Los Zetas Cartel Collection (3 book series)

by AJ Adams

  “You’re more worried about gossip than your niece’s welfare?”

  At this point, of course, people were listening in. The family were providing quite a floorshow.

  Roger was mumbling something about the good name of the Trueloves, and that just did it for me.

  “Roger, if you interfere with Millie, I will personally beat the fuck out of you. Now get out and go talk to Frank. He’s high when he isn’t pissed. If you’re not careful, he’ll end up an addict as well as a drunk.”

  Roger went white, then red, and just as he was about to yell, I picked up the cricket bat I keep under the bar. I tell the plods it’s because I love to be ready for a game whenever it’s offered, but between you and me, it’s amazing how handy it is when someone really steps out of line. I have picked it up once or twice, but I’ve never used it. Nobody has ever had the balls to try me. Frank bitched to all of London that I’d bashed him for hitting me, so they all knew I wasn’t taking any shit from anyone.

  Now there was a dead silence as everyone watched Roger.

  “You wouldn’t dare!”

  “Yesterday I had you by the balls, remember? I let go then. This time I’m not messing about.”

  Roger looked appalled, and then he stood up and left.

  Every punter in the place was staring, all the good vibrations gone. They’d picked up on something bad happening to Delicia, and they didn’t like it.

  Time to save the revenue stream.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, that was our entertainment for tonight. A family drama in two acts. There will be more free kettle chips in ten minutes.”

  I spoke well, and people were thinking it wasn’t so bad if I acted cool. It might sound cold, but airing the family dirty laundry would hit Millie and Delicia in the pocket. They’d had enough trouble, so I’d do my damnedest to keep us all afloat.

  My casual announcement had worked. I could tell this crowd would be here till closing time. The Black Horse was better than a Soho floorshow.

  Quique was just sitting there, enjoying himself like everyone else. I was still at the point of eruption, and I could see by the unholy glee in his eyes that he knew.

  “Hey bruja!”

  I wanted to slap him, but I know when I’m being pushed, so I smiled and put on my pro bartending act. “Good evening. What will you have?”

  “A beer.” I gave him a pint, thinking he’d hate it because most foreigners loathe warm English beer, but he sipped it and smiled. “Nice. A bitter, right?”

  Score one for the bugger.

  “Quite.”

  Quique went on needling me. “Your eyes are great when you’re angry.”

  “Oh, shut up!” It slipped out before I could stop myself, but I knew how to hit back. “Thank you so much for making the bed before you left last night.”

  Scott’s eyes were popping, Dwayne was listening in unabashedly, and to my incredible annoyance, I could feel myself go red.

  Quique was still smiling. “No problem. Speaking of which, this is for you.”

  He put a parcel on the bar. It was a chunky, soft, and wrapped in gold paper with a lilac ribbon. My favourite colour is lilac, and I hadn’t seen a gift wrapped so prettily since my wedding.

  “For me?”

  My voice was coming from a mile away. For a moment I wondered if it was a nasty trick like a body part, but his eyes were laughing in a nice way. He was enjoying my surprise.

  “Yeah. Go on, open it.”

  It was a set of jammies, the softest silk, lilac and patterned with exotic blue and pink flowers. They were gorgeous, luxurious and exactly the right size.

  “Yours looked a bit over-loved,” Quique said earnestly, “so I thought you’d like some new ones. You know, for when you have company.”

  The bugger! But I had to laugh. He’d taken my trick with the safe well, turned it against me, and I liked him for it.

  “If you’ve some time, I would like a word, but there’s no hurry.” Mr Smooth was working well. “I'll take you to dinner.”

  “She’s working!” Scott must have had one too many. “And who are you, anyway?”

  Quique grinned at him. “I’m a professional bed-maker.”

  Seeing Scott swell up like a bullfrog about ready to croak, I interrupted, “I can’t, Quique. I’ve got fifty lasagnes in the oven. Come into the back.” I saw Scott glaring at me and ignored him. “We can talk as I finish them off.”

  I spoke nicely, but the events of the day had convinced me to keep the kebab shop. After being reamed by the family, I was dying to run my own business. The idea of getting shot of the lot of them was too good to give up.

  At this point my heritage kicked in. Although he never talked about it, I knew my father had been connected back in the old country. Mam had told me he'd been a fairly senior member of the Rohozneanu, an organised crime family. When he'd fallen for her, the daughter of a policeman, they'd run off, escaping both their angry families, and settled in London. Now my father's Rohozneanu blood surged and gave two fingers to Quique and his Zetas.

  I told myself that this was England and not Mexico. The Zetas were nasty but I’d lived with gang violence all my life. Fuck it, living with the Trueloves in full drama snit was like a war zone! This was no different.

  But looking at Quique’s dark eyes, fierce and determined, I decided to be polite about it. “I’m not selling. It’s not personal. The kebab shop is perfect, and I can’t face another year looking for an alternative.”

  “I totally understand, bruja. That’s why I’m changing my offer. Give me the property, and I'll give you another place. I’ll do all the work, you needn’t do anything except for saying which one you want.”

  He showed me his phone. “I’ve got half a dozen places within three miles of your apartment. Tomorrow I’m getting properties in South Bank and the City.”

  He was making a real effort, and I was almost tempted. Almost but not quite. “Look, no means no, okay?”

  “Don’t make important decisions in a hurry.” He spoke nicely, but the eyes were flinty again. “Be sensible.”

  “Is that a threat?” My temper was on the rise again and I found myself picking up my meat cleaver. “D’you know what? I’m fed up of men bullying me!”

  Quique opened his mouth, about to yell right back at me, when the back door burst open and three blokes in ski masks came running in. I’d thought the drama was over, but apparently there was a third act.

  Chapter Nine: Quique

  Like last time, the kitchen was filled with delicious scents. She had trays of cooling lasagne, apple pies and a tureen of vegetable soup that was total gastroporn. Heaven smells like that, I just know it. Unfortunately, I wasn’t being offered dinner that night.

  The bruja was telling me she didn’t want to sell, but this time I was listening instead of getting mad, and for the first time I understood her. She didn’t see the kebab shop as a property; she saw it as an escape. That was a problem, because giving up something you own is easy, but giving up a dream is an entirely different thing.

  I was sympathetic, but I couldn’t let her stand between me and my goal. I had to deliver the job. Also, I couldn’t tell her why I needed the shop; James’ warning about people hiking their prices still rang in my ears. But instead of explaining in words of one syllable what happens to people who fuck with us, I made nice.

  She didn’t get it. “No means no.”

  I wasn’t worried. I knew that when she heard about Sooty, she’d make the connection. Also, seeing I’d be establishing our territory, she’d clock the bodies to follow and fall into line. So I was about to give her an ultimatum, a week to think about it, in a very nice way, when these three jackasses came running in.

  “Give us your fucking money!” one yelled.

  “And the keys to the cellar!” another growled.

  “Where’s the single malt?” the third piped up.

  They wore ski masks and had golf clubs. They were confident and practiced. They’d probably robb
ed local storekeepers successfully by sheer intimidation, but the bruja wasn’t impressed.

  “I know who you are, Fred Blessly! That bloody awful spider tattoo on your neck really doesn’t suit you!”

  You know, I admired her. Zeta women are cool under pressure. They’d mouth off to maintain respect, but then they’d do the sensible thing and leave it to me. This woman wasn’t scared, but being the bruja, she wasn’t being sensible, either.

  She hefted that meat cleaver. “I count to three, and then I’m bloody well turning you from Peckham Knaves to Peckerless Gits! One, two—”

  I could see she was going for it, and so could they. One of them began to lift his golf club, but of course I was way ahead of him. I had my Magnum in his face while he was still thinking about it.

  “I’m gonna count, too. One.” I kicked right, catching the one nearest me in the gut. “Two.” I punched the one in front of me in the face. “Three.” And I finished the last one off with a side-snap, one of my favourite moves because it works so well in a tight space.

  That was all it took because I’d done the job just right. This lot weren’t going anywhere.

  “Oh.” The bruja stood there, meat cleaver in her hand, looking totally surprised. “That was efficient.”

  I had a flashback of Tina after I punched Antonio. This woman was perfectly calm. I also realised something else. Every time I looked at her, I was seeing the bruise on her jaw and feeling guilty. This time I was looking at the unmarked profile.

  Like I said before, Natalia has lovely black hair. With all the action, it was floating around her shoulders, fanning in gentle waves. She also had terrific eyes, large, a wonderful colour of grey, dark lashes a mile long, cheekbones to die for, beautiful lips and great skin. But now I could see that someone had broken her nose. It had been set a little crooked.

  It made me angry and I heard myself snap, “Who hit you?”

  “Nobody!” She was totally taken aback. “They never got near me, didn’t you see?”

  “I mean the nose.”

  “Oh, that was my ex.”

  No wonder she divorced the fucker. Looking at that reminder of how fragile the bruja really was, I was suddenly grateful I’d never put hands on Tina in anger.

  “You okay?” The bruja was giving me an odd look.

  “Terrific.”

  She looked at the men on the floor and removed the ski masks. “I’ve seen them around. Peckham Knaves.” She looked up and smiled. “Amazing, the way you took them down.”

  “They’re just amateurs,” I holstered my gun and took shots of their faces with my phone. It’s a habit with me to ID everyone, even low-level trash. “Make sure nobody comes in while I take out the garbage, okay?”

  She was frowning, “I don’t want the plods all over this.”

  Plods, rozzers, fuzz, the filth, bacon... It’s amazing how many weird names the English have for cops. I’d have been lost if I hadn’t known Chloe, my boss’s girl, and Solitaire, the jefe’s jefa. They speak regular English most of the time, but when they get together, it’s like they’re speaking in tongues. It’s wild, and I love listening to them. The States and the UK: two countries separated by a common language, someone once said. I couldn’t have put it better myself.

  Like a damn fool I turned to reassure her. “Don’t worry about the cops, I’m—”

  “Watch out!”

  One of the fuckers was half-heartedly reaching for a knife in his boot. I had my gun out, and I would’ve just used it to scare him, to break his teeth with the barrel, not to shoot him, but before I could do it the bruja was moving back, and then all hell broke loose.

  There was an ear-splitting blast, then a blaring horn and another blast. Honestly, sound is a lethal weapon. I learned that last year when a romantic beach date I’d set up for Tina and me was ruined by six dead whales, killed by the US Navy’s sonar. She bitched at me for days about that, like I'm responsible for those fuckers and their killer sound systems.

  Anyway, the blast lasted just a few seconds, but I thought I was going the way of those whales. I was seeing spots and my ears were ringing. I instinctively stepped away, too, but I didn’t scream the way the Peckham pussies did.

  When the sound stopped, I recognised the box in her hand instantly. A personal alarm, one of the good ones that’s louder than a jet engine. I’d given one to Tina… No, I didn’t want to go there.

  “Put that fucking gun away!” What are those women called that are part hawk? The one that claw you up and eat you alive? Harpies! Yeah, the bruja was having a spectacular fit of rage. “You were going to shoot him in my kitchen? Are you bloody insane?”

  “I wasn’t going to shoot him!”

  The losers on the ground were moaning and trying to get to their knees. Big mistake, because the virago turned on them.

  “Get the fuck out!” She was kicking the Peckham chochos, literally booting them out of the door as they scrambled about on their hands and knees. “Go on! Fuck off and don’t come back!”

  Me, I cracked up. It was funny as hell seeing those losers being seen off by one unarmed girl. She got them good, too, aiming for their balls. They squealed like pigs, got to their feet in record time and took off.

  “What’s going on?” Her barman Dwayne and the stuffed shirt who’d been making sheep’s eyes at her earlier were standing behind us. “What was that awful noise?”

  The pussies had fled, and so I quietly put the gun behind my back. No point in causing a scene, right?

  “It’s my rape alarm.” The bruja was still raging mad. “It’s just noise.”

  Dwayne looked at me in surprise. “Erm, rape alarm?”

  “Yes, I was showing it to Quique. He was impressed.”

  Dwayne shook his head. “Nats, everyone in the bar was impressed. Hell, London was impressed! England was impressed! Scotland, Wales and Ireland were impressed!”

  Dwayne was impressed, too, I could tell. Me, I couldn’t stop laughing.

  “But, Natalia! What happened? Are you okay?”

  Sheep-eyes was bleating, and it made her poker up again.

  “Nothing happened and I’m fine, thank you, Scott. Dwayne, please make sure the punters are happy.”

  “Kettle chips?”

  “Nope. They’ve had enough freebees tonight. Trust me, they’ll be in here till closing time, just in case they miss something.”

  “You’re right there. We’re making a bomb.”

  “Tomorrow we’re selling tickets. With shows like these, we can charge an entry fee.”

  “But Natalia, what’s going on?” Scott was upset. “They’re saying the most awful things about you in the bar.”

  Jesus, talk about how to set up a woman’s back, right? What a pendejo!

  He got full-on ice. “Oh? Well, it’s a free country, isn’t it?”

  “I’m setting them straight, but it’s not easy, Natalia!” He was digging his own grave, the silly bastard. I just sat back and watched, but something about my smile upset Sheep-eyes. “And who is this? Why are you talking to him?”

  “He’s advising me on a better way to make my bed.”

  She shooed them back into the pub and closed the door. Me, I went to sit down to continue our conversation. I put my gun on the counter, though, just in case the wannabes were stupid enough to come back.

  “In your new place, you need better security. The locks in this place are shit.”

  I was pitching well, but she wasn’t listening. Instead, she was looking out the back door, watching the path outside. We could see beams of light. I picked up my gun.

  “Police! Is everything all right in there?” A very pink face peered round the door. “Good evening, Miss, Sir. Everything all right?”

  I quietly put my gun in my lap. In Nuevo Laredo the cops would never dare disturb me, but I wasn’t known here, so I decided to be discreet. Hopefully the bruja would get rid of him quick. Of course, she did just the opposite.

  “If you’d been here five seconds earlier
, you would have caught three armed robbers,” she snapped.

  As if by magic, Smith appeared. He must have been watching the place. Or me. Maybe they’d found Sooty by now. “Oh come on! Robbers? Three of them? What were they after? Your lasagne?”

  I must say, I wasn’t happy to see him. If only that damn woman had let me deal with things, we would be talking business instead of having to entertain loser cops. I smiled though and nodded. “Smith! Valedor!”

  He gave me a nasty look. “I saw you come in. What are you doing here?”

  So he had been watching this place, not me. What a damn idiot to give that bit of information away.

  I nodded towards the bruja. “Oye cabron! Why do you think? Guapa, and she cooks like an angel! Estoy enchufando!”

  He got my drift, and so did the girl because Frosty was back in full force. “Instead of gabbing nonsense, why don’t you catch the three buggers who were after my whiskey?”

  Smith didn’t believe her. “Armed robbers? Three of them?”

  “Yes!”

  “Or maybe your pal Sooty came round?”

  So that’s who he was after.

  “No, I’ve not seen him today.”

  It was clear she was totally unaware that he had been iced.

  Smith didn’t know either, but he was on the warpath. “The Twittertons were shot and beaten yesterday. Revenge, apparently, for a gang rape.”

  She didn’t blink. “Good, serves them right. But I fail to see why that involves me.”

  “The neighbours saw Sooty there. With Delicia Truelove.”

  “Did they? Amazing what people think they see.” She was perfect. “Now if we could get back to tonight’s events? They were high. Gang members, no doubt.”

  Nice and discreet, not mentioning the Blessly boy by name and conveniently forgetting she’d seen their faces. No ID meant no red tape. Sweet. She was handling Smith nicely.

  He didn’t like it. “Delicia’s off school. Sick, they say. Now, does that mean you were telling the truth yesterday?”

  For a moment I thought she’d rip him a new one. It would’ve been okay because there was no way I’d ever let the incident come to court, but she controlled herself, shrugged and said nothing.