Dark Hunter

by AJ Adams

  “But Aleja was sixteen. What Neto did to my sister was personal, and he has to pay.”

  Don Valentine hesitated, but we both knew I was right on the mark. “But Neto’s with Los Osos,” he said slowly. “He’s their chief chemist.”

  That was bad news. Neto was a revenue goldmine, so he had serious status.

  It was time for the big guns. “Don Valentine, I ask for your help in settling this matter.”

  Sounds totally Godfather, right? But that’s truly how it works.

  Don Valentine could have turned me down, that was his right as the boss, but we both knew that would be a disaster.

  When you join the cartel, you follow orders, no matter how shitty the job is. In return, you get looked after. If anyone fucks with you or your family, the cartel will help you get revenge. They back you up, all the way, no questions asked. That’s the deal.

  My family had given everything to the cartel. We were known for it and respected too. It was one of the reasons I’d been able to walk away without being ostracised. Our allegiance had been paid in blood.

  If Don Valentine didn’t honour his obligations, his own men would stop trusting him. And when everyone is carrying, and the ambitious routinely shortcut their way up the promotional ladder with a bullet, the last thing you want is trouble in the ranks.

  Don Valentine knew the score, and as he didn’t want anyone questioning his right to rule, he made a big show out of stepping up. “You’re absolutely right. I agree. This is personal, and you have my help.”

  I played along, acting the humble supplicant. “Thank you, sir.”

  “You’re a proud girl,” Don Valentine tried to sound delighted, but we both knew he wasn’t. This would make his deal more difficult. But he took it like a man. “You remind me of your father.”

  The second we got out of there, Mitch was all over me, saying, “Chica, you were great! You talked like the boss himself!”

  “Mitch, hands off, okay?”

  He stepped back immediately, looking hurt. “Come on! We were great together when we were kids, and these last few weeks have been like old times. Please, give me another chance.”

  For a moment I hesitated. Mitch had been my high school sweetheart. He was great company, and he made me laugh. Also, my secret fears whispered, I’d not met a man who’d wanted me in years. Going back to Mitch would mean a place in the cartel, respect and safety.

  I was truly tempted. Then I looked into his eyes and remembered the rest: Mitch had lied to me, keeping his true reason for coming back hidden from me. If I went back to him, I couldn’t trust him.

  Back in Barnyard, it was Mitch who had known Neto was with Los Osos. I was thinking that wooing the master chemist was probably part of the ‘project’. That meant Mitch must have anticipated I would run into the man eventually, and he’d not warned me. Finally, a life with the cartel would mean endless violence, and Mitch would be in the thick of it.

  Adding it all up, going back to him would only mean more hurt. “No.”

  “I may be a new man here, but I’ve got plans.” He wasn’t taking no for an answer. “I’m a money-maker, and Don Valentine is fast-tracking me for promotion.”

  “Good for you, but still no.”

  “With your history and my push, we’d be unbeatable.”

  Even now he was just thinking of using me. It made me sick to my stomach.

  “Turning me down is a mistake.” Mitch’s eyes were flinty. “You’re better off with me as a friend.”

  Push me, and you get generations of cartel right back in your face. “If that means fucking you, the price is too high!”

  I thought he’d try and hit me, but then Mitch backed off, snapping, “You’ll regret that.”

  I reminded him of the essentials, “You owe my family. See that Neto pays, or I’ll make sure of it myself.”

  He made a huge show of being offended. “Jesus! What are you saying? Of course! Trust us!”

  But a week went by, and Don Valentine did nothing. I heard he’d seen Los Osos, there was a big powwow at his place, but from all accounts, Neto was still breathing.

  When Mitch came by Barnyard, I confronted him.

  “The boss is negotiating with Los Osos,” Mitch told me. “He’s getting you compensation.”

  “I don’t want money.”

  His eyes were glittering nastily. “Yeah, but as I reminded Don Valentine, you’ve not paid us much respect, have you? You treat us like we’re filth, and you’re too good for us.”

  By which I understood Mitch was working against me as revenge for me turning him down.

  While I fumed, my friends were urging me to drop it.

  “For God’s sake, be sensible!” Lucy exclaimed.

  “Mitch is saying Don Valentine himself is taking your case,” Jake said, his voice hushed with respect. “He must know what’s right.”

  For him, I thought but I didn’t say it. It’s death to diss a cartel boss.

  Lucy was twitching nervously. “Mitch thought you’d forgive him. He’s really upset.”

  “He won’t dare do anything to you, right?” Emma whispered. “Your name will protect you, won’t it?”

  Like everyone else, they’d heard stories of what happened to girls who crossed cartel men.

  I told them what they needed to hear. “Of course not. Everything’s fine.”

  “Thank God.”

  Over the days that followed, I burned with anger, but I told myself my friends were right. I had to let it go. It might have been okay, but then Neto came round to the shop. I was working on a Viper when I saw the spider tats cruise in.

  “Hello again, guapa.” The dark eyes were lit with evil as he eyeballed me. “I’ve come to hook up.”

  “You bastard! I’ll kill you!” It took Roberto, Jake and Tim to put me in the office and keep me there. “That fucker raped my sister, attacked me, and now he’s here to bait me. He’s mine.”

  Then Mitch came in. “Look, you have to cool it. He’s here for official business.”

  “What?” I couldn’t believe it. “Why?”

  “He’s here to do a deal for Los Osos transport division.”

  The realities of the situation were sinking in. “The cartel and Los Osos are partnering up?”

  “Yeah,” Mitch shrugged. “Look, I’m here to take you to Don Valentine.”

  An hour later I was facing the bling-laden boss again. “I got you compensation.” Twenty thou in cash but he couldn’t look me in the eye.

  “I don’t want it.”

  “It’s a lot of money.”

  “You gave your word.”

  Don Valentine shrugged. “Circumstances change.” Then finally he was honest. “I need this deal with Los Osos.”

  “And I have to suck it up.”

  The eyes were as poisonous as Neto’s. “You’re the last of your family.”

  And that was it. I had a stark choice: accept it and live or go the way of my father, uncle, and cousins. Except they got theirs from the enemy whereas I was being fucked by my own people.

  Fury ran through me, icy cold hate in my veins. But I’m not stupid. Killing me wouldn’t worry Don Valentine. I had to walk away.

  I sucked it up for precisely twenty-four hours. That’s when Mitch came by again, driving a BMW. “Look at this lovely Beemer! Get on it right away, okay?”

  I was in the middle of a job, fixing a radiator for a twenty-year-old Chevy when Mitch slapped my butt. “Move it, girl!”

  “Fuck off, asshole!”

  Roberto was flying over. “Chica, please!” And then, incredibly, he was grovelling on my behalf, “Mitch, she didn’t mean it.”

  “She’d better toe the line, Roberto, or she’ll get a beating.”

  “Of course, I’ll explain to her.”

  “She’s lucky she isn’t six feet under,” Mitch spat. “See she knows her place.”

  I couldn’t believe my ears. “What the hell’s going on?”

  Roberto was high again, his eyes
blurred, but he knew something I didn’t. “You didn’t take Don Valentine’s offer.”

  The twenty thou. “Meaning?”

  “He says you cut yourself loose.”

  “He broke his promise, and I sucked it up, and now I’m outcast?”

  Roberto couldn’t look me in the eye. “You can still work here. I mean, he didn’t say you had to leave Dawson Heights.”

  “He wants me gone in case anyone finds out his word is worthless?” I was beyond rage.

  “You shut your mouth!” Mitch was putting in his two cents.

  “She didn’t mean it.” Tim was there, looking nervous. “She’s just a bit uptight.”

  Mitch shrugged. “Her hormones don’t interest me. Get to fucking work.”

  And that was the bottom line. Don Valentine had broken his word to me, the last member of a loyal Gulf family, and to cover for it, he was pretending I’d insulted him by throwing his blood money back at him and walking away.

  I’d struggled through Aleja’s rape and death, the loss of Papa and my last relatives, but now I was discovering that this kind of trouble was different.

  Precisely how bad that was became clear the instant I walked into Barnyard. Neto was there, standing at the bar with his crew, all wearing black leather jackets with cuts printed with signature Los Osos bear paws. They were dark, evil, and by the look of them, all packing. The alliance was complete; Los Osos were one with the Gulf.

  Seeing me, Neto grabbed his crotch. “Want to see what your sister liked about me?”

  Mitch was there, right alongside them, his face absolutely blank. He looked at me, at Neto, and then turned and drank his beer. Poncho, Ben, and the rest of the cartel at the VIP booth saw, too, and not one of them said a word.

  Everyone saw, and everyone knew I was outcast.

  Standing at our regular table, Roberto just sighed, “Oh fuck.”

  Tim added, “Not cool. Really not cool.”

  Emma and Lucy were shocked and frightened.

  Jake simply whispered, “Chica, you should go.”

  “We can do it here, right in front of your friends.” Neto was laughing, knowing that I was on my own.

  I just turned around and walked out. I had my head up because I didn’t want them to see my pain. I couldn’t believe it had come to this.

  Chapter Five: Rip

  Power is the only thing that matters. Without it, you may as well be dead. Arturo Vazquez had it in spades, and so I was properly respectful.

  “Mr Vasquez. It’s good of you to see me.”

  “Good of me? Good of me to see the man who saved my life?” He embraced me, kissed me on both cheeks, and then laughed. “And for God’s sake, man, call me Arturo. Come in!”

  Arturo turned to the men at his table. “This is Ripley Marston. The man who saved my life.”

  I was rocked, hearing the name I hadn’t used in years. I had planned to use a new one, just as I always did when moving to a new place. But I didn’t have time to consider as the men crowded around me, laughing while they embraced me.

  “Rip! Cabron, it’s good to meet you!”

  “Welcome! Man, you’re a hero!”

  They were all typical Latino: burly men with dark hair, dark eyes, and olive skin. This lot also had the instantly recognisable fuck-you stare that is pure cartel. The Mexican emperors disappeared centuries ago, but the Zetas rule their dominions with the same iron fist, and it showed.

  “These are my closest aids,” Arturo announced. “Chumillo, Quique, Pedro, and Rafa.”

  “You took out Danjuma?” Rafa laughed. “I wish I’d been there to see it.”

  “Welcome to Mexico! Anything you want, just name it,” Quique said.

  “Where are you staying?” Pedro asked.

  Arturo just stood back, letting them talk, but at Pedro’s question he jumped in. “Rip’s staying with me. Till he finds a place of his own.”

  By the surprised pause and sudden respectful looks, I gathered staying with Arturo was an honour. I was taken aback, too, but I didn’t let it show.

  “We must have a drink.” Arturo produced a bottle. “Best mescal in the world.”

  It’s revolting stuff, mescal. Liquid rocket fuel that tastes of boot polish. But I drank it and smiled. My newfound friends tossed back shots like there was no tomorrow, and as I wasn’t going to be a sissy, I kept pace with them. As a result, my head was spinning by the time they left.

  Arturo made some small talk, but he got round to business quick enough. “I’ve got a job for you.”

  That was interesting. “What can I do for you?”

  “Someone’s taken something from me.”

  It wasn’t a surprise. Only an idiot steals from a mobster, but the world is full of them. By the time they find out they’ve fucked up, they’re dying. Crime syndicates don’t go in much for warnings.

  “Who?”

  “Alberto Campello. He was a courier for the eastern US-Mexico border transportation division.”

  I knew the Zeta operation was huge, but the idea of having a team dedicated to running shipments over just part of one of the borders was impressive.

  “Campello always had sticky fingers, and I can live with a little skimming, but ten days ago he was supposed to make a delivery in Houston and bring back a package for me. He took off with both,” Arturo growled.

  “Do I need to know what it was?”

  “Coke, sapphires, and diamonds,” Arturo said simply. “I don’t give a fuck about the bouncing powder, but I want the gems back. Also, I want to send a message to anyone else who’s thinking of fucking with me. Sort it out for me, would you?”

  That set me back on my heels. That kind of assignment only goes to trusted people, not perfect strangers, even if they saved your life.

  “I know you’re great with messages,” Arturo said seriously. “They say Sokolov didn’t die even after you took his balls and his eyes.”

  Christ! How the fuck did he know I was behind that? Nobody but myself should have known about it.

  “And Paoli, he was one of yours, too, wasn’t he? He had protection from Interpol, but you got to him anyway.”

  He had been, and I had taken great satisfaction in that one, just because of the difficulties. But I’d buried the bits of the body that were left, for fuck’s sake, and there was no way anyone should have even known he was dead. I briefly contemplated killing Arturo Vazquez right there and then. He knew way, way too much about me.

  “You did some work last year for the Rossi family in Italy,” Arturo said casually, “and for the Balchunas in Lithuania?”

  This was worse and worse. I’d been Herman Bauer in Italy and Sigi Kowalski in Lithuania.

  Arturo grinned. “One day you must tell me your story, Rip. We’ve got the basics, but there are a load of gaps, and I have the feeling they’d be interesting.”

  I breathed again. Arturo wasn’t asking questions. He didn’t care about my past.

  Now his eyes were twinkling with merriment. “I know I surprised you,” he grinned. “I’m trying to impress you, Rip, just like you impressed me.”

  “Believe me. You’re impressing the fuck out of me.”

  It just ripped out, but it was the right thing to say because Arturo burst out laughing. “Excellent! We’re going to be great friends. I just know it.” He got up, went to the bar and pulled out a briefcase. “Funds and equipment. If you need people, talk to Chumillo.”

  The briefcase held a stack of cash, a snap of Campello, and a Glock. Arturo was all business.

  I made up my mind. “Does Campello have a family?”

  “He’s divorced. He has a place twenty miles up the road. His office is just over the border.”

  “Okay. Any particular kind of message you want to send?”

  Arturo grinned. “I leave it up to you, my dear Rip.”

  “I will try to impress you.”

  “I can’t wait to see what you come up with!”

  He was a man after my own heart. I picked up th
e briefcase and hesitated. “I’ve got a suite in the Colón Plaza. I don’t need to put you out.”

  “Your luggage is already on its way here.” Arturo assured me. “Need anything else?”

  “Nope.”

  Chumillo was talking to the men on the gate, and he insisted on coming along to Campello’s place. “The road is shit and the sign posting’s worse. If I don’t come along, you’ll end up in Guatemala.”

  “I’ve got some business.”

  “Been put to work already, huh?” Chumillo grinned. “That’s the jefe for you.”

  Campello’s home stood at the end of a long track that needed surfacing.

  “It was a mini development,” Chumillo informed me. “An American from across the border set it up, hoping it would catch on in a big way. But it didn’t so he stopped after building just the one home.”

  It was a double-storey mansion, complete with triple garage, pool, and boat mooring in the Rio Grande. There was a massive garden too. It was paradise.

  I got out of the car and looked around. “Campello was a courier?”

  “Yeah. The jefe doesn’t pay them a wage. They get a percentage off the top of every consignment.”

  “Actual value or street value?”

  “We don’t bother factoring in actual value,” Chumillo shrugged. “A ki of blow costs us $1000 and it sells for $150,000 to our distributors. Campello’s consignment was ten kis a week, and he got one percent off the top.”

  I worked it out. “$15,000 a week?”

  Chumillo nodded. “Yes, but he had to pay expenses including border fees out of that, so he’d take home about half.”

  “Still amazing!”

  It was incredible. Killing is fun, but I’d not made a lot of money out of it. Occasionally a target had a nice little stash of gems and cash on him, but I’d lured most of them away from their secure places, and so the pickings had been lean. It hadn’t bothered me. The family investments would keep me in funds for life ten times over.

  Even so, I was excited by the money purely because it meant the Zetas were major-league players. I wanted to be part of it. I wanted a home like this. I wanted to be tucked safely into the fold—and have them back me up whenever I ventured out for a hunt.

  Chumillo knew what I was thinking. He was grinning at me, not in a nasty way but just enjoying himself. “I’ll wait while you check out the house.”