Los Zetas Cartel Collection (3 book series)

by AJ Adams

  “You were at Sal Bink’s when he died. Now there’s three Twittertons in hospital, and you were seen outside their place. Sooty was there, too. And I learned tonight he’s a business partner here. He holds the liquor licence for you.”

  Smith was slow but making connections. That’s what cops do. They keep digging, getting pieces of information and putting them together until it all makes sense.

  Of course, sometimes they come to wrong conclusions, and that’s why we engage with them. When you’ve got a cop about to see the big picture, we step in, mess it up and make him see what we want.

  Smith was loud in his conclusions. “You’ve joined the Peckham Knaves!”

  The bruja blinked. “What? No, you blithering idiot!”

  No need for me to step in. Smith was fucking up royally all by himself. I sat back, enjoying myself. This was one hell of a night.

  “I see it all,” Smith was beautifully pompous. “You and Sooty have the perfect setup. You’re using the Black Horse to push hookers, dope, gambling and fake booze!”

  I thought of the regulars sitting outside with their pints, their wives and their neighbours. They might smoke a joint or buy some tax-free booze, but that would be about the limit. Put hookers in there, and the women would tear them limb from limb. Smith had one helluva imagination. I was dying to laugh. This was turning out to be an awesome night.

  “We do sometimes play gin rummy.”

  The bruja was biting her lip, trying not to laugh, but when she caught my eye, she giggled. My God what a difference! The smile brought colour to her cheeks and made her eyes sparkle. I was looking at a hottie, and I wanted to lick her all over. Instant wood, right? That was okay, except that the gun I was hiding started to slide off my lap.

  I caught it by putting a casual hand over the top of it. Smith was still on the other side of the kitchen, leaning up against the back door, so he didn’t have a clear line of sight. The bruja did, though. She glanced over and her eyes flickered, possibly totally impressed by the size of the goods advertised or maybe at the sight of the Magnum.

  I wasn’t worried if Smith saw it because I had a permit. So while I was thinking how lucky I was to have a dumb-ass cop like Smith on the case, he was ‘pursuing enquiries’ as the Brits call it with the bruja. The mutt didn’t stand a chance.

  “I know you and Sooty are thick as thieves!”

  “Hardly. He’s a partner in the business. A silent one.”

  “Very. Why isn’t he here?”

  The bruja knew her law. “He’s here enough to satisfy the licensing board.”

  Smith changed tack. “You’ve got a record for receiving stolen property. Cigarettes, right? Going into business again, are you?”

  “Don’t be a damn fool!” she snapped.

  “As for this Mexican, he helped you take out Sal Binks, and now he’s going to supply heroin!”

  “He’s Guatemalan, heroin comes from Asia, and you yourself confirmed his alibi!”

  Of course she was wrong. We do grow opium for heroin in Mexico and Guatemala, although it’s new. We make ten times the profit on coke, but diversity is the name of the game. If coke prices ever go down, we’ve got a backup plan.

  “What was the story about the kid? Was she posing for paedo pics?”

  My hand was clamping the bruja’s elbow before my brain realised what was going on. For a split-second that lasted a lifetime, I thought she’d take him on. If so, I’d have to kill him. Frankly, he would have deserved it, the capullo, but she breathed deeply, shrugged me off and controlled herself.

  “Right, I’ve had enough. If you’re not interested in the robbery attempt, fuck off!”

  “Changing your mind about insurance fraud?”

  “Oh for God’s sake! What are you talking about now?”

  “Come on, Frosty! Oldest trick in the book, right? Pretend you were robbed, turn the place over a bit to set the scene, and then you make a nice juicy claim.” Smith was eyeing me. “Is that why he’s here? Taking a few cases of tequila off your hands?”

  He was moving away from the door, into the kitchen, clearly intent on hassling me.

  “You look like butter wouldn’t melt, Ramas, but I know better. Tell me now, what are you up to? Boosting tequila, selling joy powder or arranging another murder?”

  I wasn’t worried, but the bruja came to my side, putting a hand on my shoulder. “Just bog off, Smith! You know he can’t understand a word you’re saying.”

  “Nats,” Dwayne looked round the door. “There’s police cars out front.”

  As Smith turned to look at him, the bruja whipped the gun from my lap. There was a ‘plop’ and then I realised my Magnum was in the goddamn soup!

  Dwayne was staring at us, edgy from atmosphere, “Some of the punters are wondering what’s going on.”

  “We’re fine, Dwayne. Go back, turn up the music and keep selling.”

  “All right.”

  “I’ll have a word with you in a minute,” Smith said nastily.

  “You do that.” Dwayne said calmly, “but when I’m less busy, okay?”

  Looks like nobody had respect for Smith. Visibly irritated, he turned his attention back to me. “So, what’s the connection between you two?”

  I still couldn’t believe what that woman had done to my gun, but I gave Smith my best smile. “Want some soup? It’s a toda madre!”

  “I could arrest you!” Pure bluster, but Smith was pissed at losing out again.

  “I don’t see what for,” the bruja said. “Chatting a girl up isn’t against the law.” She opened the back door wide. “Get out!”

  “I shall speak to your customers first.”

  “And I will sue you for harassment. As it won’t be the first time you’ve been done, you’ll probably get booted from the force.”

  The bruja had the goods on Smith all right. He was pissed, but as she had him over a barrel, he went after a few more threats and insults. She locked the door behind him, and I found a ladle and fished for my gun.

  “You should have let me deal with them.” I admit I was grousing, but I just wasn’t thinking. “A heist with three kids is no big deal. There was no need for all this.”

  “They weren’t here to steal whiskey, you twit! They were Peckham Knaves! They were here to destroy my stocks and kill my business!”

  “Come on! A few bottles won’t make much difference to the bottom line.”

  “This place is insured for fire but not theft. If they’d trashed my stocks and kitchen and not set the place alight, I couldn’t afford to replace everything.”

  “You’re making good money!”

  “Today, yes, but the pub has to support Millie and Delicia, as well as me and Dwayne, plus I’m still paying off bills on Bobby’s behalf. Believe me, money’s tight.”

  “Even so,” I located my gun, “there was no need for all this drama.”

  “I saved your arse! This isn’t Mexico, you know!”

  “I do know! And that’s why I have a gun permit!”

  Her eyes were cold and angry. “So I ruined my soup for nothing?”

  “Did I ask you to do it?”

  She took a deep breath, visibly calming herself. “No, you didn’t.”

  I got the Magnum out. My gun was greasy with butter, the barrel blocked with chopped tomatoes and celery. It was a mess. I wasn’t pleased, but I knew her motives had been generous. She really had been trying to be helpful.

  I should have left well alone, but I didn’t. “Jesus! Look at this! What a fucking mess!”

  “Quique,” her voice was super calm. “Go home.”

  “We still have to look at those properties.” I looked at her face, set into uncompromising lines. That’s when it dawned on me that I was being an asshole. Pushing now would fuck it all up. “Tomorrow is okay.”

  “Tomorrow is not okay. My mind’s made up. I’m not selling. But you will sort out the Peckham Knaves for me.”

  My reaction was instinctive. “Who the hell are you to g
ive me orders?”

  “I’m the bruja who has your watch. You shot the Twittertons, so now you get them off my back!”

  Women, right? Like who got me into that apartment in the first place? But I could see she wasn’t rational, so I didn’t push it. The evening had turned into a farce. It wasn’t a moment to talk seriously. I ignored her threat because I was beginning to understand her. In fact, I wasn’t even mad at her anymore.

  The bruja was tired, angry and snapping, but I was finally seeing her for what she was. She stood by her family, even when they didn’t deserve or appreciate it. In fact, she had a generous streak a mile wide. She was working round the clock, fixing problems for those Truelove losers, and she did it with a smile. Well, with a cricket bat and a lot of swearing, but you can’t be a shrinking violet when you’re dealing with douchebags.

  So I was deciding that she might be a pain in the butt and impossible in every way, but at heart she was solid. I forgave her for being difficult and for giving me orders. I didn’t even mind her shoving at my shoulder. She was trying to get me to move, but of course that was a waste of time. I wasn’t going until I was ready.

  I wrapped my Magnum in my handkerchief. “Get some sleep,” I told her. “And get a cab home. Don’t walk.”

  She stopped trying to push me out. “I already thought of that.” And then very grudgingly she added, “Thanks.”

  “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

  “Yes, yes, yes! Just go already!”

  She stepped out with me and all eyes were on us. What with the screaming, the rape alarm and the cops being round, I bet everyone in the joint was dying to know what we’d been up to. There were audible whispers all round us.

  “Who’s that with Frosty?”

  “Mafia, I hear. From South America.”

  “There have been fights here all night.”

  “The youngest Truelove girl got raped.”

  She actually winced, the bruja, hearing that. Then the chin came up, the bruise showing clearly. I decided to help her.

  “Natalia,” everyone went quiet and listened in. “Terrific dinner. The best. As always.”

  “Thanks.”

  “The soup in particular was spectacular.”

  “One of a kind.”

  That’s when I caught sight of a familiar face. Terry Chin. The hacker. He spotted me and froze, knowing I had his number.

  A hand gripped mine. “He’s working for me.” Her grey eyes were apologetic. “He didn’t get anywhere, and he won’t try again.”

  Sometimes you’ve got to be generous. I beckoned to the hacker. He was a typical nerd, a tall, lanky Chinese wearing a Dr Who tee and with bleached hair spiked with gel so it looked like a greased porcupine. He was shaking with nerves, dying to make a break for it, but he didn’t. I liked him; he had guts.

  “Chin, drive Natalia home.”

  “Erm, I don’t have a ride.” He stammered and added, “sir.”

  “Walk her to her door.”

  “Yessir.”

  “Chin,” I dropped my voice. Everyone in the place leaned in, desperate to hear. “Try hacking into my phone again, and you’re chop suey, understand?”

  “Yes, sir! Sorry, sir!”

  He fled back to the bar, relieved to be alive. Everyone sighed then turned back to their drinks.

  Me, I turned to the bruja. “I’ll come by tomorrow and take you for lunch.”

  “I’m busy.”

  “It’s not social. It’s business.”

  She sighed. “Okay, okay, okay! You’re as stubborn as curry stains; you know that, right?”

  It was a victory. She was going to deal. I could see it in her eyes.

  “If there’s any trouble, you know where I am.” I embraced her and kissed her formally on both cheeks. “’Ta logo, guapa.”

  It was a good exit, and everyone was staring at us with respect. It made me feel like I was walking on air. When I hit the street, I suddenly realised how the jefe must feel when he does his deals. I was certain that the last few minutes had changed everything. I had seen it in her eyes. Being patient, listening and giving her respect had paid off. The bruja was ready to do business. Things were finally going my way again.

  Chapter Ten: Natalia

  It had been a wild night, and exhausting, but when we closed up and counted the cash, I was crowing. “Dwayne, expect a bonus, love. Brilliant job!”

  “It’s quite dreadful.” Scott was hanging around, still fussing. “Those people are just wreck-gazing!”

  “It pays the rent.” I’d had enough of him, so I showed him the door. “Staff meeting, Scott. Thank you for coming. Good night.” The door locked behind him before he quite got it together.

  “He’s a laugh a minute, isn’t he?” Terry was making his way through his second lasagne. “Just as well he didn’t hear about Tommy Twitterton.”

  I remembered Tommy’s face as Quique dragged him off Delicia. My hands were curling with hate, but I kept my voice calm. “What about him?”

  “Dead,” Terry said simply. “Got beaten up and shot, along with his brothers. Gang attack, the police say.” His eyes were limpid innocence. “The other two survived, but Tommy croaked. Seems he was high on crack. His heart gave out.”

  I thought it was the best news ever, but it meant Smith would be all over it. There would be certain reprisals from Tommy’s mates, too. A beating was one thing, a killing another. Maybe I could stop it, though. Time to get public feeling on my side.

  “The Twitterton are paedos,” I said. Dwayne was instantly agog, ears wide open. “They were in cahoots with Sooty.” I didn’t mention Delicia, but Dwayne was putting it together, I could see it in his eyes. “It was probably someone righteous, teaching them a lesson.”

  “Well, they fucked up,” Terry replied. “Should’ve shot the lot dead, I say.”

  That being now the official story, it took an hour to clean up, and by the time Terry walked me home, right to my door, it was past one o’clock.

  Much to my annoyance, the vandals had been back. This time they’d painted ‘whore’ under the ‘bitch’.

  “Bloody hooligans,” Terry grumbled. “They should stop selling paint to kids.”

  Maybe I should have worried but I was too tired to think. “I’ll get someone to clean it off—but not tonight.”

  Terry went off, and I was in bed two minutes later. I slept in my new jammies, and they were a silky delight. But my dreams were Nightmare on Elm Street. When I wasn’t being raped, I was watching Delicia suffer. I woke up feeling like shit. A call to Millie was more depressing.

  “She’s still the same. She’s so quiet, Nats. It scares me.”

  “Give her time, love.”

  “That’s what the counsellor says. But oh Nats, this is so hard!”

  I listened to her cry, and as soon as I hung up, I had a massive attack of the guilts that ended in a weeping fest. It’s not like me, but I just fell apart.

  When I finally got up, I looked in the mirror and saw a hag looking back at me. I had circles under my eyes, and the bruise on my jaw had turned a lovely greenish black. Thankfully it spread down along my neck and not up over my face. A scarf would cover most of it.

  As for my hair, it was wild enough to eat a comb whole. Rat’s nest didn’t come close to describing it. Counting back, I realised I was six weeks overdue for a haircut. It was still relatively early, and I had enough food in the pub freezer for the night. Time for a shearing.

  After putting on the kettle for a cuppa, I found another nasty surprise: an anonymous note had been shoved through the letterbox. We don't want no Guatemalan fuckers here, it read. Or their whores. Great, huh? I crumpled it up and chucked it in the bin.

  To cheer myself up, I dug out the dress I’d bought for Christmas the year before. It was a simple long jumper dress in a lovely autumn leaf shade of red with a scoop collar and long sleeves. I completed the look by draping a silk scarf printed with leaves around my neck. As long as nobody looked too closely, the bruise
was nicely hidden.

  Dressing up made me feel a bit better, and I must say that I always enjoy going to the salon. Adoration, the Filipina girl who runs it gives you a cup of green tea and a mini head massage. She’s terrific at upselling, too.

  “Luxury is good for you,” she told me firmly. “I’m offering a mani-pedi for the price of a manicure. Time you did your toes.”

  “Nobody ever sees them,” I protested.

  “And whose fault is that? Get a man! Have yourself a good shag!”

  Adoration isn’t backward about being forward, that’s for certain.

  “I love the dress! You’ve got a date?” she asked. “Someone nice?”

  I thought of Quique. “Definitely not nice,” I told her.

  “He didn’t give you that bruise, did he?”

  “No way!”

  I lied really well, evidently, because Adoration accepted it.

  “I knew it couldn’t be. You’d take that cricket bat to him and quite right, too.”

  Although I agreed, I had reservations. I’d taken a look at Terry’s file, and it was pretty horrific reading. We’ve got plenty of guns, knives and dope in London, but we’re not using machine guns and attack helicopters. Mexican cartels killed on an industrial scale, without any seeming retribution. The bosses acted like medieval kings, ruling their territories with an iron fist.

  There was nothing about Quique in the file, but the way the man handled himself told me he was deep into it. It was a puzzler that he’d been so tolerant about my blackmailing him. I briefly entertained the idea that maybe it was tougher to sneak around British law. It didn’t seem likely.

  Maybe he felt guilty for hitting me. I saw him wince every time he spotted the bruise. I realised how lucky I’d been. Apart from Quique being patient, having a Zeta help me get Delicia back and to deal with the Peckham Knaves attack had been a miracle. I was bloody grateful, I’ll tell you that. I would never have been able to handle it by myself.

  I sat in the hairdresser and decided that my Rohozneanu blood had led me astray. There was no way I could stand up to the Zetas. I’d be sensible and sell the kebab shop. I’d make the best deal possible and consider myself lucky to be alive.