Page 50 of The Perfect Stranger

Chapter Sixteen

“Last fucking time, cocksucker!” The sound of Gabriel’s safety clicking off echoed up the staircase. I’d been sleeping with my own finger on the trigger, the slightest sound rousing me. I made it to the bottom of the staircase when I heard the desperate pleas of an unknown man. It was dark outside, yet someone was paying a late night visit.

“Where the fuck is the coke?” A fist smashed into bone.

I rounded the corner and saw Gabriel, shirtless and in loose pants. He had been woken up to deal with whatever situation was transpiring. His bare stomach and chest was covered in sprays of blood, knuckles raw. The man on the receiving end was close to passing out. He was on his knees, head struggling to stay upright. His face was red and swollen to such an extent he eyes appeared sealed. His lips had been busted multiple times and blood trickled from a cheek wound.

“I don’t know,” he barely muttered. I had to strain to hear the words.

“What was that?” Gabriel barked wrenching the man’s head back.

“P-Please.”

Two of the house security holding semi-automatics stood behind Gabriel.

“What’s happening?” I dared to interrupt.

Gabriel paused at the sound of my voice. He straightened and then turned his head left to right to crack his neck.

“Dragon fruit.” He blurted with a small laugh.

“What about the dragon fruit?”

“Brother, the dragon fruit was empty.”

“I was told to make sure it was loaded not to check the inner contents of the fruit.”

“I know.” Gabriel nodded, wiping his cheek which in effect smeared more blood. “That’s why it’s him here and not you.”

It was a callous accusation. I may not have been the one on my knees receiving the beating this time, but there was a promise in his tone that one day it could be me. No one was immune. Everyone was a suspect.

Gabriel held his gun to the man’s temple, the veins in his forearms popping as he itched to pull the trigger. “Last chance, fucker.”

The man spat the excess blood from his mouth to talk. “I packed them…” he mumbled, “…but I didn’t load them with the coke.”

“Then who?” Gabriel bellowed, his own face bright red with fury.

“Frederico. He was in charge. He put us on our stations. It was him who was filling the fruit.”

“Was he at the warehouse yesterday?”

The man shook his head violently, sobbing hard. “No.”

“Fuck!” Gabriel raged, fists clenched as he took a step back letting the man drop to the floor. He paced back and forth, the room silent except for the ragged breathing from the beaten man.

He stalked over to me, nostrils flaring. “He’s probably already sold it to the Triads by now,” he fumed, and for a split second, I could see the fear in his eyes.

This was a huge fuck up for Los Santos cartel. It was a major haul, and their backlog wait times meant they could lose some heavyweight buyers to other cartels offering a discounted rate after diluting the product.

He pointed his finger, eyes wide with expectation. “Find this Fred-a-fucking-rico and bring him to me!”

My first stop was the warehouse.

It was set in an abandoned district surrounded by old, deteriorated buildings that had been sitting vacant for years. It was eerie. Desolate. The most ideal location for the production of cocaine.

We pulled up outside and were greeted by the newly instated manager after the last one went MIA with fifteen million in white gold.

“Hola,” the gruff man sporting a thick mustache welcomed.

---