35. Cú Sidhe
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Cú SIDHE
T he devil is in the details. It’s not just a saying, at least not for my line of work.
While Duffy kicks back on the leather sofa in my Aspen office, watching American football on the large television on the wall and stuffing his face with chips, I painstakingly comb through every element of our upcoming auction.
Nothing in this job is simple. The details are like a multifaceted complex puzzle. If you’re not inspecting all potential avenues or planning for the worst-case scenario, your job will be shabby at best, and a hazard at worst.
Where Duffy sees himself as invincible, I’m realistic. Every auction is a gamble, especially when letting new clientele join the festivities. Duffy ignorantly trusts Piero Bianchi’s intentions where I’m skeptical. As I examine the file, the one my investigator put together on Bianchi, I raise an eyebrow. It seems Piero associates with an MC out of Fort Collins, a group of bikers who have a special skill set in security and recovery operations.
Is this relationship more to keep the peace between the mafia and the bikers? Or do they work together? And if so, what business do they do ?
“Hmm.” My jaw ticks, not liking what I see on the pages before me. I flip through the folder my investigator put together on Piero and his MC friends, hoping to find answers to my questions and come up empty. With mafias and MCs, there should be some questionable details. Offshore bank accounts, criminal records, or lawsuits—anything. But there is nothing.
Cacamas.
Either Piero and this biker club have nothing to hide, or there’s a damn good computer hacker in their circle. My investigator is no slouch at this job, meaning the dirt may be buried too deep.
A sense of dread washes over me. This isn’t good. I don’t like going in blind to any scenario.
Irritated with Duffy for getting us into a possibly dodgy scenario, I rise from my desk chair, crossing the room before tossing Piero’s file in his lap.
“Whoa!” Shocked, Duffy catches the folder of useless documents before they hit the floor. “What’s all this?”
“Tell me again why you brought this Mafioso into our business circle.” I grab the remote, turning off the game to make sure I have Duffy’s full attention. “Do you know anything about him at all?”
As usual, Duffy sweats. He’s never comfortable around me when I’m angry, like he must sense I’m not far off from using my fists on him to ease some of my frustration.
Weakling. He should fear my wrath.
Glaring at him, I ease into the chair across from where he sits, crossing my ankle over one knee. “We’re two days away from a large payday—maybe the largest with the quality of the merchandise up for auction. And do you know why I can’t be excited about it? It’s stress, Duf. Unnecessary stress you caused when you made a piss poor business decision without consulting me first.”
Duffy sputters, nervously. “ Cú Sidhe ?—”
Wanting him to zip it, I raise my palm. “I don’t want to hear your excuses. I want answers. What do you know of Piero? Why does he associate himself with bikers? ”
“Bikers?” He flips through the file, his spongy-looking lips puckered as he looks for the answers. “Why would the mafia be involved with bikers? Aren’t they separate entities, fighting over turf like the Jets and the Sharks in that musical?”
“I don’t know,” I grit through my teeth, ready to snap. “That’s why I’m asking you, you oaf.”
Duffy gnaws on his bottom lip, deep in thought. “Maybe he uses the biker gang to handle some of his business dealings? Like he has them run the flesh trafficking end of his operation? Keeps his hands clean like he wants to be presented to the rest of the world.”
“Unlikely.” I roll my eyes. “These bikers specialize in search and rescue.”
“You think these are the mercenaries busting all the sex rings?”
“Possibly. Their website doesn’t yield much on the recovery missions they do. Only that their success rate is the highest in the country. You need to set an appointment to learn if your case is one they’ll take.”
“Oh!” Duffy’s eyes widen like he’s solved a riddle. “Maybe that’s why Piero is connected with them. To keep tabs on what recovery projects they’re working on.”
Hmm. I rub my chin. What my business partner suggests has grounds.
“Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer. It’s no different from us keeping law officials and politicians in our back pockets. It pains me to say it, but you may be right, Duf.”
Duffy’s face pitches in confusion at my backhanded compliment. “Uh, thank you?”
“Nonetheless, I want to know everything about Piero. Starting with how many men he’s bringing with him to the auction.”
“The Don of Denver won’t be traveling light, if you know what I mean. According to Piero, he’s coming with six men, his partner, and three drivers.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Quite the army.”
“Yeah, it’s a lot. However, it makes sense if you think about it. He’s walking into unknown territory. Even Lorenzo would bring four men, and he knew us.”
“True.” I pause, absorbing what he’s told me. “He’s bringing his partner?”
Why men bring their significant others to these things, I don’t understand. Bringing arm candy is one thing, but your partner is entirely another.
I shake my head. “Keep business and pleasure separate.”
“Maybe they like sharing in the fun?” Duffy suggests with a lopsided smile, shrugging. “If that’s the case, he’s one lucky bastard.”
Lucky bastard, indeed. Yes, women partake in the flesh trade. But they’re a rarity in this industry.
My mind drifts to Leslie. What I wouldn’t give to have a relationship like that with her—a king with his queen perched on his knee, choosing a toy for a bit of fun before disposing of it.
Duffy sneaks the remote back from the coffee table, assuming I’m distracted. “We good, Boss?”
Having reasonable answers to most of my questions, I relent. “For now.”
Smiling, Duffy turns the television on, engrossed in the game only seconds later. I sigh, frustrated with the man I chose to do business with.
Beggars can’t be choosers with picking a fall man for your operation. Any person with half a brain would realize being the spokesperson for a flesh trade business is the shit end of the stick. Thankfully, Duffy is easy to manipulate, but it comes with a price—like dealing with his countless screw-ups.
For all his faults, Duffy’s idea to build an auction site is the one business deal I was on board with. It was an investment project we pitched to Lorenzo to get in on the trafficking business. Unfortunately, when handling the build, Duffy never checked with the county’s bylaws, and our copyrighted blueprints had to be filed for public record. Blueprints for an estate housing a stage and stadium box seating would raise alarm bells. Greasing the palms of some corrupt local politicians handled the registrar’s office for us.
It’s another fine example of the fuck-up that is Duffy. A submarine with a screen door is more useful than this tool.
The mistakes add up, piling on me to fix. This last one with Piero is almost too much to forgive. And these bikers…I hate admitting it, but they make me nervous. If they are the mercenaries cracking down on the flesh trade operations, we could be in serious trouble.
Duffy’s theories aren’t enough to calm my nerves. It’s best to err on the side of caution.
Taking my cell out of the back pocket of my slacks, I send a text to my pilot to be on standby the day of the auction, along with the GPS coordinates I want to be picked up from. If shit goes south, Duffy will be the fall guy. I’ll have to end him with a bullet to the head before I flee, or else the fool will squeal at the first sign of pressure. Can’t be too careful.
At least I’ve got a way out. The nice thing about the auction site built into the side of an old mining mountain is what remains after the miners move on. There are plenty of abandoned shafts, functional enough to pass through if you’re careful where you walk. Plenty of places to dispose of the bodies, too. A dump site close by is ideal, considering not all our merchandise tolerates the strong sedatives we force on them to make them easier to control.
Having explored the mining tunnels once before, I know where to go to get to the other side of the mountain peaks to make a hasty escape. And with the “Caution” and “Danger” signs in place for most of the mining shafts, odds are law officials are going to bypass those passages, preferring safer alternatives.
With my exit strategy in place and anxiety settled, I sink deep into my chair, closing my eyes and letting the roar of the cheering crowd on the television drown out everything else around me.