Page 3 of Jameson: Mayhem Makers

His mouth turned up in a lopsided grin. “Sure.”

We played another game of pool before returning to our room and crashing for the night.

The next morning, we checked out of the motel. “Did you leave a mess?” Vic asked, arching a brow at me.

I smirked. “No. You know we clean up after ourselves.”

Nodding, he chuckled. “Good. Now, get the fuck outta here before more trouble follows you.”

“Always good to see you, Vic,” I said as I walked out of the small lobby.

After Raleigh and I ate breakfast at a diner down the street, we made our way to the meeting point. The Chinese always picked a new spot every time we met, but it was usually at a warehouse somewhere in San Diego.

We met at an abandoned warehouse near the port this time. I recognized the five men waiting for us inside and greeted them with a nod.

“Glad you made it in one piece, Jameson,” Lee, the man in charge, commented.

I chuckled as I set two duffel bags on the table. “It’ll take a lot more than three cartel cunts to take me down.”

He snapped his fingers, and two of his men came forward and opened the duffel bags. They began counting the stacks of cash, then nodded when finished.

Lee spoke in Mandarin before the men grabbed two duffel bags of their own and brought them to the table. “I might be able to help you with your problem.”

I arched a brow, intrigued. “The Yakuza are interested in taking out the Mexican cartel?”

He laughed. “No. I meant the problem with your drug supply.”

“What did you have in mind?”

He grinned. “Well, as you know, fentanyl is the hottest drug right now. We could give you a great deal if you wanted to start selling for us.”

I glanced at my brother, who shrugged. From what I knew, my dad despised the stuff, but our problems with the cartel were causing issues with our drug game. “I’d have to run it by my father first. Since he is the president and all.”

“Of course,” Lee replied as he slid the duffel bags to me. “Tell him to contact me if he’s interested.”

I opened the duffel bags and searched inside each one, double-checking to make sure all the weapons we’d paid for were there. “Will do,” I said as I zipped the bags back up and handed one to Raleigh. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

We got back on the road and started the five-hour ride home, each with a duffel bag on the back of our bikes. “We got a lot to talk to Dad about,” Raleigh commented.

“Yeah. We have to figure out something about the cartel. This shit’s getting annoying.”

His laughter sounded through my headset. “What do you think Dad will say about the fentanyl?”

I sighed. “Not sure. A lot of people end up accidentally overdosing on it, so I don’t think he’ll want to take the risk.”

“If he wants to get back in the drug game, he might have to. This bullshit with the cartel is killing our business.”

“Yeah. We need to figure out something.”

When we made it to the club, we brought the guns in, then I went to my dad’s office. The door was open, but I knocked on it anyway. “We’re back.”

He glanced up at me from the stack of papers in front of him, then nodded. “Good. Everything go okay?”

I leaned against the doorframe. “For the most part.”

Setting his pen down, he exhaled a breath and made eye contact with me. “What does that mean, son?”

“Well, some cartel roaches followed us to the motel, but we took care of them. Trade went fine. Lee made us an offer.”

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