44

Barcelo shifted in the car seat and hit the passenger window with his fist. He felt like killing someone. He had worked way too hard building up his patch to let it all slip away. Rogue Angels, British upstarts and now there were reports that the Colombians were working their way down the coast. It would only be a matter of time before they too arrived in Ultima. That would mean more police on the streets, more problems. He would deal with the Colombians if and when they arrived but first he had to set things straight with the Bosnians. He could not let the fragile business arrangement he had with them be jeopardised. The girls were relatively low risk but brought very good returns. As part of the arrangement he got to keep one out of every twenty girls for free. It was a sweet deal. But the girls had a limited shelf life. They could only bring in top dollar for a year or two before they were used up. Then they tended to get passed down to less particular groups to be pimped out for scrat-money. There was always a need for more girls. It was a lucrative business that needed protecting.

The leader of the Bosnians went by the name of Golok. Barcelo knew he was not a man to be trifled with. While he would never admit to being scared of the man, Barcelo knew that any perceived slight to the Bosnian code of honour would not be forgiven or forgotten easily. The Bosnians operated with a ruthlessness that left no room for doubt. They were dangerous men and now a potential crack in the operation had been opened on Barcelo’s watch. The girls that they had lost during the evacuation at the club would cost him. Most of the girls came from Bulgaria, Bosnia and more recently the Czech Republic. In truth, it didn’t matter to him where they came from as long as they were young. The younger they were the more profit to be made on them.

The payment was always made in used notes of middle values, nothing higher than a fifty. Barcelo clutched the small sports bag tight in his lap. The cash had come from his personal safe, money he bitterly resented handing away. Normally the revenue generated by the previous shipment was enough to pay for the next.

As annoying as he was, Garcia was right: the Brits had played them for fools. But they would pay the ultimate price. No more warning shots; no more trying to take them alive. They were for the sharks. With a bit of luck, he would be the one to personally end it for them. He had snapped the biker’s neck and he would do the same for any other challengers that put his livelihood at risk.

Barcelo raised a hand to his face, which still throbbed in pain from the fight. That guy had kicked like a mule.

“You okay?” Garcia regarded his boss with a look of mild amusement from the driver’s seat.

Barcelo grunted a monosyllable in way of reply.

“My face hurts too. It’s part of the job. I’ll get my payback. Maybe you’re getting soft. Maybe you’ve been behind that big desk of yours for too long.”

“Fuck off, Babi!” warned Barcelo. “I’m in no mood for your shit today.”

“We could stop off at my place for some pills if you want,” offered Garcia as he dropped his hand back to the steering wheel. “A couple of purples and a blue would go down nicely. Take the edge off.”

“We’ve no time for that. The Bosnians do not like to be kept waiting.”

“Are the Bosnians as tough as their reputation? I’ve never had the pleasure.”

Barcelo looked at Garcia from the corner of his eye. The sly smile that Garcia wore perturbed him.

“Certainly not men who make idle threats. Not men to go against unless you have a death wish.”

“Tougher than your Locos?” asked Garcia.

Barcelo glared at Garcia and bunched his fists. “Just drive the fucking car, Babi, and stop needling me.”

“So where exactly is this place we’re going to?”

“You know the waterpark they started to build a couple of years ago? Ultimagua, they called it. The developers ran out of money so it never opened. But it’s a great place to meet away from prying eyes. I’ve met the Bosnians there a couple times in the past.”

“Ultimagua. Huh.” Garcia pronounced the word with undisguised disdain. “No prying eyes?”

Barcelo gave him another sideways glance. “No. The security there is one old man who checks the place once a week on a Tuesday morning.”

“The old guy is a friend of yours?”

Barcelo gave the smallest twitch of a smile. “Do you need to ask?”