“Dammit,” he cursed as he reached for his phone.
Houston, TX
Mario strode across the sky bridge to the penthouse office maintained by one of his shell corporations. He pushed open the double doors to the main office and shrugged the white linen coat from his shoulders. He hung it carefully in the closet and stepped through into the living room of the “office.”
In reality, it was a presidential suite, but keeping it rented full-time was a great tax write off for the corporation and gave him a secure place to base his operations from when in the States.
He poured bourbon over ice and waded through the lush carpet towards the corner desk that overlooked the city. He sipped the premium whisky as the sun began to set and the city came to life below him.
He knew that soon the youth of the city would be clambering to the “in” night clubs and his product would begin to flow, passing from his people to eager hands. Gyrating bodies needed fuel, and what better way to fuel a hormone-laden young person than with pure Colombian blow?
He smiled to himself as more and more buildings came to life. The colorful lights of inner city nightclubs began to flash their siren call to those of means. He knew that the money to fuel his war with Esmeralda and the Sinaloa was about to go from a trickle to a full out flood as his people worked the streets turning the addictive white powder into cash.
A soft knock at the door had him leaning over his desk, studying the huge frame in the monitor. He pressed a button, giving Fernando entrance to his private oasis. “What news?”
Fernando gave him a curt smile. “I was right. Just over a hundred, if you wish to strike now.” He cleared his throat and eyed the Murillo cartel Don. “If you can give the men two days, you’ll have more than twice that. Many with combat experience.”
Mario raised a brow. “Combat experience? You mean something other than gangland drive-by shootings and turf wars?”
Fernando nodded. “Si, señor.” He seemed to squirm under the scrutiny. “Our Southside distributors contract ex-military for security.”
Mario nodded approvingly. “I find it hard to believe that US fighting soldiers would be willing to work for such a…” he paused, searching for the proper words. “Such a foreign endeavor.”
Fernando smiled. “Many of these men, work for whoever offers the most money; they have no personal loyalty past that.” He averted his eyes and seemed to waver. “There is also the East Side contingency. They have MS13 members who move product in bulk. They claim that—”
Mario held a hand up. “Uno momento. MS13 is affiliated with us? Why is this the first time I am hearing of this?” He shook his head, his mouth forming a tight line. “You know how I feel about them.”
Fernando sighed and nodded. “Si, señor. I do know. But this was the first even I had heard of this.” He finally made eye contact. “But according to the distributors, MS13 moves the majority of our product throughout the East Side. They move hundreds of kilos at a time farther north.” He shrugged. “All the way to Canada.”
Mario’s brows rose. “MS13 transports and sells in Canada?”
Fernando nodded. “This is what I am told, señor.”
Mario sighed and shook his head slightly. “So, our stateside distributors have teamed up with the most savage band of…” He sighed and pulled his chair out, sitting thoughtfully behind his desk. “I do not know how I feel about having them take part in the attack on Bravo team.”
“I understand, señor. But keep in mind, they are claiming that they can loan you over fifty men. And you know how loco they can be.”
Mario sighed and waved him on. “Two days you say?”
“Si, señor.”
He thought for a moment then turned and peered back out at the darkening city. “Fine. Two days.” He reached for a cigar. “But it is up to you to ensure that they are all aware…Bridger is mine.”
34
South of Dallas, TX
Lisa stood in the doorway, hands on hips. “It’s getting dark. I think we should hunker down here and bug out just before daybreak.”
Bridger raised a brow at her as he loaded magazines. “A half hour ago you were wincing at the thought of making a stand here.”
She sighed as she stepped inside, ignoring the construction equipment. “Yeah, well there’s a big difference in catching a few winks and being entombed here. I’m just saying we catch our breath before you bury us elsewhere.”
Laughlin nodded. “I’m with her. If they decide to attack, I like this place a lot better than what you have in mind.”
Bridger narrowed his gaze at the pair. “You don’t have to stay.” He continued pushing rounds into the magazines, his jaw set. “Every damned one of you can walk away. I’ll deal with Mario myself.”
Lisa sighed and forced herself to bite her tongue. “Let’s just say for the sake of argument, that isn’t really an option.” She huffed as he held the door open for Mauk to drag in some of their gear. “So, can we hole up here tonight and head for your graveyard first thing in the morning?”
Laughlin scoffed as he plopped onto the threadbare couch. “You do know that I have this thing about tight spaces, don’t you?”
“I don’t care.” Bridger tossed the magazine to the side and began loading another. “Any of you can leave when you want. Don’t let the door hit your ass on the way out.”
Mauk stared at him for a moment then approached slowly. “I don’t know what’s put a burr under your saddle blanket, buddy, but we’re on your side here, remember? Snapping at folks ain’t
