Chapter 31 The Deal
chapter thirty-one
The Deal
Nico
My anger was still crawling underneath my skin from the stunt the Horseman pulled. Sending that fucking journal entry to my brothers and Tiffany was diabolical. And the moment I got my hands on the bastard, I was going to make sure he regretted ever reaching out to me in the first place.
The rumbling of motorcycles alerted us to Rome’s arrival. Tonight, I had Ghost, Salv, and Kazimir with me. I tried to get Ghost to stay home since he’s still recovering from that gunshot wound to the shoulder, but he wasn’t listening.
The three bikes stop in front of me. Rome is the first one off his bike. He walks over to me and shakes my hand.
“Saint, I’d like you to meet Meech, the president of the Death Riders.”
Meech offers me a hand, and I shake it. He’s tall as hell with long limbs, he reminds me of a basketball player. His skin tone is the same as Tiffany’s, a deep dark brown.
“This is my second in command, Ghost,” I point to Ghost, who dips his chin. “And these are my brothers. That’s Draco.” I point to Salv. “And Nox.” I point to Kaz.
Meech greets my brothers. This is also the first time Axel and Rome are meeting them as well.
“I talked to the seller about half an hour ago,” Meech says. “As of right now, everything is good to go. He has seventy-five guns for sale.”
“Just seventy-five?” Sal asks.
Meech nods while folding his arms over his chest. “That’s all he said he had on him. But I’m going to be honest, I don’t think this guy is the one running this shit. He sounds off.”
“Off how?” I ask.
Meech shakes his head. “Hard to explain, but you’ll know when you meet him.”
“Alright, so here’s the deal. If this isn’t my guy, then I need him to give me the name of his guy. I need to keep him talking in the hope that he gives me what I want.”
“And if he’s not forthcoming?” Rome asks with a grin.
“Then we pull that shit out of him.”
Everyone nods, understanding what this may turn into.
I don’t go into any situation with plans of it turning into a bloodbath.
Despite what people think, I don’t enjoy killing.
However, I have no issues with putting a muthafucker to sleep.
I was done playing catch up with the Horseman and whoever else is fucking with me and my wife.
No more games. We’re figuring this shit out tonight.
“For the rest of this night, I’m S, Draco is D, Ghost is G, and Nox is N. No names in case someone is listening in on us. Meech you will run lead since he thinks this sale is for you.”
“Got it.” Meech nods.
After that, we load up. Meech, Rome, and Axel climb on their bikes, while Salv and Kaz climb on their matching black and red Ducati’s. They were birthday gifts from Mason. Ghost and I hop in my McLaren P1.
We were portraying bikers tonight. I didn’t own a motorcycle, so I was the driver and the one carrying the duffle bag of cash. Not that any money was being transferred tonight. I refused to pay for my own shit.
We got to the meetup ten minutes early. The parking lot is empty. Just as my surveillance showed, we were in the middle of nowhere. Nothing around us but empty lots. The old store has clearly been vacant for years. Nature has practically taken over most of the store.
I park the McLaren in the middle of the parking lot. Rome, Axel, and Meech park on one side of me, and my brothers are on the other. Ghost and I step out of the car and look around.
“Grant says everything is clear. He’s been here for an hour and there has been no action,” Ghost informs. He’s listening to Grant through an earpiece in his ear.
Mason was adamant about having someone here to scope out the scene before the sell went down. I never planned to come without backup. Right now, I've got shooters hiding all around us. If they think for a moment, this is an ambush, they will start shooting.
“Is this guy seriously late to his own deal?” Rome asks just as confused as I am.
“I told ya’ll. This muthafucker is off.” Meech sits back on his bike.
We waited twenty minutes past the time we were supposed to meet.
With each minute that passes, I get more pissed off thinking we’ve been set up.
No way we were this close to finding out who took my guns for it to end like this.
Did they get tipped off? The only ones who knew we were running this interference were here with me and Mason. No one could’ve said anything.
Ghost leans up from the hood of the car.
“We got action. Grant says two black SUVs are approaching.”
About damn time.
“It’s showtime.” Meech rubs his hands together as he stands from his bike. He takes the lead, stepping in front of the group.
I hold onto the black duffle bag. My eyes continuously scan the area. The two black cars stop in front of us. For a moment, nothing happens. It’s as if they are toying with us.
“I don’t like this,” Axel says, voicing all our concerns.
Either this seller is ballsy and has a hell of a setup plan in place, or he is the dumbest fucking criminal in the world.
Finally, the motors are cut, and the lights go out. The eight doors to the SUVs open.
Eight men step out. I take them in immediately. They were young, not teens, but definitely in their early to mid-twenties.
They’re wearing very ill-fitting suits. Something you might buy off a rack at a retail store. On their feet were sneakers, not dress shoes. They’re wearing shades at night, and the guns they have are huge and bulky.
It’s immediately and painfully obvious that these weren’t criminals. I’ve been around law breakers all my life, even the ones at the lowest level like your petty thieves.
They all have this energy about them. They carry themselves in a way that lets you know they move in a world that is dangerous, one that can take your life in an instant.
There is a way your eyes move, the way you take things in when you move amongst the underworld of society.
These guys were as green as fucking Kermit. They don’t know shit about this life.
“Oh yeah,” Salv says with a chuckle. “I get what you’re saying.”
He picked up on the shit too.
“Aye, silence,” one of the pretenders shouts pointing his gun at Salv. “You don’t speak unless the Don gives you permission.”
We all look around at each other. Rome’s brow is hiked as he stares at me. He knows I do business with the seven US Mafia Dons.
“Don?” I question, truly confused at what the hell these idiots are talking about.
“That’s right,” one of the other guys says. “Don Tony.”
The guy in the back steps forward. He was shorter than the others, maybe 5’8”. He wore a fedora and had a handkerchief in his pocket. I almost laugh, but I maintain a straight face.
“You’re the Don?” I ask.
“That’s right,” he says in a fake thick New York Italian accent. “So show me some respect or I’ll have my people make Swiss cheese out of you guys.”
Once again we all look around at each other.
“So you’re mafia?” I again ask for clarification.
“Duh,” the first guy says. His friends all laughed.
“What family?” Kazimir asks.
They look at each other and burst out laughing as if something was funny.
“What family?” the second guy mocks Kazimir’s voice.
The funny thing about all this—and trust me, there is so much funny shit going on at the moment—is that the most dangerous person out here is the one they are mocking.
I’m pretty sure none of us would have a problem putting a bullet in any of these guys’ heads, but Kaz has no problem going further. He wouldn’t just kill you; he’d fillet you, but only after he’s murdered your entire family while you watched.
“Lansky, baby,” the first idiot says before throwing up random hand gestures.
“Are you doing…. gang signs?” Axel asks.
Meech drops his head, but from the way his shoulders are moving I can tell he’s silently laughing.
“Enough,” the fake ass Don shouts. “Are we doing this or not?”
Meech looks over at me, and I give him a very subtle nod.
“Yeah, we’re doing this.” I appreciate how he immediately jumped right back into character. “Let me see the product.”
The Don looks at one of the other guys. “Go get the guns.”
The guy quickly goes to the back of the truck. When he comes back, he’s dragging a green footlocker. He brings it to the middle of us and sets it down. He then pops open the locks and, lo-and-behold, there are guns inside. For a moment, I thought I was being pranked.
I give Ghost the go ahead to check the guns. He quickly steps out of the line and goes to the locker.
“This all you got?” I ask.
The fake Don looks at me and then at Meech. “I thought you were running this?”
“Answer the question.”
The knockoff Don sighs. “This is all I've got right now, but I can get more. I have to reach out to my supplier—”
“Supplier?” I query, cocking my head to the side. “So you’re not the man in charge? I thought you were a Don.”
He looks around nervously. Already his flimsy facade is falling apart.
“I am.” He pokes his chest out. “But I have people who work for me. My supplier works for me.”
“That’s not how that works.” Salv shrugs. “The supplier has the goods. If you don’t have access to the goods, then you’re just…”
“An errand boy.” Rome chuckles.
Imitation Don snatches his shades off. “I’m the Don.”
“Of the Lansky family,” I say.
My guys all chuckle.
“S,” Ghost calls out as he stands up straight. “You’re good.” It’s code to let me know these are my guns.
My guns have no traceable serial numbers or any other marks that would group them together or make them identifiable. However, that’s what makes them easy for me to identify.
“Alright, that’s half a million,” imposter Don says.
Meech whistles. “Half a million? For seventy-five guns? I thought you said it was eighty grand over the phone?”
This is another sign these dumbasses and whoever they are working for know nothing about the arms business. Seventy-five guns would normally run you close to two hundred thousand dollars.