Mateo shook his head slightly and glanced at the paper in his hands. “There’s been a situation, but we’ve contained it. I just wanted to inform you.”
Situations were never good. If I had to be informed of their existence, it made them worse.
“Shipments or ranks?” I asked, studying his young face.
“Ranks.” He lowered his head. “Another task force. This one slipped by us. They infiltrated through the lower ranks and pinched a lieutenant.”
A red haze shifted across my vision. Task forces were as commonplace as waking up and taking a piss. By now, we’d learned every trick the DEA agents threw at us. It was always the same song and dance set to a different beat. Each time a hotshot agent rose to power, thinking they were the second coming, we’d knock them back down. It soon became my favorite game. Hearing that one slipped by my guarded lines fueled my anger.
“How the fuck did someone just slip by? Do you know what this could do to us?” My hands clenched and swept across the desk, sending the bottle and glass crashing to the floor. “Pinches idiotas!”
Mateo flinched as glass shattered at his feet. To his credit, he made no attempt to move from his spot. “It was pussy, sir.”
I paused my tirade. “I’m sorry, did you say ‘pussy’?”
His chin dipped as his blunt fingers stroked the sparse hairs of his goatee. A momentary break in his armor exposed the nervousness on his face. “The DEA sent a female agent, sir.”
“A female DEA agent got to one of our lieutenants…and now we’re fucked?” I arched my brow, not quite believing the words.
Mateo smirked. “Not as much as she was, sir.”
If the situation didn’t screw us nine ways till Sunday, I would’ve laughed. But nothing about a betrayal in a cartel’s ranks warranted humor. “What do they have?”
“Our informant on the inside says three months of wiretapping. They’re moving tomorrow.”
Without thinking, I ran my hand through my hair, dislodging it from the carefully combed back style my father favored. I cursed as unruly strands dusted over my forehead. “Who?”
Mateo hesitated. “Nando.”
My shoulders hunched as a dagger lodged deep in my back. Nando Fuentes sat next to me as we crossed the border six years ago. He’d been with me from the beginning, and to find out he’d sold my soul for his own tested my control.
“What has he told them?”
“According to our informant, just details about upcoming shipments.” Mateo shifted the paper from hand to hand. “No names or chain of command, but…”
“But?”
He steeled his expression, holding my stare. “He’s flipping.”
Regaining my composure, I pressed my fingers together for a moment before reaching into my pocket for my phone. Hitting a coded button, I dialed the last number I wanted to call. It annoyed me to need a favor from anyone—especially him.
After several rings, he answered with a smirk in his voice. “Carrera, what a pleasant surprise.”
I gripped the edges of my desk to calm myself and tempered my voice. “Harcourt, we have a slight situation.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
I paused a moment to stop a knee-jerk reaction I’d regret. “How’s the bid for the district attorney nomination coming?”
“Steady,” he answered cautiously. “DA Garrison is all but out the door. Favorability polls are looking up.”
“Good.” I knew I’d hit him where it counted and went in for the kill. “As I said, there’s been a situation. My lieutenant tells me it’s with one of my men and a DEA agent. Is it a bluff or has he already made a deal?”
“It’s not a bluff,” he said after a long pause. “He hasn’t talked yet, but they’re coming for him tomorrow.”
“I need a glitch in the paperwork to stall them.”
A slow sigh preceded a hush in his voice. “Damn it, Carrera, this isn’t the time to be sticking my hands in evidence.”
He should have thought of that before he stuck his hands in cartel business for career advancement. Having Houston’s first Latino governor’s ear came in handy.
“Think long and hard, Harcourt. It’d be a shame for someone to be tipped off about a few grams in your car. No one would elect a junkie DA.”
“Asshole,” he growled. “You wouldn’t. Besides, how do you know I’m not recording this whole conversation?”
“Because you’re not a suicidal moron. You think an assistant district attorney scares me, Harcourt?” I leaned back in the noisy chair. “I’ve poured men like you down drains with nothing left but a bad smell. You want to take the risk? It’s been a while since I’ve made soup.”
Silence between us had a smile breaking across my face. The soup talk always clinched the win in an argument with Americans. They wanted to believe it was an urban legend but didn’t want to take the risk to find out.
“Fine,” he mumbled, clearly irritated. “Name?”
“Nando Fuentes. And hurry; I don’t like to wait.” I disconnected the line before he could respond. I’d learned the tactic from my father. Always end a conversation with the last word—by whatever means necessary.
I turned to Mateo. “Take care of him.”
A slow blink indicated his acknowledgement of Nando’s fate. “Fifty-five-gallon drum? The acid will leave no trace within three hours.”
Hell, no. I wanted a trace. Pieces of Nando were going to trace all over the goddamn place for his betrayal.
“No,” I replied calmly. “I want a message sent. Make it look like a murder-suicide. You know the policía around here. They’ll claim that’s what it was whether they believe it or not.”
Mateo tilted his head. “Suicide?”
A wicked grin spread across my face. “He’s been fucking some puta who’s snorted more of our profits than he’s moved. I’m sure his wife won’t mind.”
“Está bien,” he nodded, accepting his task without argument.
After what was left of Nando was bagged and tagged, I’d have to reevaluate Mateo’s place in my hierarchy. Although he and I hadn’t known each other very long, he’d proved his loyalty repeatedly.
I briefly glanced at the destruction of my desk, now residing in chaos on the floor. “If that’s all...”
Mateo shifted his weight and cleared his throat. “There’s one more thing.”
I sighed. “Make it quick.”
He finally glanced at the paper he held in his hands and scratched his head. “One of our new dealers, Isabella, informed us that a repeat buyer in Maplewood has put four grams of our shipment up his nose. He’s in for about ten g’s and missed the last two drops. Do you want us to torch his place?”
I remained silent for a moment, processing the information. Normally, morons who snorted their paychecks meant very little to me. That’s why I had a crew. But with Nando disrupting the trust in my organization, I needed to send a message to our associates that we weren’t to be fucked with on any level.
“What would my father do?” I countered.
Mateo’s face paled. “He’d have them beheaded and mounted on a stick in the family’s yard.”