The Bitterest Pill

Eleven

The next day, Arakel waited until Mehdi came into the warehouse in the early afternoon to tell him about the girl’s death. His first instinct had been to call on a secure phone, but there was nothing to be done yet and he had learned from experience that it was always better to tell Mehdi bad news in person. From the outside looking in, they were a strange pairing — an Armenian and an Iranian, a Christian and a Muslim. Still, their boss, a Bulgarian, had somehow known they would work well together. “Money,” Nikola liked to say, “is making for people to coming together, not silly men who make bullshit lies in some stupid skyscraper in New York City. Money is making the UN a joke.”

Arakel could not argue with his logic. He didn’t know all the details of the supply chain, but he knew that people who would normally be blowing themselves up or shooting rockets or firing artillery at one another were all part of the syndicate, and that their little branch in the Boston area was relatively small and unimportant. Unimportant to everyone but Nikola, Mehdi, and himself. This was their market to grow. There was no other option. In this business, one did not file for Chapter Eleven if things went badly or Chapter Seven when things went completely belly-up. There was no protection from the people who carried your note in the drug trade, and certainly no help from the government. Arakel was all too well aware of how quickly a business could go under, and it had left a bitter-almond taste in his mouth. He and his brothers had owned a fine Oriental rug shop. The competition from cheap, machine-made rugs had squeezed them out. Sure, many people still had an eye for fine rugs, but not enough to keep them afloat.

For the moment, though, the rug shop was the last thing on his mind. No, he was worried about what Mehdi would want to do about the dead girl and the kid. Mehdi was a harder, tougher man than Arakel. He admired him for that and feared him for it, too. Arakel’s wait was at an end when he heard the squeak and squeals from the old motor that raised and lowered the corrugated-steel bay door. Arakel turned and faced out the warehouse office window, but because of the lighting and the angle of the sun, Mehdi was in silhouette. It made him look more sinister than he was.

“Hello,” Mehdi said, a smile on his face. “Things are good?” But he saw Arakel’s face and knew the answer. His smile vanished and that hardness emerged from beneath it. “What is it?”

“We have a problem in Paradise,” Arakel answered, trying and failing to keep his voice firm and steady.

“It would be too much to hope you are somehow being ironic.”

“No, I am not being ironic.”

“Do not make me guess at it, my friend.”

But they weren’t friends, not really. In fact, it was Mehdi’s business that had hurried along the failure of Arakel’s family’s shop. They were more allies than friends, if that. Arakel knew that Mehdi had brought him into the business for his people skills. Certainly not for his business acumen or his strategic thinking. He was all right with that. He liked people and was good with them. They trusted him and he had the knack for putting them at ease. All businesses, even the drug trade, needed people like him.

Arakel said, “The kid, I think he screwed up and gave a fentanyl load to a teenage girl.”

“Dead?” He said it as if he was asking about a bug.

Arakel nodded. “Do you want to talk with the kid?”

Mehdi rubbed his cheeks as he thought. “Not yet. It would be a mistake to cause more trouble now. Make sure the kid has enough to maintain his clientele, but tell him not to bring in any new customers, not to either end of the business.”

“I will make it so.”

“Yes, you do that, my friend.”

“I will call.”

Mehdi turned, walked several steps away toward his office, turned back. “Remember, Arakel, it was you who brought this kid in. He is your responsibility.”

“I am aware.”

“Good. It is a good thing you are aware.”

Mehdi looked long and hard at Arakel before heading into his office. It was not lost on Arakel that Mehdi was not smiling when he’d reminded him of his responsibilities.