practice. I’d come across her at a mayor’s fundraising dinner three months ago, and she’d moved in with me two days later.
It wasn’t exactly love at first sight. I’d known from the start that she was attracted by the fact that I’m the real power in Nuevo Laredo. I am head of Los Zetas, and my word is law. I knew Gina liked the idea of dating a cartel man, and the fact that I’m stinking rich helped, too.
Most of us Zetas are rich, but I’ve done particularly well. The cartels make $30 billion in drug sales from the US alone, and I get a good chunk of that. I happen to have a flair for business, so I also have projects going in a dozen other places, from gun running in Somalia to money laundering in China and emerald mining in Brazil. I’m into currency trading, too, and I have a nice portfolio of stocks and shares. I made over fifty million last year, and more than half of it came from legitimate business.
So I knew it wasn’t love that brought Gina to my bed, but I couldn’t figure out why she’d sold me out for fifty thou when I know she could have asked me or the Feds for a million and gotten it easily.
I grabbed her chin and forced her to look at me. “What was Jimenez to you?”
“Nothing!”
She was telling the truth. “So why did you do it?”
“I needed the money.”
“I’ve spent more than that on you in an afternoon.” I spotted the diamond and emerald ring I’d given her on our second date. It had cost considerably more, as had the diamond necklace, the designer wardrobe, the doctor’s bills incurred by her aunt, and the tuition fees I’d paid for her sister. I slapped her again. “Why, Gina?”
“They said they’d make me famous! They said they would appoint me as the legal representative for the North Mexico Board of Trade. I’d get a bite from every American business venture between here and Tijuana. I’d have the biggest practice in northern Mexico!”
Considering she’d blown off the legal work I’d given her and had in fact not been in her office for weeks, that made me boil over again. “You stupid, lazy bitch!”
“I made a mistake! I’m sorry! I’ll show you how sorry I am!”
Incredibly, she was pawing at my zip. It had been a game I’d taught her, but the thought of her sucking my cock made me sick. I yanked her to her feet, stripped off her jewellery, stuck it in my pocket and marched her out of the cabin and onto the deck.
We were thirty miles offshore, but the forty metres of beautifully designed luxury that made up the Gresham, my trideck Sunseeker, was absorbing the swell of the Mexican Gulf beautifully.
The crew were below decks, but Rafa and Chumillo were topside, drinking tequila slammers and chumming the waters with the aid of a barrel of meat. Gina took one look and screamed. They had set Jimenez’ head on the bar next to their tequila. They’ve got a black sense of humour that I rather like, but Gina obviously didn’t share it.
At the sound of her scream, Rafa and Chumillo turned around and grinned. They didn’t like Gina much. They run the day-to-day operations in Mexico for me, but over the months Gina had been my girl, she’d acted as if they were peons and she a great lady. It hadn’t gone over well.
Gina was feeling somewhat under-dressed, but I kept a hold of her hair, and that forced her to stay upright. Her eyes were red and swollen, her makeup had smeared, and her nose was running. She looked like shit.
I shook her so they got a good look at her. “Either of you want a bit of this?”
Gina gasped with horror, but Rafa and Chumillo shook their heads instantly. I didn’t blame them. There were better-looking chupitas working the back lanes of Nuevo Laredo.
Keeping a hold of Gina, who was crying again, I looked over the side. “Any luck?”
“We’ve got some action,” Chumillo said while pointing at a white tipped fin that broke the surface of the water.
Cousteau used to come here to see the sharks, and I could see why. They were beautiful, cutting through the water like silk. They were enjoying Jimenez, too. He’d been well fed, and the sharks looked like they appreciated meat rimmed with fat.
“No!” Gina had spotted the game plan for the afternoon, and she didn’t like that, either. “Arturo, please, no!”
I’d had enough of her. I threw an arm around her shoulders, kicked her in the back of the knees, and when they buckled, I picked her up and swept her over the side. She screamed and landed in the water with a tremendous splash.
They say you should keep still when in shark-infested waters, but Gina either hadn’t heard, or she’d forgotten. She kicked, shouted and tried to claw her way up the Gresham’s sleek sides. Rafa, Chumillo and I watched as the white tips circled, curious about this new thing. Sharks are predators, but they’re not stupid. They were waiting to see if this new fish was dangerous before seeing if it was tasty.
When Gina continued to scream and yell, sliding off the side of the boat and splashing about, one of the white tips dove deep and swam past her feet, taking a sideswipe at her with its tail. It must have gotten a sniff of blood from the stripes on her ass, because it jack-knifed and took a chunk out of her. Her shrill squeal was loud enough to be heard in Nuevo Laredo. The second shriek was cut short as another dragged her under the water. A minute later the sea was writhing with feasting sharks.
“Very efficient,” Chumillo remarked.
“Quick, too,” Rafa said. “Too damn quick for a traitor.”
Chumillo nodded. They work for me, but they’re also my cousins, so we’re close. They weren’t happy when we found out that Gina was talking to the enemy, and they’d helped me make sure that Jimenez hadn’t gone slow. We’d cut him into pieces, twelve pieces to be exact, and he’d survived the first seven slices. Amazing really. I was betting he’d croak after five, and as a result, I owed them a case of Fortaleza Reposado each.
“Chuck in the rest of Jimenez,” I told them, “and let’s get back to base.”
We blasted back to port and took a chopper home. It had been a long day, so I sent Rafa and Chumillo on their way and decided I needed a beer. It was dark by this time, but when I headed for the deck by the pool, one patch of shade looked darker than the rest.
“Kyle.�
�� I smiled at the sight of my little brother. Well, half-brother. And not so little, either, at six foot two.
Kyle is my closest friend and my most trusted associate. Officially he takes care of security, but I rarely take a step without talking to him. Kyle is a decorated soldier, a Marine and a black ops man. He’s clever, cool under pressure and the most inventive tactician and strategist in the Americas.
“Arturo.” Kyle opened the fridge behind him and tossed me a Dos Equis. “Rough day?”
“A bit.”
Kyle put a bottle of Mescal on the table. “Thought you’d want a real drink, too.”
We sat in the dark and drank. My place lies twenty kilometres south of town, so we’re not plagued by urban noise or lights. It was warm, the skies were clear, and we could see the Milky Way.
“I heard back from London,” Kyle said quietly. “Escamilla has moved in and is setting up.”
It was good news. We’d taken over a new slice of territory, and Escamilla was there to make sure everything went smoothly.
“He’s an asshole, but the promotion has lit a fire under his lazy ass,” Kyle said. “He’s already set up headquarters, some old place in the country, and the distributors have sold the first consignment.”
“Great!”
“He told me he wanted more next time round. I told him to talk to you.”
“We’ve got plenty of stock.” I knew Kyle was troubled about something. “Still think Escamilla’s a security risk?”
Kyle shrugged. “On paper he’s perfect, and we’ve known him since kindergarten. As I said before, there’s no good reason to doubt him, except I think he’s got a core of greed that may be dangerous. He may eventually try and go it alone.”
“Anyone might do anything,” I told Kyle. “All the usual checks are in place.” I thought about it. Kyle does have that sixth sense about people. “We’ll keep an extra careful eye on him, and we’ll plan for trouble. If he does do something stupid, make an example of him.”
“I’ll send a message they’ll hear in hell.”
I knew he would, too. My brother has a spectacular flair for revenge. His last message, a crucifixion, had made headlines in four countries.
“I checked on Gina’s family,” Kyle said quietly.
I’d known he would. It’s routine.
“They’re clean.”
In the old days, I would have given the order for all of them to be executed, just as a general object lesson, but we had a new policy of not letting our punishments fall on family and friends uninvolved in our affairs. It was an innovation I was beginning to regret.
I took another slug of beer. “Take them all out,” I told him.
“No.”
For a moment I couldn’t breathe. “Why the fuck not?”
“I promised Chloe.”
Right. I should say here that Kyle, the terror of Afghanistan, the man who’s taken apart camps of insurgents single-handedly, is a complete and utter pussy when it comes to his girlfriend. The second she raises that chin of hers and gives him that look that says she means business, he instantly knuckles under. It was her idea to forgo revenge on innocents as she calls them, and Kyle talked me into agreeing to it by pointing out that we make enough enemies in our business without going out of our way to make more. A lot of my senior staff liked the idea, too, so I did the decent thing and gave in. Now I wanted to go back to my old ways. I was dying for a bloodbath.
“Arturo, they welcomed me with open arms – no hesitation, not the slightest bit a guilt. They didn’t know a thing.” Kyle tossed back his shot and poured us both another. “Most of the family lives in Mexico City. All she has here is a sister and an aunt. The sister’s a kid. She was seventeen last month. And the aunt is an old crone, half deaf and half blind. Do you really want them taken out?”
“Yes. No.” I looked back at the empty house and realised I’d forgotten to tell Luz, my housekeeper, to clear away Gina’s things. Her dresses were still hanging in my closet, her toothbrush still sitting next to mine. “Oh, fuck it all, Kyle. I’m giving up on women.”
“That’s okay by me, but you’re going to get a world of shit from everyone else. Don’t ask, don’t tell isn’t just for the Marines; the cartel’s pretty homophobic, too.”
“Very funny.” I downed my shot and poured us another. It was excellent stuff: ten years old, aged in casks and made from the best blue agave. It was smooth, warm and aromatic, a perfect accompaniment to the chilled, slightly sour beer. “Gina was a bust, and so were Carmen, Letitia and Harper.”
Kyle has a great memory, but he was looking a bit blank, so I reminded him. “Carmen was the soap opera star, Letitia was the model, and Harper was the banker.”
“Sure I remember them, but they were hardly like Gina,” Kyle objected.
“They were. I got rid of them because they talked.”
Kyle stared at me. “Bro, Carmen is on TV three times a week, Letitia is on every second magazine cover, and last I heard, Harper was promoted to vice president.”
Typical Kyle; he thinks getting rid of someone means a ticket to the afterlife. “I meant that I dumped them because they told the world how to get to me.”
“Ah yes, Carmen put your holiday itinerary on her blog.”
“And Harper told her board about the land deal I was putting together.”
“I remember,” Kyle said tersely. “The bitch should’ve paid for that.”
Her gossip had cost me twenty percent on a fifteen million dollar deal, but suddenly it seemed funny. “She did get paid; she got a promotion!”
It must have been the mescal, because we laughed like hyenas and then got to dragging up every god-awful date we’d ever had, starting with the kisses Alice Bedouski sold us for candy hearts when we were five years old. She’d eaten two whole packs and thrown up after, so it hadn’t exactly been a great deal for us.
Talking to Kyle always makes me feel better, and by the time we were half way down the bottle, I was feeling no pain. “My next girl is going to be different,” I told him.
“Sure,” Kyle mused. “You’re having a run of bad luck, that’s all. The next one will be better.”
“I’m changing my strategy. If I don’t, I’ll end up with just another Gina, and I’m fed up with greedy sluts.”
“So you’re going to pretend to be poor and look for a virgin maiden who’ll love you for yourself?”
Kyle can be such an asshole sometimes. I motioned to him to refill our glasses. “I know what I want. She’s got to be easy on the eye, hot in the bedroom and quiet outside it.”
“Sounds simple enough.”
“Yup, I don’t want someone local; she’ll be too tempted to talk to her friends and family. I’ll make a few calls and get some photos sent over from LA and Moscow.”
“A pro?” Kyle frowned. “You’ll be bored in a week. Even the best ones are brainless unless it comes to money.”
“I don’t mind gold-diggers. Money motivates everyone.”
“Not Chloe.”
“No, not Chloe! Chloe is perfect. Chloe is wonderful!”
Kyle was grinning. “And don’t you forget it.”
“Be reasonable, Kyle. I’m stuck here most of the time because of security. I’ve had six relationships in two years, and none of them has worked. Regular girls don’t understand that our business comes with a price.”
“We could take a trip to Bogotá or San Salvador. I hear the Mara have some sweet looking daughters. And they’d be easy to assimilate here.”
“Sure. And the second I dump her or have a bit on the side, we’ve got a turf war. No thanks. From now on I’m sticking to pros. They’ll do the job, without the fuss and bother.”
Kyle sank another shot. “Sounds like a plan. Let’s get drunk.”
“Sure thing.” I looked at the empty house behind me. Really, it had been a crappy day. I picked up the phone. “Let me make those calls first. I think I’ll start with a double deal: One blonde and one redhead. That should keep thin
gs interesting.”
“If you’re going to rebound, do it in style.”
Chapter One: Arturo
We drove round the back of the house, parking the SUV out of sight from the road. There were just five of us. Kyle had assembled his best men: Quique, Chema and Pedro Rojo, all ex-Special Forces, and me.
They were sitting in the back dressed in camo gear, body armour, night vision goggles and carrying HK416 rifles. I was wearing jeans and a pullover, so I was acting as driver. In Nuevo Laredo the police know better than to interfere with us, but in England it still pays to be discrete.
Fucho should have been waiting, but the house was in darkness.
“Trouble,” Kyle breathed as he pointed at the kitchen door. A pane of glass had been broken. At the sight of it, my heart began to beat faster.
Fucho was my inside man at Escamilla’s and it was his call to me the day before that had brought us here.
“Escamilla is ready to set up as an independent. He’s cleaning house, moving money and reaching out to the Polish mafia to make a mutual protection deal.”
“Hang tight. We’re on our way.”
“Sure boss, but he’s moving fast. Very fast indeed.”
“I’m leaving in ten minutes. If you get an opportunity to take him out before I get there, do so.”
“I’ll try, but he hasn’t been seen outside of his office since yesterday afternoon. A cold, they said, but it looks like he’s holing up and mobilising.”
“Fuck!”
“Sorry, boss. I should have called sooner.”
“Not to worry, we still have time. See in you in a few hours.” I realised Fucho was hurting, pissed at being taken in by Escamilla. “Fucho, don’t take undue risks. I’m bringing a team.”
Unfortunately, Escamilla had smelled a rat. I found Fucho in the living room. By the look of the scene, the end had been quick. A shot to the back of the skull, and from the way he sprawled on the sofa, he hadn’t even heard it coming. He still had his gun in his hand, a nice little Glock, perfect for a quiet assassination.
