Page 4 of Loving Smoke

“You’ll have better access to the main guy down there, Rico Sandoval. He’s the top dog, and pretty much runs the city. The Bastards have been trying to make inroads with him for awhile, but last year his wife got shot and he’s been out for blood ever since.”

“With the Bastards?”

Jameson’s jaw ticked. “Seems a year ago a rival cartel copied our cuts, dressed like bikers then invaded Sandoval’s compound and shot his wife.”

“Fuck.”

“I told him it wasn’t us, and he acted like he believed me, but since then he’s been dipping his fingers into our contacts in Mexico. Fucking with our gun shipments to the States. Plus, he’s trying to stop all product coming over the border for the Bastards.”

“So, you want me to keep eyes on him?”

“Make contact with him. Find out what his game is, what he’s after. He’s gotten even more unpredictable since his wife was shot, and I sure don’t trust the fucker.”

“Great. And you’re throwing me right into this shitstorm.”

“I just want you to keep eyes on him. Then try to find out who really put the hit on his wife and clear our name so this shit settles down.”

“That’s a large order.”

Jameson threw his arms wide. “And this is a big fuck up—because of you.”

“We gonna have a place to lay our heads while we’re doin’ all this negotiating?”

“There’s a strip joint you can use as a clubhouse. The owner wanted out and the club grabbed it.”

Of course, the guy wanted out. Mosquitos the size of golf balls, rats as big as house cats, and sticky humidity clinging to you like a used rubber. Tijuana was great for a night of partying and getting wild, but to make it a home base—no fuckin’ way.

“I was figuring the club could use another front, but this works out better.”

“For who?” I couldn’t help the sarcasm, fuck it wasn’t gonna be Jameson sweating his balls off in Tijuana.

“It’s like the wild west down there. This club sells dope over the bar, the girls fuck for money in the champagne rooms and the cops look the other way. It needs an overhaul, but it’s on the main drag. A place called Golden Tropics.”

“Golden Tropics? You gotta be shittin’ me. I know the place. Me and Blood took some of the guys down there when JoJo got patched in. Place is a fuckin’ rathole. When we were leaving some punk got shot right in the parking lot.”

“Then you should fit right in.” Jameson twisted his lips. “Bottom line is, you don’t got a choice. This fuck up of yours opens up a great opportunity for the Bastards. Too many cartels moving in on our gun deals and if we have a club there it’ll be easier to keep eyes on them.”

I jerked my thumb toward the door. “You tell Blood about this great plan of yours?”

“I’m leaving that for you. After all, you’re the one who put him in the shit, so it’s only fair you get to break the news.”

Jameson swiped at his phone. “You got an hour before this place is up in flames, so I suggest you talk fast, get your shit together, and head to the border. And for fuck’s sake stay the hell away from the señoritas.”

I locked eyes with the National Prez still trying to digest my future and how to salvage this fucked up situation. Sucked I had to break the news. Also sucked I knew Jameson was right. I had fucked up, and fucked up good.

I thought I had everything under control, but as usual I didn’t pay attention to the details. Five years ago, before I held the president’s seat, I spent eighteen months in MCC for aggravated assault. A bullshit charge escalated by a shit ton of priors. My lawyer fought hard for a lesser sentence, but just my luck I had a female judge who was a big believer of women’s rights. Seems she didn’t think it was so bad I found my girl in our bed with not one but two of the bouncers from the strip club where she worked.

Needless to say, I was pissed off. So pissed I pistol-whipped the one guy, then threw the other guy out our second story window. Neighbors heard the noise and called the cops. When they showed up one guy was unconscious on the bedroom floor and the other guy was tangled in the bushes below the window with a broken leg. All this was going on while the bitch was screaming her damn head off buck naked. They hauled me off to jail, and I found out later my whore of a girlfriend ended up screwing one of the cops in the back seat of his patrol car.

When I got out, the brothers made me VP, probably cause they knew I got a bum rap. Two years later, our president got cancer and I stepped up. I brought in fast cash from cage fighting and swore off any long-term relationships. Until Tamara got her lips around my dick three months ago—right around the time Crank was selling us out to the DEA. So yeah, Jameson had a point.

Women are definitely my kryptonite.

Now, I had to go tell my VP not only did he have to stuff everything he owned into a garbage bag, but then had to haul ass south of the border and try to put together an alliance with a drug lord who already had it out for the Bastards. Basically, we were screwed before we even got down there.

What a bad fuckin’ day to have a raging hangover.

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