“Well, they hadn’t gotten to my merchandise, luckily for them. Kill him,” I said, pointing to Leonardo’s partner.
“As for Leonardo, shoot his leg and make sure he gets to Matteo with a note about this mission.”
The Italian Mafia was one of the real ones; we were rivals because we were so alike. Hearing that one of them interfered with the Russian Mafia was the kind of bad news they never wanted to hear. We were two formidable authorities that respected each other from a distance. The current Don, Matteo Guilio, would surely give Leonardo a slow and painful death.
“If he dies before getting there, make sure you don’t come back to me.”
“Yes, Boss!”
I left the room, their agitated pleas fading.
I had barely gotten into my office when Ivan came knocking.
“Boss, the goods have gotten to Tijuana. Ishmael wants to speak with you,” he revealed.
“Right on time,” I mused as he positioned the laptop on my desk. “Put me on.”
The minimized tab filled the screen, Ishmael’s freckled face staring at me.
“Eduard!” he greeted.
“Ishmael. I see you’ve gotten your delivery.”
“Yes. Yes. Just as discussed, as usual,” he enthused.
“Always the intention.” I noticed the white dusting at the corner of his lips. “Don’t tell me you already had a taste this soon, Ishmael.”
“Of course! How else do I verify it’s good stuff?” he defended, his green eyes smiling.
“I see,” I concurred, nodding at the elderly man.
“The previous batch was so good I wasn’t sure this one would meet that standard. But it did. It’s just as good. I owe you some Coheba sticks, Eduard. I’ll bring it myself on one of my trips over there soon. Or do you prefer Mayan cigarettes?”
“Either one is fine, Ishmael. You know I’m more of a drinker than a smoker. Thank you.”
“No, no. Thank you, Eduard. Nice deals, always.”
“Thanks. We’ll be expecting your next order.”
“Sure, sure!”
“Have a nice one.”
“Wait! On second thought, do you want a nice Mexican girl instead of those cigarettes? You know, to ease your stress now and then,” he offered, his eyebrow shifting mischievously.
I laughed.
“I can have my pick of ladies here, Ishmael. Besides, you know how I feel about trafficking.”
“True. Expect my Coheba sticks, then.”
“Thanks. Bye, Ishmael.”
I ended the call, and Ivan retrieved the laptop.
“You already heard, no issues,” I related.
“Yes, sir.” He nodded. “You have an appointment with Aiden Walker by 2:00.”
