Code Red (Book#2 of The Runaway Club)

2. Cash Motivation

Giuseppe looked like that rich, eccentric uncle who brings you odd souvenirs from their extensive travel vacations. Grey hair slicked back, expensive suit that was trendy thirty years ago, silver ringed index finger, port bellied and a wide smile. He couldn't have appeared more stereotypical if he tried.

But I could see it in his eyes that he was more than what he projected.

I could see a man who would follow through his promises; no matter now merciless.

I saw a kindred spirit.

He was a f*cking monster. Like we all were.

"We, Italians had built empires on our drug business. And it is not the police can uproot within a fortnight." He took a long drag of his liquor and sighed. "I am sure you've heard the news articles on the huge international drug bust last month. I lost around 20 billion dollars in revenues... alone. Never mind the potential money I would be losing from the shipping lines that I had to redirect."

Sure, I had heard of it.

The biggest drug cartel bust ever, they had called it. It was glorious. An estimated 35 billion US dollars in market worth, class-A drugs. Made my mouth water, if I am being honest. The FBI had been waiting on any intel with which they could prove anything about the so-called "Golden Route" and eventually they had a whistleblower in their disposal. And what a whistleblower it was. For a drug bust of that scale to happen, I deduced that the whistleblower must be someone with intimate knowledge of how the shipping system worked and its loopholes.

"We finally have the whistleblower's identity."

Giuseppe's eyes hardened and I struggled not to raise an eyebrow. It was honestly a little impressive that they managed to get an FBI classified file.

"So, you need an assassination then?" Antonio jumped the gun. I frowned.

Honestly, Toni.

Giuseppe laughed loudly, the sound ominous in the quiet study. I placed my narrowed eyes on him. I immediately deduced that this was going to be an expensive mission. It me a lot of willpower to not smile sardonically.

What is better than sweet, sweet revenge?

"Oh, I have much better plans than that." Giuseppe chuckled. "I need every bit of everything he had ever owned. After all, one could say that we were owed..."

No one spoke for a few beats.

"I want him alive and kicking. And I want in on every dime he has to his name. Willingly or unwillingly... your choice." Giuseppe said simply; his voice low and sure. "But here is the catch: the reason why I had called you over any name out there. I want it with the least attention drawn to us. He is under the protection of the FBI and he is a man who is a celebrity on his own right. And who better to carry out my plans than an organization that likes to fly a mile under the federal radar?" His smile was hallowed but it touched his eyes with malevolence.

"How much are we 'owed' if we are successful?" Antonio quipped.

Hell, I am curious as well.

"I am glad you asked. Pedro? My suitcase, please." The tall, lanky man blending with the shadows stepped forwards and passed a suitcase to Giuseppe gently. "I am aware that you have an aversion to direct dealings."

He opened the suitcase and pulled out a couple of papers in Antonio's direction. I glanced at it discreetly. It was papers of La Cosa Nosta's proxy companies agreeing to deal with whomever is delegated a certain amount of shipping goods. It was a no-brainer what the goods were. But the open ended, almost anonymous, fashion of naming the second party was what caught my attention. I waited.

"Of the little tid-bits I was provided..." Giuseppe leaned in with his hands connected on the table, "... is that your ring prefers to deal drugs with hard cash and limited amount repeatedly from a discreet sect inside Corsican Mafia. Clever, I must admit. I assume it is one more way to be inside the loop without risking detection."

I will be the first one to say it; he surprised me. This guy had done his homework, well and good. And at the risk of sounding narcissistic, I wasn't surprised all that easily now-a-days. Both Antonio and I stayed silent as he continued.

"As you may be aware, we are allies to the Corsicans. This paper will ensure that whomever receives it will own rights to stocks in our shipping's that amount almost 500 million US Dollars. Add to our preceding reputation for stability, the paper you own is worth how much you can will it to be. Sell it, auction it, barter it or even keep it; the methods don't matter. As long as it is to a ring that we are in partnership with, we will co-operate."

Giuseppe really knew how to bargain. And he was right, the papers that Antonio held was worth where our skills were at. And I was confident that I can bargain these papers in the market for well over a billion dollars. That would make it our most ambitious targeting yet. This made me wonder who the hell it was that the most prolific mafia was giving away billions for.

And unless it was the President of the US, I am sure the cash motivation was surely going to work.

"Who is it?"

Antonio asked the question I was thinking. Giuseppe said nothing but slid a magazine in our direction. I looked down at the magazine that Antonio had picked up. In the glossy front page of the gossip magazine was a man who I had happened to see occasionally in billboards and brand commercials. The picture was of him standing in a luxurious yacht; shirtless with four skimpy dressed women clinging on to his strong arms as if it were their life. His airbrushed abs were in full view as he smirked at the camera, his dark hair tousled in a messy-yet-sexy style. He had brown eyes and a flawless olive tan, suggesting that he may have a part of his family tree extending over to south Europe. The man was downright hot and gorgeous in pain sense and also probably one of the mindless Hollywood womanizing flocks. Antonio turned the magazine so Giuseppe faced the front cover.

"This is the whistleblower to the drug bust?" Antonio had abandoned all professionalism with the disbelief in his tone. And honestly, I would have too in his place. This tabloid trash had single-handedly tried to bring down La Cosa Nostra and he certainly didn't look like it. Giuseppe smirked.

"This is Aaron Krystals, the CEO to Krystals Corporation and a part-time model. Affectionately christened by the press as the NightLife Adonis."

I reigned in a snort.

This day is getting weirder and weirder.

"So what do you reckon?" Giuseppe asked, pouring more liquor from the decanter to his empty glass. "Do we have a deal?"

"I will let you know—"

Antonio began but was cut off by Giuseppe's laugh. For a mafia Made Man, he sure liked to laugh a lot. Giuseppe's eyes abruptly shifted to mine.

"I wasn't asking you, boy. I was asking your boss." Giuseppe raised an eyebrow at me with a smirk. "So what will it be?"

A similar smirk grew on my red lips at his response.

Homework done well, indeed.

With slow movements that were tracked by the seven men in attendance inside the room, I moved to sit next to Antonio who had all but clamed up. I let my smirk fester into a wide, sardonic grin.

"Hm, impressive." I purred. "You have got yourself a deal, old man." 

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NEXT UPDATE: (...maybe plam reading?)

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