Page 38 of To Catch A Rook

A small crinkle in his left eye told me he was satisfied with what he saw, his attention turning to the two nitwits instead.

“It would seem you have been busy, Mical.” Antonio nodded toward the jagged line cutting Mical’s cheek in half. “Is he now dead?”

“Yes.” Mical spat on the pristine cream carpet in disgust like a child. “And he suffered greatly.”

“And his family?”

“Also dead.” Jonah spoke up in a hollow voice of disinterested detachment. “They will no longer be an issue for us.”

Antonio nodded his head in approval. “And the fights?”

“Successful. There are now seventeen separate clubs across five states, each taking in over a million in bets a month.” Jonah continued in his clipped, emotionless tone. “Washing is going well—we’re cleaning half of what we’re bringing in on a weekly basis through hundreds of channels.”

“Good. Mical?”

“Product is moving faster than we can supply it. Demand is heavy. We have another facility up and running in Venezuela, with three alternative shipping routes. The dope is selling faster than coke, so we’re dusting our other products to increase the demand of those product lines.”

Fuckers. I’d tip Trish off about one of our favored routes and get the tainted fentanyl off the streets, but it wouldn’t be enough. I’d have to keep the Venezuela warehouse under my hat for now—but I could get one of the other warehouses in Columbia taken down to help balance the scales for a little while.

When one cockroach was crushed into dust, another skittered in to take its place. The cat-and-mouse game with my family was the price my soul paid for my life being spared all those years ago. I led the enemy, spied for the opposition, and sold out both parties when the need arose. The price of my life wasn’t worth the reward.

Our soulless leader clucked his tongue in approval. “And the guns?”

“Three new large buyers in the west. Shipping out fresh boxes next week, once the Russians can get their supply off the ground.”

They were opportunistic shits, but my brothers weren’t dumb. Their side of the business brought in hundreds of millions of dollars to the Cartel a year, even after they’d left their post in California to take over Sequoia’s operations.

“Have you noticed any supplies missing?” I carefully worded my question, not ready to give Antonio any sign of Alvarez moving into our towns. It was possible he already knew, and I couldn’t add another ‘task’ to my already very full plate.

“No.” Mical’s retort was short and angry, as per usual. “Nothing missing. Our men care too much for their heads to steal from us.”

“Why do you ask,mijo?”

“Work.” I kept my answer succinct. “Rumblings of a new weapon supplier. I’m working on it.”

Antonio nodded swiftly, then shifted his focus tomybusinesses.

“And what do you have for me?”

The simple question was as dangerous as an AK-47 in the hands of a crazed fucker on meth. I squared my shoulders and leveled my gaze at my father.

“I am in Carlisle investigating a major theft ring. Purely white collar, nothing to do with the Cartel or its players. Our partners are complying and paying their tithes on time. The Rodriguezes plan to open up three more brothels in the next year—they are becoming quite lucrative.”

“Good.” My father answered smoothly; with the precision of his pitch, I knew something else would follow—something I would not like in the least.

“Increase their tithe. If they want to continue in the sex trade, they will pay us more for the pleasure. Which brings me to my next concern.”

His eyes narrowed to slits, and his veiled discontent crept quietly to the surface of his skin.

“You are not doing enough,mijo. Keeping the FBI off our back and feeding them our enemies in return is not enough in these trying times. I am getting old and tired. Our girls need to be overseen—guided. You will take over this side of the business.”

‘Girls’ as in the women torn from the streets, drugged, and shipped out to be sold to the highest bidders. The rest were chained in brothels until they died from a sexual disease or an overdose. It was the most disgusting revenue stream of the family business, and I had vehemently spoken out against it since I was old enough to know the difference.

He was finally punishing me for the death of my brother by handing me the one thing I hated most in this world.

Gangbangers chose this life. They took the risk for the promise of high reward, and it was their right to choose the way they died. Stolen women sold into a life of sexual slavery was depravity the devil himself wouldn’t take part in.

“No.” Antonio Carlos did not hear the word often. He broke into a dark smile while his eyes betrayed his fury.

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