Author: AJ Adams
Category: Humorous
Go to read content：https://onlinereadfreenovel.com/aj-adams/page,4,480082-twisted_a_zeta_cartel_novel_book_5.html
"Yeah, I'd have shot the bastard on the spot," Paco growled.
Having been mauled once already that day, it sounded like criticism. "Business before personal," I reminded them. "Also, while I love a fight as much as anyone else, the fucker had four bodyguards in the room."
"He didn't dismiss them?" Paco exclaimed. "What the fuck? Two bosses discussing business and he had the hired help listen in?"
"You ought to have shot them all," Lencho sighed.
I directed them to the real issue. "I didn't kill him because I don't want him dead; I want him to suffer."
"We'll still need permission," Lencho pointed out. "Because it will cause a war."
We were in my office, the executive suite on the twenty-fifth floor of our very own skyscraper, Zeta Towers. As I looked around my team, it hit me that something was missing: respect. It sent a ripple of concern through me and I suppressed it instantly, but once felt, it couldn't be ignored.
James, Lencho, Paco and me had been equals back home but as head of the London Zetas, they should have recognised that I was now a little apart and above them.
We'd been so tight for so long, that it felt strange even thinking it. But a leader has to be above his men. It's the nature of authority. Only a pendejo demands a title, respect is personal, but I had been in charge for a year, long enough for the others to graduate naturally from 'Jorge' to 'boss' in the office.
"You want to take revenge, Jorge?" James asked. "Wouldn't it be easier just to ice him?"
Yes, I really had dropped a loop. But I was cool, taking charge and showing them why I was the leader. "If we shoot him, we've got a problem. Kowalczyk's organisation is profitable but small. He doesn't have a family and there is no heir or second in command."
James saw the problem immediately. "Right, so if we blow him away, there will be a fight over his territory."
"Exactly. It runs next to ours and so we want it. However, we're short on manpower." I laid it out for him. "If we remove Kowalczyk today, the Rovers, Peckham Boys or some other outfit will try to take it."
James nodded. "And we don't want them to become more powerful."
"Exactly."
"Also, we can't just blow them all away. The cops here aren't like the badges back home."
"That's for sure," James sighed. "Some can't be bought."
"They're under-funded, so they're limited in their response. Littering the town with corpses would change that. We don't want parliament giving them extra cash, therefore, we need to stay discreet. Quiet warfare is the way to go."
"Well thought out, Jorge," Lencho complimented me. "So, how will you fuck over Kowalczyk and take him out, without handing his business to our rivals or rousing the cops?"
Yeah, talk about a fucking problem. But I didn't let on that I didn't have a clue. "I'll let you know my plans later. First, we need a new chemist. Jamal Blake is no longer with us."
That sharpened their attention.
"He tried it on, then?" James asked.
"He did."
"The stupid fuck."
"Exactly."
"After all you did for him!"
"Those were my thoughts too." But a sneaky voice whispered that Jamal Blake never would have dared cheat the jefe. I shrugged the evil thought away.
"It's hard to find reliable locals," Paco lamented. "Everyone good has been snapped up already."
That's the problem with entering new territory; building up business inevitably means choosing between importing expertise, which is expensive, or poaching other people's staff. As talented staff are well paid, they don't move easily.
"I miss El Raton," Paco sighed.
Our former chemist and my good friend since kindy. I'd sent him to Turkey with a consignment of coke and he'd been ambushed. Not my fault, we had a traitor at headquarters in Mexico, but it still stung. "He may be back one day but it won't be soon. He's still learning to walk."
"It wasn't your fault," James can always read me. "Shit happens, Jorge."
It was the truth, but knowing El Raton might be in a wheelchair for life got to me. Again, I shook off the black thought and focused on business. "I'll process the product until we get a replacement chemist."
"You?" Paco frowned.
"Yes, me," I snapped.
"Right, yes, sure." Paco backed off instantly. "Sorry, I meant no disrespect."
I took a breath and forced back the temper that ran through me. "I'm no pro but it will do for now. In the meantime, let's look at Iran and Saudi for talent. London's a hell of a lot more fun than Tehran and Riyadh. A chemist worth his salt might want to move. And when we take out Kowalczyk, we may pick up talent there, too."
That made them smile. We all like a win-win.
"Next, our property line." I was keeping my eye on the ball. "James, where do we stand on the paperwork?"
James is a lawyer and his assessment always starts with an outline of the legal parameters. "As the council made the error, we can appeal. The courts can force the council to change it but it will take years and we'd incur a shitload of legal bills, whether we win or lose. We're much better off disappearing the paperwork." Okay, he's also cartel, which means he's a very direct thinker.
"We do it the Zeta way," I decided. "I want the files, the notes and any minutes of any meetings destroyed. A strategic fire should do the trick. Lencho, make this happen."
"Sure thing."
"Be careful," I warned him. "The Planning Office is just a block away from here. I don't want to risk stray sparks setting Zeta Towers aflame."
"It's all computerised now," Paco pointed out. "I'll get the hacker team back home to vanish the digital records."
"There may be some print copies hanging about," James mused. "But we deal with them as we come across them or dismiss them as fakes."
That being settled, I began to set up for the business of revenge. "We've only got a basic file on Kowalczyk. If we're going to take him out, we need more information. Find out everything there is to know about him: bank accounts, investors, a list of the people he's fucked over, and the address of his dear old Mum."
I wasn't telling them about the girl. His insults stung, but her scorn burned. "Focus on him and his organisation." I'd look her up myself and the second she was mine, I'd make her pay. I'd start by taking my belt to her.
"Of course." As my lieutenant, James would run with it.
"We're on it," Lencho assured me. "We've got your back."
Again, he was offering support to his associate, not his boss. It really got to me but I couldn't help but wonder why I hadn't noticed before.
"Maybe we can get Matu back," James suggested. "With El Raton gone and him too, we are short-staffed."
Our other socio and dearly missed. "No, the jefe needs him in LA."
"Pity," James sighed. "We need him for logistics."
"I'm handling that!"
"Of course," James said quickly.
I was fuming at the implied criticism but Paco's cell buzzed and an instant later, he was grinning, "Cabrón!" and passing around his phone.
They'd discovered Jamal Blake's corpse.
"Fenomenal."
"A message that will be heard everywhere."
They loved it and the exclamations came with a shitload of respect.
"When Kowalczyk hears, he'll piss himself, knowing he's next," James predicted happily.
"An act worthy of the jefe himself," Lencho sighed.
"That's why I'm the boss."
It just came out, floating in the air. I waited uneasily, not daring to let even myself know how important this was.
The men were checking their phones and smiling at the flood of texts coming in, all considering my work.
"Iconic," James sighed. "All that with a baseball bat?"
"Like Al Capone," Lencho nailed it.
They rated the message, but it fell short of the respect that should have come. My eye fell on the map hanging on the wall that outlined our territory, several blocks of prime London r
eal estate. I'd inherited it, not fought for it, and now the knowledge twisted my gut. Had Kowalczyk been right? Was I a waste of space and too stupid to know it?
I'd been given London as my plaza a year earlier, after our first man out, Escamilla, attempted to stage a coup. The fucking moron really tried to take on the jefe. Of course, that went nowhere.
I had just taken over when head office dumped the Turkish fiasco on me. Then, I'd been shot by an assassin. Arturo had sent over his senior associate, Quique Ramas, to look after the shop while I out of the picture.
Quique had implemented some early steps of my takeover plan but after I got out of the hospital, lack of reliable manpower had prevented me from finishing.
My dream was to establish a seaport. Having our own dock and bonded warehouse would allow us to kick ass properly.
Until that day I'd put the setbacks down to bad luck but now I worried that I'd lost my edge.
I suppressed the notion as soon as it surfaced. I am fourth generation cartel; I made my bones when I was seventeen, and when my father died, shot when I was twenty-four, I became head of my family, taking care of my mother and my sister. Of course I merited respect, my track record said so. But despite it all, I was edgy.
"I'm looking forward to taking out Kowalczyk," Lencho grinned. "I like action."
"Good. Because you're going to get plenty of it." I checked my watch. "Okay, get to work. I'll meet you at Bubbles later."
The second they exited, I was diving into the file and planning. Kowalczyk's club was next to mine and I could absorb his string of massage parlours, car washes and restaurants easily.
It was looking at the map that gave me the idea. Seeing his plaza laid out in neat lines, it occurred to me that I shouldn't confine myself to seeing it as a whole. His territory comprised various chunks, each of which might be divided into blocks and then again subdivided into streets and finally buildings.
One of our favourite methods of execution is to salami a man. As you slice him like a sausage, he stays alive and aware, meaning it's a good lesson for him and for the people who find the bits we leave.
I realised instead of an all-out expensive, intense war, I might capture Kowalczyk business in tiny slices. Taking it step by step would mean fewer manpower issues. Also, as it doesn't take cartel training to run a regular business, I could probably win over most of his staff. A masseuse doesn't give a toss who she works for, right? Or a shop owner or bartender. The stable of racehorses would require some study, though.
My spirits rising, I had a look at the girl.
Persia York was a footnote in the file, with Paco's scribbled margin comment, "Former Victoria's Secret Angel. Current occupation, fashion design student." She'd been on Kowalczyk's arm for three months, boosting his public profile with the press. Her social media helped him too. There was also a note about an investment account and a summary statement of her personal wealth.
When I saw the figure, I sat back and whistled. The six-figure number said it all. There was no way she'd earned that kind of money on the catwalk. I remembered the blank face and practised kiss. The woman had sold herself - and she hadn't come cheap.
I was dying to dive in and run a proper background check on the bitch but my calendar alarm signalled it would have to wait; there was business to be done.
On cue, my laptop began to chime and the video link turned on.
"Jefe." I sat up straight. "How are you?"
"Excellent, thanks." Arturo was laughing, the full force of his personality blasting across the ocean separating us. "So, you had some excitement. Congratulations on the message. I love the subtle reference to Al Capone."
He knows everything, always. It's the reason he's on top.
"Thanks."
"Pity though. Blake was a good chemist."
"I'll replace him."
"Sure," Arturo agreed. "I hear there's trouble with a Pole, Kowalczyk. Something about a property line?"
Told you.
"Yes, jefe."
"From your face, it didn't go well." He read me like a book. "What happened?"
I brought him up to speed, but I didn't mention the girl. I told myself she wasn't important. What mattered was Kowalczyk. "Jefe, I want to make him pay."
"Absolutely," Arturo agreed instantly. "What the hell was he thinking? He must have been high."
"He never touches product. And he was sober, too."
"Right. I see."
And so could I. The jefe was hesitating. A sliver of ice pierced my gut. "Surely you won't withhold permission? The insult -"
"Of course he's dead!" Arturo interrupted me. "Jorge, come on! We're cousins. Kowalczyk goes." He hesitated again. "It's just that we're stretched here. We're busy with our new territory over the border. There's considerable push-back, more than we expected. I can't send you soldiers or other support."
My chest was tight, my breath trapped. He thought I couldn't handle it. "I can take him."
"Kowalczyk is a small fish compared to our organisation, but he's got more men than you," Arturo pointed out. "He won't be a pushover."
Joder! My own cousin doubted me! Horror sucked all the air from my lungs.
"Wait a second," Arturo disappeared for a moment. When he returned, he had two familiar figures with him: Kyle, our head of security, and Quique.
"Jorge, that was a great message," Kyle grinned. "I'm impressed."
Considering he once crucified a man who'd crossed us, it was a compliment. Quique was smiling as well. I could see he approved. I got my breath back.
"Jorge wants to take out Kowalczyk," Arturo said to Kyle and Quique. "What's your input?"
"You lack staff so this needs to be a battle of minds, not strength," Kyle mused. "Focus on knowing him, keep him off his balance, manoeuvre him into weakness and make sure you keep control of the dynamic."
Kyle's an ex-Marine and a superb fighter.
"You can't just blow him away," Quique agreed. "But if you start by crippling his revenue stream, he won't be able to pay his soldiers. That will remove his advantage."
Quique's an ex-Kaibil, Guatemala's Special Forces, and quite as deadly.
I put forward my idea. "Rather than go all-out, I want to proceed street by street. You know, like the salami treatment but instead of carving up the man, we take his plaza slice by slice."
"It's a good idea, but it needs very careful pacing," Kyle agreed.
Didn't I know it! "It will take some time but I think it's the right tactic."
"It'll cost a fucking fortune," Quique said soberly. "But you can recoup the cost of the war when you capture the extra territory."
Kyle was staring into space, considering the facts from all angles. "You've got an extra problem," he said slowly. "You don't want the cops to get involved, so you need to be covert. Also, you can't leave bodies lying about."
"True," Quique agreed. "Start with a couple of show-stopping kills, just to inspire fear into the enemy, but after that, disappear the evidence."
Put together, it sounded one hell of a job.
"I like the idea of expansion, we're behind on our London plans," Arturo said. "But war takes a fuck-load of investment and well-trained reliable manpower is always a bitch."
"We can't really spare troops," Kyle contended. "Not for a few weeks."
They were going to ask me to wait because they didn't trust my skills. I fought for air. "I'll destroy Kowalczyk, add his territory to ours, and I'll do it with my own resources."
Arturo blinked and paused. "But there's the seaport project too. We need it to go ahead or we won't -"
In my haste, I forgot my respect and interrupted him. "I'll make that happen too."
"That's a big assignment," Arturo pointed out. "Jorge, no disrespect but you're very young."
He thought I was a loser. I almost died on the spot with shame. "I can handle it." Or die in the attempt. I willed him to agree with me. "Jefe, leave it to me."
I couldn't read Kyle or Quique, they were both inscrutabl
e, but my cousin frowned. I waited with bated breath. If he said no, I'd be humiliated. It suddenly came to me that I would be finished. As a man is nothing without respect, my life would be over. I'd have to leave the cartel, and it would kill me.
Just as I was on the point of passing out with tension, the jefe nodded. "All right, Jorge," he smiled. "I leave it all in your hands. Call me if you need anything."
"Absolutely!" The air rushed into me, setting me gasping. Now I could make my reputation, set everyone straight once and for all. "Thank you, jefe."
My smile stayed in place but when the video feed clicked off, I had the sweats. Reviewing the conversation told me I'd been right: I got the job because I was family. If I'd been anyone else, they would have refused me. They didn't think I could take care of business by myself.
I looked out of the window at the Thames flowing past and spotted a wisp of smoke. Not a mile away, a building was going up in flames. Lencho's call to action was dealing with the property line issues.
As flakes of ash drifted by, I resolved to prove them all wrong. I'd fix Kowalczyk, take everything the man had, add in the seaport and then I'd hand it all to Arturo on a plate.
Filled with determination, I walked to the club, thinking over the bones of a plan. Quique had given me an approach: get to know the enemy, destabilise him and attack him with small, swift strikes, adding his business to ours bit by bit. And when Kowalczyk was isolated and on his last legs, I'd kill the fucker myself.
It was straightforward enough and by the time I walked the three blocks to the club, I was feeling good. I'd lick the bastard soon enough.
Bubbles was busy, even though it was still early. "Overflow from next door," Jacko, my chief bartender, grinned. "Kowalczyk filled his place with freeloaders, so we've a full house of disappointed punters."
"Terrific." I rang the ship's bell that hung above the bar. "I'm having a great day," I roared out, "so it's half priced tequila for the next ten minutes!"
A shot gets the party going, and the crowd were whooping and dancing as I fought my way over to the owner's table where the others were waiting. As always, they'd picked up some company. The three blondes were familiar, all of them regular party girls. The brunette was not, but by the low-cut dress and the big smile, she was out for some fun.