Page 19 of Slayer

Caeo knocks on my door. I can see it’s him, despite the fact he can't see in. My whole office is built with bulletproof glass which acts as a one way mirror. I can see out, but no one can see in.

No one can get in but me, so I have to cross the room to open the door myself. It's a small inconvenience for the security it gives me.

Caeo isn't alone; he has Tony and Roland with him. These are the guys I trust in my cutting plant. They oversee what comes in as raw uncut product and repackaging into single doses.

“Gentlemen,” I greet.

“Honestly, I can account for all the money in, and all the drugs out.” Tony defends himself against unasked questions.

I don't need to ask him anything, my men have already whittled down the wheel from the husks, and these are the men who didn't stand up to interrogation.

“Do we need further motivation?”

“No. These two are clean.” Caeo shrugs off the lifesaving words. “They came forward with some inconsistencies.”

“Caeo was asking about how we didn't notice the odd brick going missing, so we looked into all our records. Someone has been fiddling the figures.” Tony mutters.

I like Tony, he's a sweet guy, nothing to him size wise, but he's smart. Roland adds the brawn to this duo. He's just there to make Tony feel confident with the other staff.

“What kind of fiddling?” Who the hell would be hiding the fact they are being delivered less than they expect?

“The missing bricks are being logged to the point where less cargo is signed in, but the cutters are still weighing out a full pallet going through, and then money is being adjusted when it comes back in.” Tony offers me a folder, which I take and flick through without reading.

“Which means?”

“Twenty bricks are coming in but being reported as nineteen. The full twenty are being processed and shipped out and the money for it all is coming back in. But only the profit for nineteen bricks is being recorded. It's a very clever way to steal money. I'm so sorry I didn't notice. I just checked drugs in and money in both matches.”

“Who logs it in?”

Tony's eyes flick to Roland.

“Not sure.” Roland takes over. “It's not just one guy doing it. We use three guys to prevent this situation.”

“Find and interrogate them.” I turn to Caeo with clenched fists. This is nothing to do with Annie, just a festering rot that's been flushed out in the fallout. These fucking shits have been stealing from right under my nose, but unlike Annie, they don't have cute brothers to save them from my torturous ways.

“On it.” Caeo turns to leave, spurring Tony and Roland to hurry behind. I'm not a scary boss when things are going well. Fuck up and there will be hell to pay. Those two guys know they're not off the hook yet. If I can't get my pound of flesh from the culprit, I'll be coming for them. Just an added incentive for them to find the underlying cause of this. Anyone who isn't part of the solution is a fucking problem.

This is my most successful club, and therefore, it's completely clean. Running fancy clubs is much more fun than drug running, but if I don't supply the city, someone else will. At least by sitting at the reins, I can keep the product clean and the skirmishes to a minimum. And that's why the cops turn a blind eye.

I've barely begun daydreaming about my boy's wide eyes as he explores, when Caeo phones me with a name. He gives me a name; I give him a location. I'm going to keep this private for now, but this is not something I want to do in my club.

I have a nice warehouse across town, and by nice, I mean it's a steel shell. Easy to keep clean, and easy to dispose of if necessary. I'm not fond of the building itself, just what happened inside. And the Russian who manages it.

Nico greets me at the door, and I always greet him with a hug. He is adorable. I'm not sure what country he's from, but he speaks Russian and English so everything else is irrelevant. He's tiny, in build and height, only fifteen, although I've said that for at least three years.

“Nico, how's it going?”

“Meh, Gavriil he says burn place after.”

When I say Nico speaks both Russian and English, he speaks them both badly, but it's the only way to communicate with Gavriil.

Nico skips inside, and the rest of us follow. I'm sure I pay the kid for what he does, but he dresses like a grubby street urchin.

“That kid needs a pay rise,” I whisper to Caeo.

“You say that every time we come here. It doesn't help. What he needs is a shower.” Caeo reminds me of our previous discussions. “And maybe a parent.”

“He has neither,” I shrug. He came across with his mum, but the drawback of working for my dad is the risk of getting caught in the crossfire. I can’t do much for the kid, but I have money and throw plenty of it his way.

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