Los Zetas Cartel Collection (3 book series)

by AJ Adams

  “Yeah!” Gordo was also security, and like Quique, he didn’t get that commerce isn’t a heist. “They’re lucky to be invited in on the deal, the lazy fucks!”

  “They’re not lazy. Nobody works for nothing, that’s all.”

  “Natalia, we’re investing millions! We need to make it back,” Quique argued, “and people always complain they’re underpaid.”

  “Businesses make ten per cent if they’re lucky after paying fees, taxes and everything else.” I was firm. “If you take too much, it won’t be worth anyone’s while to work.”

  “The plan depends on taking a third.”

  “Redo the numbers, love.” I should’ve stopped there, but like an idiot I added, “I’ll help if you like.”

  Quique’s face went blank, and I suddenly remembered that Juanita had told me Tina never let him forget she was college-educated and that he could barely write when he went into the army. Bugger. Quique thought I was saying he was an idiot.

  “I’m good,” he said distantly.

  Gordo was quiet, looking away in embarrassment. I had to fix this. “Better than good,” I said briskly. “It took London politicians four years just to get a plan together for Peckham. You’re doing in weeks what they did in years!”

  Quique grinned. “Ay bruja! But I’m fucking up!”

  “Details!” I pooh-poohed magnificently. “A first pass is always about the big picture. Everything else comes later.”

  “Much later if we take three per cent instead of thirty,” Gordo sighed.

  “Well, we’re not in for a quick buck, and there’ll be extras,” Quique shrugged. “Property prices will go up almost instantly, and we can raise prices once we make a name for ourselves.”

  “Right!” Gordo was enthusiastic again, so I left them to it and went to talk to the girls. Later though, when everyone left and with Quique curling up next to me in bed, I was a little worried.

  “They like you,” Quique was lying up against me again, just cuddling in bed. “Juanita has asked we go to their place tomorrow, and Pedro Rojo’s having a barbecue the day after. I said yes to both. That’s okay, right?”

  “Yes, but I’m a bit surprised. I mean, you’re still married.”

  “The jefa made some calls. And the jefe wants you to join us on Saturday.”

  I must admit, that sent a bolt of nerves running through me. I tried to hide it by being offhand. “When the jefe approves, everyone follows suit?”

  “Yes.” Quique was matter-of-fact. He was also stroking my hair, a sensuous feeling that was turning me creamy. “It’s how it is, brujita.”

  “He’s backing you up?”

  “All the way. Better still, I had a long talk with him today. About that project you suggested, a new role? I’ve got one. We’re going to build up a commercial strip in town. The jefe wants my ideas.”

  “A project?”

  “Yeah. I need to see what there is and then beef it up.”

  I had to smile. Dear Quique! In London politicians had talked for months about revitalising Peckham, and here was Quique saying the same thing in twelve words. Like his sales contract, he was a clear thinker.

  “It’s not what I’m used to, but the jefe says it has to be done.” Quique was now stroking my shoulders, a delicate touch that sent happy shivers racing through me. “Actually, what he said was, success is always punished by more opportunities.”

  Not exactly what I expected from a cartel boss. “He sounds interesting.”

  “He’s a Princeton graduate.” Brown eyes were smiling at me. “And don’t worry about Saturday. He’s a good man.”

  Quique fell asleep soon after, and I thought about what he’d said. If you’d asked me a month ago, I would’ve told you I would be shit scared to be surrounded by cartel people. And yet, here I was in Zeta central, and I both liked and felt comfortable with them. Even so, how could a cartel boss, even an Ivy League graduate, be considered a good man?

  It was an uncomfortable question, because it meant I was forced to confront some home truths. Like Quique had pointed out: we had something in common. I didn’t blame myself for Francis Duke; I was insane that time, but I was perfectly rational when I took out the Twittertons.

  Lying in the dark, I looked back and saw how much I’d changed. I no longer played according to the rules; I’d crossed a barrier and put myself on a different plane. A tendency to lawlessness is inbred in my family, but they stuck to minor offences. None of us had taken my path. In London I’d felt out of it, with nobody understanding me, but here, in Mexico, I felt at home.

  I leaned against Quique’s well-muscled body, feeling happy, comfortable and safe. I was suddenly understanding something else, too: in all my troubles, I’d broken my own rule. Despite my best efforts, I had fallen head over heels in love.

  I was in love with a man who’d made it clear we had no future.

  Chapter Twenty-Three: Quique

  I’d been worried about taking Natalia in, but I discovered very quickly that living with her was heaven. It wasn’t the divine cooking, the amazing sex or the easy way she fitted in, although all of that had me grinning like a bastard.

  No, what made Natalia special was the way she thought. “You remember to cosset my pride, and I’ll cosset yours.” You know, I’d never even considered that, and yet it rang true the second she said it.

  Up until then we’d gotten along great, but there was the odd moment when we’d come close to battle. She was right, of course. I should've been more careful about breaking it to her that her appointment with that pulpo Texan chef was off. I know I can be over-protective, but in my defence, the bruja has her moments, too.

  However, I took her words to heart and the very next day, when I heard she was planning to go into town with Juanita—“just us two girls”—I didn’t forbid it, but I called her straight away to warn her that cartel women are targets. “The Gulf are scum,” I told her. “They think killing our women is a good thing.”

  Natalia was clearly cooking something, because I could hear sizzling in the background. “Oh Quique, I never thought! But Chucho seems to think it’s okay.”

  “Chucho is weak when it comes to standing up to Juanita, and she thinks security a bore. Our girls don't wander about without security, so she’s using you to see if she can ditch the routine.”

  “Well, that’s not happening! But Quique, I don’t want to take up your time just to go grocery shopping.”

  “You’re not. We’ve got a system set up. Just tell one of the halcones from the end of the road an hour before you go.”

  “Is that all? Brilliant!”

  No sulking, no fuss and no whining. I’m telling you, I was stunned. Tina always refused to speak to the staff, so it was me who had to arrange everything from a trip to the nail bar to her fashion shows. I never begrudged her, but she never gave me notice, and she was prone to changing her mind so I got into the habit of organising her days as if she were a four-year-old.

  With Natalia I was living with a grown-up. It was weird at first, but when I got used to it, it was one hell of a relief. I felt I had a partner, actually someone better than a partner. Having the bruja on my side was like having the backup of a platoon.

  Within a week of our getting back, I saw Antonio’s influence just disappear, washed away by Natalia’s subtle assault. Talking me up also boosted me in the unexpected ways. I’ve been in on every important meeting ever since the boss made me his deputy, but thanks to Natalia getting everyone to talk me up, I was getting a rep for business, too.

  The jefe heard I was interested and told me to make plans. "It doesn't have to be formal; just tell me what opportunities you see."

  The boss was smiling, too, encouraging me, and before I quite realised it, Chema and Rafa were talking to me about commercial ventures that had nothing to do with security.

  “About refurbishing the shopping district,” Rafa said, “I’ve got some tourist data that will help you estimate potential income.”

  “An
d I’ve got comparison data from Tijuana,” Chema added.

  “You need to come and meet the government planning committee!” they both told me.

  I didn’t tell them I had no idea what to do with their numbers, but Natalia was right on it. “Look at what we have here, okay? Day visitors to Nuevo Laredo buy lunch and one gift, so you know how much they spend on average.”

  “Right, and in Tijuana they buy like five gifts, and they stay the night.”

  “Now you can work out what you get per person and what you’d get if you offered a better experience.”

  “Actually, Tijuana attracts a lot of families, but here it’s mostly men. They’re more likely to stay at a brothel than a hotel.”

  “Factor that in,” my girl said promptly, “and the tequila they buy.”

  I got my figures, worked out what everything cost, and then treated it like one of those games, SimCity, where you fiddle with factors to see what does what. I came up with several schemes and their potential outcomes, ditched the ones that were useless and kept the best three.

  In short, I was getting an education, and I was enjoying myself.

  On the Saturday morning, the day of the jefe’s party, I was putting the final touches to my report, intending to send it to the boss for feedback.

  “You’re getting good at this, Quique,” Natalia said as she looked over my shoulder. “These plans are logical, thorough and well-researched.”

  High praise, right? That’s Natalia all over. She’s always generous. She was making lasagne for the party because I love it, and the kitchen smelled of garlic and herbs—a slice of heaven on earth.

  While I was meditating on the joys of having a kitchen permanently stocked like a Michelin restaurant, Natalia was nodding over my plans, checking the spreadsheets one by one. “You know, in London you can figure that the government will give you a tax break to hire single mums and new graduates.”

  Over the next hour she basically gave me a college course in the business of leveraging government policy for the bottom line, and she ended with, “It’s icing on the cake that varies from year to year, but once you start actual work, you can figure out what works here, right?”

  I hugged her. “I love the care you take of my pride.”

  I got a kiss. “Right back at you!”

  Her grey eyes were laughing, and she had a smudge of flour on her cheek. She looked absolutely gorgeous, and I was solid. It was that way every time I looked at my girl. More than that, she made me happy. Being with Natalia made me feel like superman. She made me see my strengths, and she shored up my weaknesses. Natalia was a rock, and just being near her made me feel light as air—except for a cock like a steeple.

  “Want to go to bed?” Natalia giggled. “We’ve got time, right?”

  “You’re a mind-reader.”

  I think that’s when I realised I’d made a mistake. I looked into those laughing eyes, and knew I loved her. Everything about that woman made me want to sing. Natalia made me so happy that I’d forgotten what had caused my troubles in the first place. I couldn’t give her what she needed; she was made to be a mother.

  “Quique, are you okay, love?” The grey eyes were concerned. “You look stricken.”

  The bruja’s sixth sense was out in full force, but I have years of experience hiding my feelings. “Just nerves at having to show the boss the plans.”

  “Pooh!” Natalia was totally on my side at once. “He’ll love it!” Her eyes were sparkling. “In the meantime, let’s settle those nerves with a nice long bonk.”

  That always cracks me up. Bonk, shag, hide the sausage, spear the bearded clam—the English have the weirdest words for sex, and thanks to my girl, I was picking up a whole new vocabulary.

  There’s no point in wallowing in guilt, especially when there’s a warm, loving woman asking you to take her to bed. I added a footnote about possible tax breaks, sent the work to the boss and took Natalia upstairs. Afterwards, stroking the black cloud of hair and feeling the rich swell of hips leaning into me, I knew I’d have to let her go—and that it would break my heart.

  “Hmmm, Quique, love, this just gets better and better.” Natalia was purring with contentment. “I swear you just have to touch me to get me going.” She snuggled in deeper, yawning. “No, not a touch, a look is enough.”

  I buried my face in her hair, soaking up the sweet scent that always hung around her. “Love you.” The words came straight from the soul. For a moment I floated in time and space, half terrified and half elated that I’d finally said it.

  Natalia was yawning and stretching. “What did you say, love?”

  I was almost a selfish bastard. A little voice was saying that maybe if I told her everything, she’d want to stay. After all, Natalia had a generous loving heart. It hadn’t passed me by either that there was a soft look in her eye when she looked at me.

  Luckily, I got it together and kicked myself in the ass. “I was saying you smell of basil and oregano. I love it.”

  Natalia grinned. “I hope your jefe is as fond of my cooking as you are.”

  “He’s going to be crazy about it. I know it. Everyone knows it! He’s been hearing about your cooking from everyone!”

  “It’s just that I’ve never met—well, you know.”

  I didn’t.

  Natalia was looking a little embarrassed. “Well, I’ve seen Capone. And Scarface.”

  I fell apart laughing. “Ohmigod, bruja! I want to be there when you tell him that!”

  It kept me laughing all the way to the party, which was just as well, because the first thing I spotted was that prick Antonio standing next to Tina. I’m telling you straight: my blood pressure went right through the roof.

  But Natalia took one look and murmured, “Is that him? What on earth does she see in that little pisser?”

  It gave me a boost, knowing she had my pride.

  Natalia smiled at me. “You’re much prettier than him!”

  “Joder, bruja! I’m not pretty!” I was revolted, and quite rightly so.

  “Ay-yay-yay! Is this the famous bruja?” It was the jefe, laughing at us. He looked Natalia up and down and grinned. “Fuck me, you’re a lucky man, Quique! She’s clever and beautiful!”

  Natalia got a hug, and from the way she smiled, I could see she would be okay. It’s hard to be afraid of someone who’s wearing pink shorts, an apron covered in barbecue sauce and a hat that says, “Kiss the cook!”

  “And you brought the lasagne?” The jefe was taking the tray in his hands and sniffing appreciatively. “Awesome! Kyle says he hasn’t had anything as good since we went to La Pergola!”

  “In Rome?” Natalia was shaking her head. “I love to cook, but I’m no Heinz Beck!”

  “I’ve been dying to meet you,” the jefe was taking Natalia over to the house. “Come and meet Solitaire! She’s English like you, and she’s looking for a caterer.”

  ‘Looking for’ was an understatement. “We’re making adult films for the couples market,” Solitaire groaned. “The filming’s fine, but I’ve got six Mexicans, two Swedes, two French, a Yankee and two Indians to feed, three times a day for a fortnight. Can you help me?”

  “Like full-on fajitas and hard-core hamburgers?” Natalia asked.

  Solitaire giggled. “That sounds about right for Heaven.”

  “Heaven?”

  “The local puti club,” Solitaire explained. “The girls want to expand into food, but we’re a bit stymied about the menu. Most of them can’t cook, and a lot can’t read or write, which means we can’t do anything complicated.”

  For a moment I wondered what Natalia would say. To my relief, she smiled. “The Marias told me about it. That’s the place that’s run by the girls themselves?”

  “Yes, we follow the Amsterdam principle. By the girls, for the girls.”

  “Good for you!” Natalia said. “You can have a menu where you just nuke each plate for two minutes. It’s simple, and if you play around with a few garnishes, it can look prett
y good.”

  “That’s the first sensible thing I’ve heard,” Solitaire sighed. “Can you send me a proposal? And arrange catering for my god-awful film people? The girls are all on diets, and the crew are worse! One’s vegan, two want gluten-free, and one’s a fruitarian, whatever the hell that is.”

  “Sure! Sounds just like London. What kind of budget do you have?”

  Seeing the girls were getting on like a house on fire, the jefe and I left them to it. However, he led me to the office rather than the party. I instantly smelled a rat. Parties aren’t for business. Clearly the jefe wanted to talk to me about that ugly fuck, Antonio.

  We sat down in the leather chairs in his private office.

  “Quique,” the jefe said quietly. “Jorge just sent in the new figures for London. He says your innovations made us an extra six per cent.”

  “That’s great, jefe!”

  He was grinning. “It’s not great, it’s fucking fantastic, Quique! Our music sales are through the roof. You’ve got a talent for this.” He picked up a file and said casually, “Kyle sent me your proposal for the downtown renovation.”

  Thank God the boss hadn’t told me, because I would’ve been shitting bricks. The jefe is the best businessman in the Americas, and the thought of him looking at my work—well, it’s like asking a Kaibil to check security arrangements for the high school prom.

  “I love it,” the jefe continued. “I’ve been thinking it’s time you diversified your skill set, Quique. Security is great, but nobody’s getting any younger. This project should be a good start. I’m putting thirty mil into it.”

  Okay, you could have blown me away with a feather. “Sure, jefe,” I heard myself say. “Whatever you say.”

  “Quique, it’s not what I say, it’s about passion. Tell me: why do you want to set up restaurants and cantinas that need constant policing instead of fashion boutiques and craft shops?”

  That was easy. The answer just flew out. “What kind of man goes shopping, jefe? They’re here to get laid. But we’ll sell flowers and candy for their wives.”

  “Cynic!” The jefe laughed. “Tell me more. Why do we need tailors? And bootmakers?”