“Alice started to say, ‘I don't think—’ ‘Then you shouldn't talk.” – Hatter
Alice’s Adventures In Wonderland
Lewis Carroll
Hawk
Music vibrated the concrete beneath my expensive shoes as I made my way through the dance floor. Ignoring the random hand that brushed my arms, chest and even my ass, fuck me, I was able to keep from breaking any fingers in the establishment that was supposed to be free of trouble, free of poor publicity. Normally, I usually avoided the dance floor altogether, for this very reason, but the crowd at the bar was too congested to get by it fast enough. Jorge called me twenty minutes ago about the rat he’d found skulking around the back alley. Which meant he’d had plenty of time to work some information from the guy while I made my way over. I wasn’t worried about missing out on the information—Jorge would relay that to me like the loyal soldier he was. No, it was a little more that I wanted a piece of the asshole before Jorge went and knocked him off. He had a habit of getting carried away when running interrogations. Especially when he was solo without anyone to rein him in.
Though it pissed me off sometimes how far he could go without first considering the consequences, I didn’t dare tell him to chill. His reputation as one of my most dangerous capos was what kept many outside of the family in check.
When I finally made it to the dark hallway that led to the employee only rooms—storage, offices and a heavy unmarked door that led to the basement—I nodded to the man standing at the mouth. He gave me his own nod, nearly indecipherable with how much muscle the man carried. Kelly was a big mother fucker and could kill a person with one punch, but he was a teddy bear around his wife and baby.
Pulling out my keycard, I passed it in front of the security pad on the wall. A green light blinked as the lock mechanism disengaged, allowing me entry. Shoving the door open, I slipped in, waiting for the door to shut and relock before descending the metal stairs, already unbuttoning my suit jacket in anticipation. The distinct sound of flesh being pounded, followed by moaning and heavy breathing, met my ears before I got to the bottom step.
Rounding the stairs, I entered a large concrete room, empty, save for the two other men in there. One was tied to an aluminum chair, head hanging over his shoulders, sweat and blood dripping from his face, then splattering and pooling on the cool cement, a trail already trickling towards the drain nearby. The other was taking deep breaths through his nose and letting the air out slowly through his mouth, like he was fucking meditating.
“Looks like I missed out,” I said, announcing myself.
Jorge wasn’t surprised to see me, as an alarm goes off whenever the door above is opened, so he didn’t even turn to look at me. But he did have the decency to give an apologetic shrug on my behalf.
The same height as my own six feet, three inches, that’s where the similarities ended between us. Soft black hair fell in curls around his face, brushing his shoulders. The locks and his nearly black eyes made him a favorite with the ladies. Many years spent in the ring, he knew from a young age how to throw a punch and make it count.
And, from the looks of it, he made every single one count tonight.
“Who do we have here?” I asked as I tossed my jacket into a clean corner away from any possible mess.
“Ricky Fernando,” Jorge sneered.
Poor Ricky didn’t seem to be awake at the moment.
“Able to find anything out?” I asked as I reached down, fisting a hand in Ricky’s hair to pull his head back. It looked like the poor bastard was trying his hardest to come back to this side of consciousness, his eyes rolling a little to the side as he let out a moan.
“Did you sing for old Georgie?” I asked him.
A maniacal laugh escaped Jorge at my shoulder as he said, “Hell yes he did. It was such a sweet tune, too.”
Sometimes the man scared me and I was thankful he was on our side.
“What did he tell you?”
Jorge reached around me to stroke back the sweaty hair from the other man’s head in a disturbingly caring sort of way. “Ricky Boy was kind enough to tell me that Mendez himself is expecting a shipment at the docks tonight. Something he’s paid a lot of money for.”
Interesting. Letting Ricky go, I stepped back to look down at the man who slipped back into his dark haven again, then I pulled out a handkerchief from my back pocket to wipe my hands. “He tell you what time?”
Jorge stopped petting his toy, turning his back to him to face me. “Said it was due to arrive at 1 a.m. tonight. Even gave me numbers.”
If he wasn’t already, the man would be dead the second we let him go, considering that after 1 a.m. tonight, it would be obvious who ratted the Mendezes out. Though it would irk Jorge, it was always better to let someone else do the dirty work.
“Leave him.” It was an order. One that Jorge didn’t even attempt to argue with. My word was law. “You can let him go after we’ve collected the gift that Mendez has waiting for us at the docks.”
Grabbing up my jacket, I slipped into it as we ascended the stairs, waving my card once again to unlock it. As we walked down the dimly lit hallway, the music returning to assault my ears, Jorge came up to walk alongside me. Something caught my eye and I glanced down at his hands, still covered in blood.
“Wash your hands,” I told him as we passed the private restroom restricted to employee use.
Without saying a word, he ducked inside to clean himself up. I wondered how long he would have gone without washing them if I hadn’t said anything. It wasn’t that the man didn’t have good hygiene, it was more that having blood on him was like breathing air.
While he was away, I stood beside Kelly, who was watching the room before him. I pulled out my phone to check any messages I missed while in the concrete box.
“You get what you needed, boss?” Kelly asked, eyes never leaving the dance floor.
Tucking my phone away, I looked out at what he was seeing. Half dressed women, girls, grinding against randy men. The occasional passing of drugs to sweeten the evening fun a little. Any drugs brought into the room were screened by my guys. We knew the dealers and their product, keeping the tainted shit out of here. They had permission to be here. Those who didn’t…Seth, Kelly’s partner working on the other side of the room, would handle it.
“I think so.”
A pleased sound came from him but that was it. I wondered if his wife had been working on his social skills.
Hearing the door behind me swing open, I said to him, “Say hi to Rochelle.”
Another noise from Kelly before Jorge and I started to part the sea of gyrating bodies.
Thirty minutes later and we were standing behind a dock loader watching as a freighter slowly pulled in. We parked a quarter mile away to stay under the radar, but it didn’t look like any of Mendez’s men had arrived just yet. Fifteen minutes until one and the ship was just now starting to shut its engine off, and ties were being anchored to the dock as the longshoremen started unloading smaller cargo with forklifts.
The sound of a car engine approaching had us turning to see a dark SUV driving down the port. “The guest of honor has arrived,” Jorge commented.
“Word from the men?”
“Yeah, they should be coming up any second.” Like us, our guys were told to park out of the way to stay out of sight. No need to ruin the surprise. We watched as three men climbed out of the SUV and approached the foreman. Words were exchanged for a minute before the foreman started barking orders, pulling out his radio to relay some information. From our hiding spot, we could see the irritated look on the older man’s face. Clearly he didn’t like Mendez.
Join the club. The cartel had robbed one of my businesses last night, stealing two-hundred thousand dollars and injuring one of my men in the process. Tonight was about payback.
Quickly enough, we watched a container get hauled off the freighter and moved to the dock. Unceremoniously, it plunked down a few feet away from Mendez’s men and the foreman turned to walk away. Obviously, he didn’t have any interest in what the cartel had transported to his port, just as long as it meant the other men would be leaving soon.
A vibration sound had Jorge looking down at his phone. “They’re here.”
“Good.” Reaching to my back, I pulled out my Glock and clicked the safety off. Jorge did the same and we were coming out from behind the loader and striding towards the container. Blurs of movement in both peripherals told me that our men were coming around on either side to block them in.
Jorge and I flanked the SUV as we came up from behind it, making sure it was clear of any stragglers. Clear. Good. That meant three of them and four of us.
Over the hood of the vehicle, I met Jorge’s eyes just as we both took aim to fire. My other men kept their guns trained on the last remaining bastard from where he stood at the mouth of the now-open container. The second his buddies dropped dead, he whipped around, reaching for his weapon.
“Ah, ah. I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” I warned him, tipping my gun in the direction of my other men who had him in their crosshairs a few feet away.
Seeing the trap he was in; he raised his hands up to his chest. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered.
“What’s this about, Hawk?”
Tucking away my gun, I stepped forward, shooing him out of my way with my hand. A curse left his lips as he stepped off the container and backed away a few feet, giving me space to enter and snoop around.
“This,” I started casually, “is about last night.” I looked up at him, pinning him with a withering glare. “As I’m sure you’re aware of.”
No argument, just as incriminating as a confession. “You know Mendez will retaliate.”
“Oh, I have no doubt. But then again, he’s going to have to figure out it was me.” A quick look to my right was all it took before my men shot him—one bullet between the eyes, another in his heart.
“Put them in their vehicle, drive them somewhere where they won’t be found. Let Mendez think they’ve disappeared. Throw them off the scent for a day or two.” The two started the daunting task of loading bodies into the SUV as Jorge and I rifled through the container.
“Before you leave,” I called out to the men, “bring my car around. We’ll load up whatever it is that looks to be of value and head back to Castle. Meet us there when you’ve finished your chores.”
“Yes, sir,” they answered. They drove off to do my bidding. Good, loyal men were only loyal as long as you took care of them.
And avenging the deaths of one of my men was a part of that.
Three-fold.
“Let’s see what they brought us, shall we?” The dock workers had moved on, smartly keeping out of my business. I’d have Jorge go over to make sure their silence was appreciated once we were finished here.
Wooden crates, both new and old, filled the container. Picking up a prybar someone dropped, I tossed it to Jorge, who started opening the lids one after the other as I went behind him to inspect the contents.
“Anything worth the trip?” Jorge asked, followed by a grunt over a particularly difficult crate.
I didn’t answer right away, irritation starting to make my blood boil. I’d dug through three crates so far and they’d all had the same shit. I pushed open a fourth one. “Nothing but phones.”
I heard Jorge pause, feeling his eyes boring into me as I riffled through another one. More phones.
“What about these back here? They seem to be older. Different.” Jorge kicked one with his steel-toed boot for emphasis.
Hoping he was right, I climbed over a couple of the ones I’d already gone through and moved to it.
Digging my fingers under the lid, I started to grip it. Just as the nails broke free of the structure, something fucking wood stabs me in the finger. “Shit!” I hissed, yanking my hands away. The heavy lid slapped back down, causing the frame to shutter and a corner to split apart. A tinkling sound, like glass rattling, reached my ears. It was faint, but it definitely proved there was something different inside than those other boxes.
“What happened?” Jorge asked, standing at the very back now, surrounded by crates and darkness.
“Splinter,” I muttered, sticking my hurt finger in my mouth to dig out the offending piece of tree with my teeth.
Jorge snickered a little, but I didn’t say anything. Instead, I stepped forward to try a second time, but the crunching sound of glass breaking beneath my shoe had me pulling back again. Looking down, I could just barely make out tiny shards of glass and what looked like the remnants of a wax seal. The kind they used on old wine bottles. It must have fallen out of the box.
There was something else amongst the pieces. Bending, I carefully picked it up.
Recognizing the feel of paper, I started to unroll it. It opened to just the size of my palm, and the markings on it weren’t from any sort of language I recognized. Dad had sent me to university in Dublin, forcing me to study business and international relations, so languages were one of my things. I may not have been able to speak or read many fluently, but I could identify most. And this was definitely not one that I’d seen before.
“What is it?” Jorge had gone quiet, probably having already opened the rest of the cargo that he could reach without having help to move anything around.
“No idea,” I murmured.
Holding it up, I plucked my phone out of my pocket and turned the flashlight on, angling it over the parchment. “Looks like some sort of message…in a bottle.”
Jorge catapulted over a couple crates to get over to me. “Like the kind you find in storybooks?”
I’d never known the man to be as awestruck as he was right then. I shrugged and started to hand it to him when it suddenly burst into flames from its center. It went up fast, the small red flames licking at my thumb and finger a split second before I could drop it. Only ash and ember remained, floating in the air before it all turned to dust.
“Dafuck?” Jorge said in my ear, echoing my very thoughts exactly.
