Page 49 of Property of Max
“That won’t be hard,” Spike replies. “Plenty of brothers begging for it. Max, you pick who runs East.”
I nod once, already knowing. I pull out my phone and fire off a quick message to the first name that comes to mind. With that handled, I settle back in my chair and wait. If we’re in the war room outside of our normal meeting time, it means shit’s gone sideways.
“Cortez is getting closer,” Spike says grimly. “Three more people vanished. All young women, all living alone with nofamily to notice right away. One passerby saw the second abduction, but she was too afraid to report it.”
“Typical,” Knuckles mutters. “If the witness was a woman, even more so.”
“She was,” Spike confirms. “The first victim was reported missing by her boss. The third, by her parole officer when she skipped a mandatory check-in.”
“So, three nobodies,” I say flatly. “No families, no pressure on the city to find them.”
“Exactly.” Spike rubs his face. “I’m at a loss. This is bigger than us. We don’t have the manpower or the resources to go toe-to-toe with Cortez.”
“But we can’t leave it,” Skip cuts in. “If we turn our backs, they’ll eat this city alive. Our club right along with it.”
Spike exhales hard. “Which is why we’re going to need outside help.”
“Why not do what we did when we were looking for Max?” Foster asks, glancing my way. “Get someone on the inside to feed us intel. Then we package it up and hand it over to the feds. Fantasmas has been on their radar for years.”
“I already have someone in mind,” I say. Every head turns toward me. I don’t flinch. I belong at this table. I’m a Shadow. Not a traitor.
“Then why the fuck haven’t you said something sooner?” Skip demands.
“Because it’s a long shot,” I admit. “Kid was terrified of me, hell, terrified of everyone. He didn’t belong in that world, but there he was. Not sure if he even made it after Muerte went down.”
“Can you find out?” Bones asks. “Is reaching out worth the risk?”
“I don’t have a way to contact him,” I say, turning toward Foster. “But if I give you a name, could you track him?”
Foster smirks. “And everything else there is to know about him.”
“Russell Jones,” I say.
Skip snorts. “Really? Russell Jones? Doesn’t exactly scream cartel.”
“He’s American,” I explain. “Young. No clue how he got tied up with them, but he sure as hell didn’t belong.”
Foster’s fingers fly across his phone screen. “There are fifty-seven Russell Jones in the U.S. Only one matches…nineteen years old, living in Mexicali. Aged out of the system last year. No parents. No family. Went south looking for work, never came back.”
“Got a picture?” I ask.
Foster flips his phone toward us. One glance is all I need. “That’s him. Looks healthier here than when I saw him last.”
“Taken when he was seventeen,” Foster says. “Nothing new online.”
“Can we reach him?” Spike asks.
“I’m sure we can,” Foster says confidently. “Give me a bit to dig.”
He moves to his corner nest of laptops, and the wall of security monitors lights up with his work. I watch the code pour across the screens faster than my eyes can follow. I’ll never be smart enough to know what the hell he’s doing. But if anyone can find that kid, it’s Foster.
“While Foster digs, there’s nothing more we can do but wait,” Spike says. “We’ve got eyes on the ground and Border Patrol keeping a lookout for Cortez, but so far, no sign of him.”
“Just because people are disappearing doesn’t mean he’s crossed our border,” I say. “He could have someone here working for him.”
“Foster, see if you can find any link between Cortez and Los Fantasmas here in Palm Springs,” Spike calls. “Even if it’sa cousin of a friend of someone in the cartel. I want names, addresses…anything.”
“On it,” Foster replies without looking up, fingers already moving.
