Page 11 of Dirty Little Secrets
Landon’s secretary, Chloe, came out of his office buttoning her blouse and told me I just missed him getting on the elevator. She also informed me where everyone had gone. She wasn’t exactly happy about it. I wasn’t looking for him, but it didn’t take a genius to figure out what he was up to before he left. It’s none of my business or my problem.
“I called to make sure everyone gets a safe ride home,” Bash says, glancing at me in the rearview mirror. The last thing I need is someone driving drunk, or not showing up to work tomorrow.
“Have the black Mercedes ready out front of the hotel.”
“And Landon?”
“He can walk.”
Drunk coworkers get sloppy. Then shit happens. Just like with Steven and Kristina Henry. It’s not a secret they had something going but like everything that starts out wrong, there-in lies regret and what-ifs. For people like Steven, who’s worried that his pregnant girlfriend—whom no one knew about—is going to find out he fucked a woman on the fifth floor he can’t get out of his head. It’s only a matter of time before his performance tanks, and then my business suffers. In my world, that can’t happen. It is why he had no choice but to end things with Kristina or his career would suffer.
I also don’t show up for thinks like employee birthdays or retirement parties. I have other business to attend. As much as the brunette who loves to wear red temps me with her curves and innocence, I don’t have the time. When I’m running my business during the day, I’m handling other types of business that falls through the cracks after hours.
Bash pulls up to the docks and opens my door.
Vinny Galetti waves me over. His gold ring catching the low light. A sheen of sweat lining is receding tape line. The few times I’ve seen him in person, he’s always sweating. I swear that man looks like a mammal who jumped out of the water in a beige colored suit.
“I told you I don’t like to meet like this. I gave you a phone.” I lean in, voice low, flat. “Don’t call me out here again, or we’ll have a different conversation next time.”
“Alright, alright,” he says, voice thick with gravel. “I’m desperate. I got a large shipment coming in. I need it to go smooth.”
“What’s in it?”
“Four containers.”
“That’s not what I asked. The price just went up to twenty million.”
He wipes sweat of his forehead. “Are you fuckin’ serious?”
“Now it’s twenty-five. Soon it won’t be worth it for you.”
He raises both hands. “Alright. It’s guns. A deal I made with the Bratva.”
Guns and drugs I can do. Counterfeit? Fine. Human trafficking? Absolutely not. If I find out otherwise, I’ll slit his throat for his family and the underworld to see. If he lies, he’ll be sent back to his family in pieces and his small cock to his mistress so his wife will know where it’s been.
“You realize, if this steps on anyone’s turf, you’re on your own.”
“I know. I know. Trust me, the last thing I need in my life is cartel problems.”
He knows who I am. Or at least, what they say about me on the street. Rumors about my upbringing. My past. What I’ve done. Who my father is and what ties to the other cartel families we have. If any of it pops up on the web or social media? It’s gone. Deleted. Wiped from the internet by me.
“Don’t go spreading shit around. It’s bad for business.”
“I don’t want problems with you, Drazen. I just need the feds off my back when the shipment comes in. That’s all I’m asking. Everyone knows not to do business if it’s not with you. You’re the best.”
I nod once. I hate people that are so desperate, they kiss my ass to get what they need but it comes with the territory. “Have you had a problem before?”
“No. I’m not doubting you.”
“Good.”
The port’s surveillance logs rewrite every thirty minutes by a shell program I built in grad school. The manifest stays intact, but underneath, I inject ghost entries. Vinny’s shipment rides a UNICEF delivery for cover. IDs cloned. Product weights matched. GPS transponders falsified. Three signals at once. By the time the guns are unloaded, the cameras will be wiped.
“So we’re good?” he asks.
“Wire me the twenty-five million.”
“You’re serious.”
