Key West Story
1
The weather hit just south of Marathon.
He had seen it coming for the last 20 miles.
Lightning silhouetting the night horizon with increasing frequency as the squall line bore in from the northwest across the Gulf of Mexico.
A strong early spring cold front making one last charge into the Keys before the heat took over for good.
The first fat raindrops slapped into the windshield as he ramped up the first part of 7 mile bridge.
It had gone according to plan.
Three years building up an organization in Philadelphia from scratch.
New York had become uncomfortable.
Philadelphia wasn't easy but there were still ways to do business.
He had done it before, for others, had learned the ropes.
This time he had waited, gaining credibility, making bigger buys, supporting a larger organization of dealers, recruiting the right thugs to enforce the territory, paying handsomely, cutting everyone in for a larger piece than they would get anywhere else.
Greed generated loyalty.
So did fear.
The once a month 'firings' of the least productive 'employees'
went a long way towards maintaining discipline.
The network of 'employees' had included some in law enforcement selectively chosen for certain vulnerabilities.
He had a particular gift for spotting them, like a hawk picking out an unwary field mouse from a mile up.
He had told his top dealers to forego their cut for a week and to shut down the pipeline for the same period.
He had a really big score to make and need as much cash as possible.
A shortfall in supply would put the addicts into a temporary frenzy - they'd easily soak up the extra supply from the next buy.
The cops would have their hands full with all those crazed addicts.
Of course there was no next buy.
He had taken the entire $8 million from his dealers, paid his personal guards off with $2 million, laughed as their car blew up two minutes into their 'escape'.
The police would find enough of his personal effects in the charred hulk along with the incinerated, unrecognizable bodies of the guards, one of which he had hired as a near double.
He could care about the $2 million - cost of doing business.
The first wave of rain hit the car like a shovel of gravel, quickly bringing him back to the present.
He gripped the wheel tightly as the downdraft of the storm shoved the car hard to the left on the exposed bridge.
The wipers did little good.
He slowed to a crawl, heart thumping, a smile crossed his face, respect for an adversary he would yield to.
Mile marker 51 - another hour at least to Key West at this rate.
2
They were going up the stairs again.
Baker in the lead, Janek three steps back.
They'd been following Kanov for weeks.
Bad actor, styled himself as a Russian mafia type, a well placed dealer connected to New York.
