Page 4 of Final Reckoning

“No signs of trouble?” he says.

“It’s been quiet. I’m about to go up and do a check.”

I’m responsible for the security system on Santiago’s family compound and his businesses, as well as his personal routines. When the Russians were working to establish a foothold in my home town a while back, they tried to muscle in on Santiago at the same time. Indirectly, I’ve saved his life more than once.

It’s an irony that preys on my mind late at night, but it’s also why he trusts me as much as he does. None of us has his complete confidence, but I know as much as anyone about his overall operations. Only Tony Rodriguez and Tommy Escobar – his top two lieutenants, whom I privately call TNT – get more day-to-day details about his plans.

I prefer keeping some distance. To get closer to Santiago, I’d have to do things that would rot what’s left of my soul.

* * *

Upstairs,I stop at a door midway down a long hallway; the family’s rooms are in a separate wing of the house. I punch in a code, then lay my hand on a panel set into the wall so it can scan my palm. The door beeps open and I go in and shut it behind me.

This is the nerve center of Santiago’s security. His low-level soldiers take it in shifts to watch the monitors, which cover every inch of the grounds here, as well as the buildings inside and out. They also show the exteriors of his businesses, each of which has its own system and security staff.

“Anything noteworthy?” I ask, though if there were they should already have notified me.

“No.” One of the soldiers, a kid no more than twenty, glances at me and away again. Santiago’s guys don’t know how to treat me. I’m outside the command structure, answering directly to their boss, but with no formal rank. It makes them nervous.

I make them nervous.

Moving to the unattended monitor in a corner, I enter a password and pull up a written summary of activity recorded by the system, all noted in a shorthand code I invented. It lets me scan quickly for anything the soldiers might not recognize the importance of ... and also for things that don’t matter to them, but do matter to cops.

One entry catches my eye – a visitor to one of his nightclubs – and I make a mental note to follow up on it later. I read the rest of the log until I’m satisfied that there’s nothing I need to tell Santiago about, then sign off and go downstairs again.

Santiago’s lounging on a sofa, watching the bikers carouse with the hookers. The woman in the armchair is still passed out. “All’s well,” I inform him.

“Good.” He scans the room. “They’ll be partying for hours, but there’s no need for you to stay. Go home and get some rest. I need you sharp.”

In truth, there was no need for me to be here at all, not from a security perspective. I spend as much time around Santiago as I can because it lets me glean extra scraps of intel.

“I’ll have my phone if you need me,” I tell him. Crossing to a couple of the women, I indicate the one in the armchair and say, “Can you watch her, make sure she’s okay, or do you want me to take her home?”

A platinum blonde with huge fake tits who goes by Cookie looks over at the unconscious girl. “I think they roofied her. One minute she was fine, and the next she was out of it.”

Anger flares hot and bright inside me, but I don’t let it show. “She needs a trip to the ER, then.” Santiago has a doctor on retainer who does regular health checks on the girls--another thing I talked him into--but the doc’s not here tonight.

“Yeah. I’ll see if Tommy will let us take her in.” She pats me on the arm. “Thanks, Monk.”

It’s not enough, but Tommy Escobar is officially in charge of running the whores and would not appreciate any interference on my part. It’s a constant balancing act, trying to bring a shred of humanity to bear without inflaming tensions between myself and Santiago’s men any further. I can’t afford to make the boss think I’ve outlived my usefulness.

“Good night,” I tell them, and head out. As I go, I pass Steve “Snake” Tyson, a top Devil’s Kin lieutenant. He glares at me. I glance at him as if he’s of no more interest to me than a week-old newspaper lying in a gutter.

Tyson’s the one who gave me the scar on my face, right before I beat the shit out of him. He’s known as one of the most vicious members of the club. Kicking his ass when he picked a fight earned me the grudging respect of Santiago’s men and the permanent enmity of the Devil’s Kin.

Santiago likes infighting. With the paranoia that accompanies his line of work, he doesn’t want any of his people getting too cozy with each other. They might get ideas to take him out.

I’m eager to be away from the compound, but when I reach my Harley I check it carefully for any signs of tampering before climbing on.

It’d be a damn shame to get myself killed before I get another taste of Quinn Callahan.

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