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Fabian Fuentes sat at his table in the darkest corner of Beachcombers nursing his Captain Morgan and waiting for his associates to report. Perhaps drinking a booze brand that used a pirate logo was a bit cliché, or too on-the-nose, but he couldn’t help it. He loved the stuff. And he suspected he was going to need a little pot-valor, if he was going to get through this forthcoming conversation. This was not a way of handling stress. This was a way of containing his temper.
Two men entered the bar, scanned the room, spotted him. The place was not that crowded. Even after the social distancing requirements brought on by the COVID-19 scare faded, people still seemed to space themselves in public places. He wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. He didn’t want anyone near him. But the isolation made him easier to spot, more likely to attract notice.
His associates took seats on the opposite side of the booth. They were dressed like Americans, blue jeans and t-shirts, nothing that stood out. The instant they opened their mouths, it would be clear that they were not originally from Florida. He would make sure they kept their voices low.
“Report,” Fuentes said succinctly.
The man on the left, the bulkier one, Roberto, took the lead. Roberto was his favorite and by far the more competent of the two. His cohort, Jose, might be smarter, but that was of little consequence. This was not a business in which intellectual contemplation often produced benefits.
“How much do you know already?” Roberto asked.
“Assume I know nothing. Report.”
Roberto shrugged. “The Captain is dead.”
“Not merely wounded.”
“The first bullet struck him in the forehead. He died at the hospital.”
“The deputy?”
“Also very dead.”
“Release his wife. Make an anonymous donation for the care of his family.”
“Generous?”
“Sufficient. Warn her not to do anything suspicious.”
A waitress approached, a tiny woman with blonde pigtails. Fuentes couldn’t believe she was old enough to drink in this establishment, much less to serve drinks. But he suspected she received excellent tips. Americans seemed to disfavor real women, women who looked like women, favoring non-threatening dollies like this one who looked and behaved like children.
“Would you boys like—”
He cut her off. “They will have the same as me. And I will have another.”
“As you wish, boys. Be right back with that.” She winked, swiveled, swung her rear a little and bounced away.
Americans. Mother of God, how did they ever become the leaders of the free world? “Tell me about the other three men. The ones who were arrested at the dock.”
“Released on bail. And subsequently smuggled out of the country. They should be in El Salvador by now.”
“Make sure that they are.”
“I will.”
“And the whores? The cargo?”
“Three are still in the hospital. The others have been placed in a shelter. The authorities are discussing what to do with them.”
“Given the current political climate, I assume they will be deported.”
“Possibly not. There is much sympathy for them. Sweet young girls almost dissected for their choice bits. You know.”
“Americans.”
“Exactly. They might be adopted.”
“They are too old to be adopted.”
“Sponsored, then. Helped to assimilate.”
Fuentes took a long drink of his whiskey, unable to mask his contempt. “How much do they know?”
“About our operation? Nothing.”
“They must have seen something.”
“Not enough to hurt us.”
“Or seen someone.”
“The Captain. His three associates. But they no longer pose any threat.”
Fabian clenched his fists. “They know how we work. How we recruit. How the operation functions.”
“They were kept in a dark hold for days. They saw almost nothing.”
Fabian wiped his mouth. “I will be happier when the threat is eliminated.”
The two men exchanged a wordless glance. After a moment, Roberto spoke. “I’ll explore the possibilities and report back to you.”
“See that you do. Now let’s discuss more important matters. Conrad Sweeney. And Daniel Pike.”
“Sweeney is scared.”
That was the most disheartening piece of information he had received yet. Sweeney had been the bedrock of the US end of the cartel’s smuggling for longer than he had been involved. Sweeney was the one they could always count on, the one who got things done, who could produce a miracle under the worst of circumstances. “Why do you say this?”
“He has taken some severe blows.”
“Haven’t we all?” Fuentes’ hands began to shake. “Does he think he is the only one who has been harmed?”
“Of course not. But he may be the only one he cares about.”
“These stupid federal agents have cost us millions of dollars. Maybe tens of millions, long-term.”
“That’s the problem. Sweeney can’t afford a financial setback right now.”
“Who can?” His neck stiffened so severely veins popped out. “This is the worst setback we have suffered in the last twenty years. Not since the days of the Sandinistas and the filthy American meddling there have we seen such a setback. Not so much because of the federales. Because of Pike. First he interferes with our operative at ICE. Then he interferes with the sex trafficking. Now he goes after the organ trafficking. Soon we will have nothing left.”
“This is just a temporary setback. We are still strong. We are family.”
The waitress bunny-hopped back to their table, balancing a tray with three drinks. “Here you go, boys. Do you wanna run a tab?”
“No.” Fuentes pulled a hundred dollar bill out of his pocket without looking at it and put it on her tray. “That is for you.”
The waitress’s eyes widened. “Oh my goodness. Thank you so much.”
Fuentes did not even look at her. “I will see you in the alley behind this building.” He glanced at his watch. Twenty minutes from now. Midnight. You will be alone.”
“Oh, we don’t go into the alley any more. Not since that guy got—”
“You will be there in twenty minutes. It will not take long.”
“Gee, mister, I don’t—”
He pulled another bill out of his pocket and placed it on her tray. “I will see you in twenty minutes. Now go.”
The waitress skittered away, lips parted, clearly deep in thought.
Fuentes returned his attention to his associates. “The worst part of this is not the blow to our income, though that is significant. It is the blow to our reputation. Our business partners are unhappy, and they have every right to be.”
“What do you suggest?”
“We must regroup. Reorganize. Develop new networks, new connections. And we must eliminate those who would defy us.”
Roberto’s head tilted slightly. “You need Pike out of the way.”
“One way or the other.” He picked up his drink and finished it in a single swallow. “My grandfather started this business. And I will not be the one who sees it fail. Certainly not because of some damn American lawyer.”