Page 48 of Cartel King

Ignacio doesn’t respond. The man who’s speaking has a hint of a Spanish accent, but his Portuguese sounds fluent to me. I could be wrong, but he sounds more than just proficient. I keep reading my phone screen.

“Yeah, we made the drop this morning. Then I made sure the bitch didn’t leave the country.”

Good. He thinks I’m dead.

“Did you get your money back?”

This is met with more silence. Ignacio hates admitting any of this didn’t go his way. Certainly the part about all the money he couldn’t get back.

“Aren’t you concerned it’ll piss Tommaso off that his accountant isn’t coming home?”

“He should’ve sent a man to do a woman’s job then.”

There’s laughter all around, and it makes me want to punch the fucker in the face. There’s no reason for him to be so obnoxious. I thought I was being extremely reasonable during our meeting. I could have done far worse. I should have put a bullet through him when I had the chance.

They may have frisked me when I arrived, but I put up enough of a stink about one of his guys getting too handsy with me, they missed the small pistol I had on me. It was very dainty and remained hidden in my pocket. What they didn’t know, in this case, didn’t hurt them.

I continue to read my phone screen as they go back and forth. They’re still shooting the shit, and this young man puts up with Ignacio and his men’s bullshit. I read the translation throughout their dinner, hoping something’ll come out of this conversation that’s useful for Tommaso. The guy with the Spanish accent works for somebody out of Colombia, but I don’t know who. His back is to me, so I can’t see if I recognize him. His voice isn’t familiar.

When I hear the dessert plates being carried away, I know there’ll be a dessert wine coming next. I’ve already assembled my rifle, so I pick it up and put the barrel to the peephole as I peer through the sights. Just as the men lift their glasses to toast one another, I squeeze off rounds, putting bullets through all the men’s heads except for the Spanish speaker and Ignacio.

I make sure Ignacio sees everything that happens. All that’s taken away from him in a heartbeat. Once I’m certain the other men are dead, I shift my target to him. At the same time, I pull the trigger to kill Ignacio, the Spanish-speaking man turns in my direction.

Motherfucking son of a bitch. He is a near replica of Enrique. It has to be one of his nephews.

Fucking hell.

I can’t shoot him, but if I don’t get the fuck out of here, he’s going to find a way in here and will shoot me, then ask questions. I barely pull the rifle back in time before he shoots at the wall I’m hidden behind. I jump off the crate, ducking low to the ground as I disassemble the rifle, shoving it into my bag as I head to the door.

It swings open, and I whip out my pistol. I didn’t expect my informant to be there, but he is. He must have heard the shouting that started with the second bullet. I’m through the door and launching myself into the back seat of the van, pulling the sliding door shut as my guy hops in the driver’s seat. I peek out the window as the tires squeal. The sound of bullets hitting metal warns me we barely got away in time.

I lift my head high enough to peek out the back window and watch Enrique’s nephew point a gun toward me. I drop flat on the ground as the back window shatter. There’s a solid metal divider between the back seat and the front seat for things just like this. A bullet won’t pass through to kill the driver.

I hold on to anything I can grab since I can’t sit up and put my seatbelt on, and the roads are rough. We’re going way too fast for how narrow they are, but I trust my driver knows where to go and what to do.

We head directly to the airport where my escorts already wait for me. This time I board the plane with no one trying to kill me. I left Enrique’s nephew a block away from the restaurant. The plane’s engine is already on and idling just like the van had been. We’re wheels up before I catch my breath. I sit in my seat with my eyes closed once again, focusing on my breathing, calming myself.

I look out the window into the night sky. When there are no longer any city lights beneath us and only a dark abyss, I know we’re over the Atlantic. I pull my burner phone from my backpack and pull up the group text for my boys.

Again, it’s only a one-word message.

Off

It means I took off. I’m on my way home.

It’s an hour before I trust the plane won’t explode right after takeoff. There’s no guarantee somebody didn’t tamper with it, but I recognized the pilot and co-pilot. This isn’t a luxury flight, despite how nice the plane is. There’s no flight attendant offering me drinks and moist hot towels. There’s nothing for me to do during this leg of the flight, so I recline my seat and close my eyes. We’ll make a stop in the Cayman Islands, so I can deposit the money in one of Tommaso’s offshore accounts. No one wants me traveling back into the U.S. with this much currency.

I’m exhausted after running off adrenaline and fumes for the last few days. I swear to all that’s holy, if anything goes wrong between now and when Tommaso gets proof his money’s safe—if I survive it—he won’t.

Chapter Ten

Enrique

“What the hell do you mean somebody shot him and Benicio and four of their men? How the hell did you make it out alive? Are you all right?”

I can’t fucking believe what Alejandro just told me.

“Yes,tío. I’m fine. Whoever the mercenary was knew me or figured out who I was because they shot everyone else at the table except me. The speed at which this shooter worked was unlike anything I’d ever seen. It wasn’t rapid fire. It wasn’t some spray of bullets. They picked off each man with precision either straight through the top of the spine or dead smack between the eyebrows. They took out everyone, saving Benicio for second to last. Ignacio was this person’s ultimate target. Whoever they were, they wanted Ignacio to have the time to recognize what he was losing and a moment to see his son die before he did. Either that’s how the hit was commissioned, or it was something personal.”

---