Javier Matias sat comfortably in the back of a black A-Class Mercedes as it zipped along the motorway through almost horizontal sheets of rain. Javier was on his way to Gatwick, and home. This fucking country, he thought. People you couldn’t rely on, weather that drenched you, no sun, only grey clouds. He was getting too old for this shit. Next time he would send one of the sons from his first disastrous marriage, or Elena, his daughter from his second. He couldn’t wait to get home to Bogota, where there was civilization and blissful hot sunshine.
Of course he was going to have to make new deals now. Harlan was off the scene, and one of Javier’s people had told him it had been in the papers: Harlan Stone had been eaten by his own pet caimans. A terrible accident. Truly tragic. But did Javier give a fuck? He did not. Someone would take over, and he would know as soon as there was a new boss in charge. Then, they would talk. For the moment, the shipments were paused. The other families wouldn’t like that, but it was prudent. Things would settle, and then it would be business as usual.
He lounged back, luxuriating in his heated leather seat. He’d read the paper and now he was idly looking around, watching the cars and trucks on the inside while his driver smoothly guided the Mercedes along the outside lane. Then they hit a quieter stretch of road and a big Harley motorbike hovered alongside, two black-helmeted men on board, and he watched it with interest. Maybe he would have a motorbike like that. He could have anything he wanted, anything in the world, after all.
The helmeted head of the man on the back turned toward Javier as the bike roared along, keeping pace with the Mercedes. Then he leaned over and . . .
Clunk!
Javier straightened in alarm.
That guevon had attached something to the side of the car!
‘Paolo!’ shouted Javier as the Harley shot forward and was gone, out of sight in an instant.
Paolo’s head turned.
Then the world exploded in Javier Matias’s face.