Chapter One Callum #2
A short, doughy man stands at the last tank, his gold silk shirt gleaming with the moving reflection of the water.
Despite being shaved bald, his dark hair follicles show his receding hairline.
His thick goatee is black, with a patch of silver hair growing directly in the center of his chin like the stripe on a skunk.
A thick, gold Cuban link chain flashes around his neck, matching the chunky gold rings shining on his fingers.
His white boots are premium ostrich leather, no doubt.
For someone trying to avoid attention, he walks around looking like a fucking peacock.
“Ahh, you made it,” Antoné announces, briefly pulling his eyes away from the tank he’s standing in front of. His dark eyes turn back to the mammal gliding through the water, standing so close his nose might as well be pressing the glass. “She’s a beauty, isn’t she?”
“Impressive,” I comment, coming to stand beside him.
I’ve never seen one before; it appears to be a porpoise of some sort—with a large dark ring around its eyes and dark patches on its lips that form a thin line from the mouth to the pectoral fins.
The small aquatic mammal moves through the water with the same grace of a dolphin, its movements charged with distress.
It tumbles around the tank as if searching for an escape.
“There were some complications getting her here, but she’ll acclimate soon enough. The vaquita is on the edge of extinction, there are less than a dozen left in existence.” The pride in Antoné’s voice matches the greedy glint in his eyes. “And now one of them is mine.”
“Quite the acquisition. I trust you were discreet. You still have eyes on you, now more than ever.”
“Of course, of course.” Peeling himself away from his newest prize possession, Antoné turns to give me his full attention.
“You have it?” His weathered face splits with a grin when his eyes land on the folio in my hands.
I offer him the book, watching as he unties the leather cords securing it closed to thumb through the pages detailing every one of his illegal transactions.
“I’m tempted to ask how you got this back for me, I doubt you’d be careless enough to say. ”
“If I told you, I’d have to kill you,” I respond soberly. Antoné stares at me for a split second before his head falls back and he bursts into boisterous laughter.
“I’m sure you would.” He shakes his head, and wags his finger at me, his voice flooded with amusement. His laughter fades as quickly as it came, his eyes sharpening. “And the witness?”
“What witness?” I ask meaningfully, making his grin widen. His hands rub together gleefully, like a villain in a Bond movie, his rings flashing.
It wasn’t easy. The U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service doesn’t take poaching and smuggling endangered animals lightly, and they’re determined to build their case.
Antoné hired me to recover his little black book that was confiscated during a raid on his home in Palm Beach.
Disappearing a federal witness in protective custody isn’t a simple task—it requires connections with deep ties and a fat stack of bribe money.
Not to mention a chemist with a strong stomach and complete lack of morals.
Antoné is paying a steep price, and I’ve earned every cent. Tom Strickland—the man who was ready to spill all of Antoné’s secrets to a grand jury—won’t be heard from again.
There’s nothing left of him to find.
“I heard you were the best.” Antoné looks over at Louis. “Didn’t I tell you he was the best?” Louis nods as the smuggler addresses me again. “The Fixer who can solve any problem. I’m impressed.”
“Glad to hear you’re satisfied,” I accept his compliments graciously. “Once we finalize payment, our contract will be finished. It’ll be like none of this ever happened.”
“Ahh yes, your payment. I have this amur leopard pelt, extremely rare. Or maybe an albino crocodile. My buyer fell through and it’s ready for transit.”
“I’ll stick with the payment we agreed on,” I state.
His offer is interesting, but I don’t stray from the contract for interesting.
The possibility of weaponizing the infamous jaws of a crocodile is intriguing, but I have enough cold-blooded killers to get any job done.
I accept cash via secure wire transfer, art, or favors of equal caliber. Nothing more, nothing less.
“A traditional man. Not nearly as fun, but I respect it. I’ll have the painting pulled from display.
Institutions like the Met tend to take their time with these things.
Come to my office, and we’ll start the paperwork.
” Despite his particular obsession with animals, Antoné’s collector habits extend past birds and reptiles.
He likes finding anything rare—cars, art, even people.
With the way he’s looking at me, I assume he now considers me a part of his collection.
Not that I can blame him, there’s not another man on earth who can do what I can.
“After you.”
The sight of my waiting jet feels like a reward, I’m so ready to get the hell out of this lawless swamp. I like things clean and in order. Everything about my time in Florida so far has been messy and unnecessarily complicated.
Stepping out of Louis’ SUV, I pull out my phone to see that my missed call from earlier includes a voicemail. Pressing play, I hold my phone to my ear as Roscoe and I stride towards the plane. The stairs lower as we approach, my staff already waiting for our arrival.
The man on the other end kept his message short and simple—a US senator is in desperate need of my services, it’s urgent. That’s all I need to hear.
“Off to Miami?” Roscoe asks, waiting for me to ascend the stairs first.
“Change of plans,” I announce. “I have business in New York.” My right-hand man makes a sound of confirmation behind me.
Walking up the steps and ducking through the door, my pilots, Paul and Michael, greet me from the cockpit.
I head towards the small four-person conference table at the back of the main cabin.
Past my seat, a sleek black galley kitchen leads to the full bathroom connected to the bedroom complete with a king-size bed that’s calling my name.
Finding a plane with everything I need when I travel for work was difficult, especially one that had fixtures big enough for me to fit comfortably. So, when I wasn’t able to find one, I had it made to my exact specifications. Money well spent.
After informing the pilots of our new destination, Roscoe comes to sit in the chair across from me at the table. “I never thought I’d miss New York weather,” he grumbles, tugging at the black shirt that’s clinging to his skin.
“I’m ready to go home,” I agree. Words I rarely say, but right now I can’t get back to New York City fast enough.
Dzzzt. Smack.
Fucking mosquitos.