Code Red (Book#2 of The Runaway Club)

3. Ace Of Spades

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"They are not the quality we are used to but it didn't kill that motherf*cker."

I stared at Angelo blankly. He fidgeted with his crest ring nervously. The men around me worked noiselessly but I could feel their tension. I could almost taste their fear of me. They were expecting me to strike down one of my main man any time. I wanted to snort at the absurdity.

As if.

"Nothing kills Kyle. He is a roach." I heard Antonio enter the hall and his boots resounded in the quiet room towards my direction. "I am sure we can pump him full of tranquilizers enough to kill an elephant and he would show up the next day with a hangover. We are selling this sh*t to rich pretty boys who snort crack from daddy's trust fund."

"It is just laced with MDMA---"

"Not happening, Angelo." I sighed and the workers stiffened at my voice. I looked down at the dubious white powder waiting for my approval to go into packaging. I sure as hell wasn't gambling our reputation over a few thousand dollars. "Get rid of it."

"Yes boss."

Angelo disappeared with the powder like a kicked puppy. I almost smiled in amusement. After Robert, our computer whiz, I was most fond of this half-Colombian kid who joined my ring as a mere runner to support his five siblings and mother after his father abandoned them. He had quickly made his way up in my ranks and at just 21 years he was the youngest in my closest men. There were times I felt guilty in letting a barely legal boy in charge of hard drugs but I knew as well as he did that the world was never kind. His mother and siblings were living in a huge apartment in the wealthier side of New York now and he had just sent his sister to medschool. His family was none the wiser and he counted his blessings for being luckier than the rest.

"Ace is here." Antonio informed me. "I believe he has what you wanted."

"Where is he?"

He led me back to my study and I was greeted by the back of Ace's head on my visitor's chair. He must have heard the doors opening and he stood up with a warm smile. Although I was desensitized to his appearance now after years of working with him, I still couldn't help ogle a bit. His mint green suit complete with top hat, ornate walking stick and his bejeweled hand, ears and neck with his long flowing hair was without doubt his signature look.

"Bonjour, Red." He preened with in his accented baritone and smile.

"Sit down, Ace." I nodded at his chair as I rounded to my table and sat down. "We have much to discuss."

Ace was my spy, if you will.

He ran a line of my clubs named Red's; ironically named after me who was in FBI's wanted list to further confuse the narrative. Plus, Red's is not a five star club like the Italians which were swarmed by the IRS any given afternoon; it was a lay-low with a bit of illegal gambling and drugs to add on to the already handsome returns.

Coming back to Ace, he was an asset to Los Profetas in many ways. This Frenchman knew how to coax anyone into just about anything with his charms and saccharine words. He was also my best croupier and performed miracles with his mysterious aura and fast hands. He was my eyes and ears and it was through him that I knew the pulse of New York's underground dealings while being conveniently away from the sh*tstorm it was.

"Oui, we do." He pulled out a file from inside his suit-coat and placed it in front of me. "Pardon me for being presumptuous, but I am certainly flabbergasted by your request. But as I investigated more, it has become more and more clearer why."