Twisted (A Zeta Cartel Novel Book 5)

by AJ Adams

  Laura went sheet white. As her knees went from under her, Jorge was on his feet and settling her into his seat. "Sit before you fall."

  Laura had made decent money and she never put her hand in her pocket, so she would not have needed a loanshark. I took in the watery eyes, running mascara and little Dior dress and Hermes scarf. The designer gear clued me in. "I take it he discovered you extort free dresses out of designers?"

  Laura flushed. "I've done nothing illegal!"

  "Yeah, it's so legitimate that you let him degrade you."

  She gave up. "He had a letter from Hermes, saying they'd give me a Birkin tote in exchange for a writeup." She wiped away the streaks of mascara. "He said he'd make it all go away, if I was nice to him."

  "He's a bastard, all right."

  "He wanted sex?" Jorge asked surprised.

  "He asked for £10,000 but I don't have a lot of cash," Laura sniffed. "I paid him £5000 and had to pay the rest in kind."

  Just like he'd told me. Jorge maintained extortionists don't take trade but Kowalczyk proved himself the exception. Maybe he got such a massive kick out of humiliation that he considered it priceless.

  Laura was wringing her hands. "If this gets out, I'm finished," she whispered. "Is that why you sent the champagne? You're celebrating?"

  "Don't be ridiculous," I told her. "Just stop writing about Jorge and nobody will hear it from us."

  Jorge blinked but kept silent.

  "That's it?" Laura asked amazed. "You're not blackmailing me? You don't want me to give you free coverage forever?"

  "Absolutely not." I crossed my fingers as I fibbed. "I never even considered it."

  "You just want me to back off from Jorge?"

  "That's right."

  "Now wait, fresa," Jorge protested. "She writes awful things about you!"

  "Yes, but everyone knows Laura is a bitch," I pointed out. "Mind you, recently it's been particularly poisonous."

  Laura was in floods. "I didn't write half that stuff," she sobbed. "Kowalczyk did."

  "But you wrote the rest?" Jorge couldn't help himself. "As for all the other poisonous shit you wrote about her before this, do you think that's okay?"

  "I'm sorry," Laura cried.

  "Not sorry enough," Jorge muttered.

  "But I am!" Laura sniffed. "This afternoon Reuben Tate, the executive editor, gave me a bollocking. He said I'd gone overboard, that we've left ourselves open to a libel case, and that the Press Standards Organisation is all over us. He took away my column!"

  She wasn't sorry for messing us up but for her own loss. Suddenly, I wasn't feeling very nice. I was half wishing I'd made her talk me up, even if it would be wrong, but I consoled myself that at least it meant open season on us was over.

  But Jorge was curious. "Does Kowalczyk know?"

  Laura nodded tearfully. "Yes. He says I'm on my own."

  That meant Laura was totally washed up. If she weren't, he'd be taking his pound of flesh.

  "It's not fair," Laura sniffed. "Lady Beauford is having a party for the Sussexes tonight. I'm off the guest list because I lost my column but Kowalczyk is going."

  That was a stunner. I couldn't imagine Prince Harry and Meghan Markle being happy to party with the dour Pole.

  "You introduced them?" Jorge asked.

  "Yes, he went through my address book," Laura moaned. "He even made me invite him to meet my old school chums."

  That made no sense. But before we could ask more, Laura scrambled to her feet. "Reuben's here." She picked up the bottle of Moet. "If I crawl, maybe he'll forgive me."

  I grabbed her wrist. "Laura, don't forget this conversation."

  Her eyes couldn't meet mine but her voice was a whisper, "I get it. I lay off Jorge. Promise."

  "I want updates on Kowalczyk too."

  "Yes. Okay. Of course."

  That's when I truly felt it. Power. It ran through me, sweet, intoxicating, and oh so dangerous. This is what Jorge felt every day. A dark abyss of power beckoned. It was too much for me. I drew a deep breath and let it go. "Bye, Laura."

  As she scurried off, we sat back and tried to put it together.

  "Kowalczyk must make money from coercion," Jorge frowned.

  "Yeah, he's a right bugger."

  "I wonder why he bothers? It's not very profitable."

  "Jorge!"

  He just grinned at me. "Well, it's true. All that effort for a few thou. Blackmail for cash is a game for losers. It's good for information, though."

  "Laura knows designers and models, I don't think their insider info is worth much. As for her school chums, she went to Cheltenham's Ladies College. They're rich girls who hang about in the country, grooming their horses and running their stately homes."

  "Well, Kowalczyk thinks small," Jorge remarked cattily. "Blackmail for loose change sounds about right for him."

  Not a nice man, Jorge Santos, but at least he was straight about it. I took his hand. "Seaports are more exciting?"

  "Too right, they are," he replied. "Product sells itself, even a moron can't help but turn a profit."

  "Kowalczyk is living proof of that," I agreed. "So, why do you want that seaport? For product deliveries?"

  "Well, yes, but mostly because it will let us get into import and export in a big way, shipping too."

  "It's all straight business?"

  The jet eyes sparkled. "With weed being legalised and the next generation being vegan spiritualists, the future is in going legal. But don't tell anyone I said that."

  "Sweetheart, your secret's safe with me." I took his hand. "Actually, it sounds nice."

  He examined me carefully. "Worried about the life, fresa?"

  "Quite the opposite. I was thinking earlier that it suits me."

  Jorge looked around the busy pub, taking in the punters getting happily sozzled. Then he sighed, put an arm around me, and whispered, "Tomorrow marks the end of Amit's contract. The deal I have with Dragon, the man who's been blocking Kowalczyk's drug shipments, is up too."

  We'd be less secure. That was worrying. And if Kowalczyk had any dealers left, he'd be in the money again.

  I lifted my glass. "In that case, carpe diem, love. Let's seize the moment and enjoy it."

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Jorge

  The day Amit and his security left and Dragon's interference ended, I had all my people on alert. I monitored all the street bosses and spot-checked the perimeter of our plaza myself. We went back to night shift too, with James, Lencho, Paco and me rotating the duty.

  I expected attacks but Kowalczyk stayed at home, partying with his new connections, all made by Laura Griffin. "It's as if he cares for nothing but his image." It baffled me. "He's got just his core territory left and his income has nosedived. Doesn't he have any balls at all?"

  "He's not got a son, and he's not part of a cartel," Paco suggested. "Maybe he decided it's not worth the effort? He has a shitload of money, enough for the rest of his life."

  We examined the idea.

  "Maybe," James said doubtfully. "But what about the loss of face?"

  "Perhaps he knows we'll beat his ass," Lencho said.

  Which we would but what kind of man goes down without a fight? "We'll prepare for the worst and hope for the best," I told them.

  I prepped and re-prepped but as alert notices take it out of everyone and becomes counterproductive, I ordered a return to business as normal three days later. I was on tenterhooks immediately after, convinced Kowalczyk would spring a surprise attack.

  To the men, I announced we were well on our way to total victory. Then, I hotfooted it to Persia's office and had a private meltdown. "I'm so low on manpower that he's got a choice of a dozen targets. How can I defend them all?"

  Persia was embroidering violets on to a yellow sundress. She waved me to a chair and went right on sewing super small exquisite stitches. "Kowalczyk's sitting in his mansion, partying with Laura's snooty chums," she soothed.

  "I know."

  "You've
got good security overall, right?"

  "Yes, but it's not what it should be."

  "You can't keep paying Amit," she pointed out sensibly. "And you are training new people, aren't you?"

  "It's slow work," I fretted. "And it's not perfect."

  "And that's what's really bugging you, isn't it?" Persia exclaimed. "Use your head, Jorge. Perfection is an unreachable goal. Good enough is what we aim for."

  She was talking good sense. "I like perfect," I moaned. "I guess Kowalczyk is a useless fuck. I'm just a bit uptight."

  "Exactly. Your war's going splendidly, love. Try to be happy about it."

  "Believe me, I'm trying."

  "There's no point in stressing," Persia admonished.

  She took off her top, dropped the dress over her head, and twirled in front of the mirror. I was mesmerised by her beauty. Just looking at her soothed me.

  "Yes, I am pretty."

  Her happy chuckle warmed me.

  She stretched out her hand, fingers tangling with mine. "The Rampage has ended their vitriol but the gossip columnist at the People's Paper got wind of my class project. She's predicting an epic fail."

  I'd seen it, I had my news aggregator set to send me everything written about Persia, but I had secretly hoped she'd missed it. "Your designs are the best. Better than Stella McCartney and Donna Karan rolled together. That woman needs to learn some respect."

  Persia shot me a sharp look. "Now, Jorge, don't be like that."

  Although the Rampage had gone silent entirely, and the other papers had given up speculating on my background, Persia was still fair game, probably because she had celebrity status. I had too much respect to even think of interfering but I couldn't help but grumble, "The fuckers need a kicking."

  She just shrugged. "Focus on your own work, Jorge and let me run mine."

  Which I couldn't argue with, especially when Kowalczyk finally pushed back.

  It started with him receiving an encrypted call. As our hackers were tied up with Texas, I ran it through a decoding programme. As it was pretty crappy, I got nowhere.

  "It's most likely his Polish drug lab," I told the team. "They may have some ex-military help."

  "Think they'll send soldiers?" Lencho frowned.

  "Unlikely. If he had those resources, he would have produced them weeks ago."

  "Product, then?" Paco suggested.

  "That's my guess. He's got access to his supplier again, but he's short on territory, distribution and enforcement. It won't be easy to make good money."

  "What's the plan, boss?" James asked.

  Kowalczyk had just a few blocks of plaza left. If I'd had the people, I would have blasted in and taken over. Even shorthanded, I would wipe the floor with the opposition because I had more experience. A victory would show everyone I wasn't to be fucked with. But as it was, I could barely service the territory I already had. I would win but there was no way I could keep the spoils.

  I pushed away vainglorious temptation and committed us to the surer path. "We dig in, foster loyalty and wait."

  There were sighs but no arguments. The team knew as well as I that this was the sensible move.

  It killed me but I'd have to be patient. "Focus on building connections with our new people."

  "Loyalty," Paco nodded. "Yes, that's important."

  "And among the public." I'd taken Persia's advice to heart. "We need to get out there and look good. Keep fixing the thugs who hassle women and kick out the taggers and muggers."

  "It's a shitload of work," Paco frowned. "And we're having trouble enforcing the concept with the street bosses because they can't see the return on investment."

  I had the best advice for that, straight from one of the masters. "As Al Capone said, 'You get a lot more from a kind word and a gun than from a kind word alone.' If they don't do as they're told, whack them and promote the next man."

  It was talk they all understood, so they were nodding.

  "Get on it right away," I told them. "I have the feeling it may pay off big to have the citizens know we're the good guys."

  A day later, Kowalczyk threw a party that included every name on Gold Ticket's books and their friends. From the coverage, he handed out a pound of coke and there were hookers galore.

  "He's buying popularity," Persia sighed. "It'll work too. The new Dr Who sidekick and that toothy girl from Who's Got Talent gave an exclusive to the Rampage about how generous he is and how hard a life he had when he was a kid."

  "Let him enjoy himself."

  "Don't you care?"

  "Nope. He's spending way too much. There's no way he can keep in business at this rate. His focus is completely out of whack."

  It wasn't till much later that I understood we'd missed a massive red flag. I was a damn fool, but at the time, I was simply blind to the facts. I was so dumb that I didn't even see I was fighting the wrong war.

  Despite not getting it, I was antsy. Our revenue stream was in tatters and as I'd spent a fortune already on the war, we were running dangerously low on funds.

  I was seriously considering going for an all out last effort, throw everything at it, surprise attack, when Kowalczyk came up with a game changer.

  Rovero reported the first incident. "Patrón, Paco was ambushed."

  My heart almost stopped. "Dead?"

  "Thank the Lady of Guadalupe, no. But it's not good. They caught him off-guard."

  "Impossible." Because getting a jump on Paco takes a dozen men and a cannon. "I'll be there in ten."

  Paco was in Bubbles, in the kitchen, and he was a mess. "Hey, sorry. I'm bleeding all over your clean floor. Health and Safety will have a fit."

  "For God's sake, man, sit down." I took in the black eye, raw knuckles and ripped clothing. From the careful way he moved, it was cracked ribs too. But it was surface damage and so my guts unknotted and my heart stopped crashing into my ribs. "What happened?"

  "There were four of them," Paco reported.

  It didn't seem possible. "Four sicarios? Weren't they armed?" Because even Paco isn't bulletproof.

  "Not sicarios. Addicts!"

  "What the fuck?"

  "It's Kowalczyk's new move," Paco explained. "He's figured out a way around his manpower problem."

  As he laid it out, I couldn't help but gasp. "Kowalczyk is offering free product to anyone who beats up a Zeta?"

  "He's put out a most wanted list," Paco growled.

  "Good. Let's turn the tables on him. In an hour we have a crowd there, all making a claim."

  "He only pays out if you can show him proof."

  "Proof?"

  "A selfie with the target."

  "Joder!" I had to whistle. "Clever!"

  It was damn clever: simple, effective and devastating. As we got Paco patched up, seven of my street bosses were put in hospital. Then Rovero's sicarios were hit, six knifed, four with broken heads and bones. Two vanished, presumed dead.

  Within hours, my plaza was paralysed. My people couldn't step outside their front door without risk. The dealers had been struggling, now they were in dire straits as every buy was super dangerous.

  The girls were terrified too, as Kowalczyk had no mercy. One chupita who thought she was meeting a date was beaten, and another was gang raped. Even our regular clients were attacked. And to compound the issue, Kowalczyk put the evidence online, adding humiliation to injury.

  I called an emergency meeting. "We've got to knock this on the head, and fast."

  "Tit for tat?" Paco was strapped up, refusing to stay home and seething with rage. "We have plenty of people thirsty for revenge."

  "No, this isn't a job for amateurs. We have to hit back so hard that this stops instantly." I had thought it through. "Thanks to Kowalczyk, we have the faces of the people involved. We work through them systematically, starting with the ones who got you."

  "We put them in hospital?" James frowned. "Wholesale open warfare will get police attention."

  "We're taking them out." They were silent, but I felt
what they were thinking. They were worried I was talking in anger. Actually, I wasn't. I had pushed my rage away, knowing it would only get me into trouble. "We want a brutal and frightening message, one that will scare everyone off from messing with us. This isn't just payback; it's tactics."

  "Exactly," James agreed. "But, boss, what about the cops?"

  "Yeah, a mass boiling or beheading is out." Paco really was pissed.

  "If we take them all out in one day, people will take note," I set it out for them. "It will be a bloodbath but we go English on the evidence. We dispose of the bodies by chipper."

  "How many?" James asked.

  "I've identified two dozen ringleaders." I laid out the photos. "Here they are. I had Rovero find their names and addresses."

  James was ready for war. "When do we start?"

  "You and Paco are on communications," I told him. "Monitor the cops and check in with our sicarios. Have our people clear the area of eyewitnesses while we work."

  They didn't like it but their injuries meant they weren't up for rough work. "Okay."

  "We two do this," I said to Lencho. "We take out the lot, starting right now. Rovero will drive and help with disposal."

  Lencho nodded.

  Killing's not a problem but it was a fuck of a business because we had to remove the targets without being seen. I laid it all out on a map, making sure we didn't cross and recross the city, and then we went to work.

  With the first one, we knocked on his door and just pushed him inside when he was dumb enough to open it.

  "Harry Singh? You made a mistake, crossing the Zetas."

  "Oh, crap." He was tall, rail thin and shivering. "It wasn't personal. I needed the high."

  "We take it personal." I punched him in the gut. "Dead personal."

  We kept it clean and easy by running a plastic bag over his head and holding him down until he snuffed it. He pissed himself and kicked a lot, so with the second one, a stoner called Jon 'Manky' Jones, we used cuffs to secure him and rolled him into a rug to keep him still. That proved more efficient. The rug also made moving the body easier.

  Once we had the technique down, the handful who lived alone were quickly disposed of. The addicts living rough in alleys and parks were also easy. All it took was holding out some cash and asking if they had some product. They were so keen to rob us, that they followed us right up to the truck.