The Cain Casey Series

Chapter Twelve

Giovanni Bracato would have worried about Cain, but his sons had done such a thorough job of blowing holes in her defenses and strongholds, he seriously doubted she would recover in time to give him any problems. By adding connections from Latin America he could expand his operation enough to muscle out Vincent and Ramon.

He sat across from his new suppliers and tried not to reveal his reactions, since he wasn’t familiar with the three men. Things were going well, and he didn’t want to screw them up by giving them any reason to doubt the sincerity of his word.

“So as you can see, Señor Luis, we have the market and the ability to move the product into the city. I just need your guarantee that the supply will flow steadily from your end.” Giovanni had a hard time keeping a smug expression off his face as he adjusted his girth in the upholstered seat and reached for the cup of coffee one of his men had taken from the waiter and served. With his other hand he patted the briefcase lying on the table to his left and finally let the corners of his mouth curl upward slightly. “Let me worry about the street sales, and you just collect the cash.”

Francis stepped up beside his father and snapped open the case containing stacks of hundred dollar bills and a brand-new 9 mm handgun. “What my father means is, you’ll collect the cash and weapons as per our agreement.”

“What about customs?” Juan Luis leaned forward and pushed aside the coffee with a look of disgust. A thick lock of dark hair fell into his eyes as he spoke, and he pushed it back impatiently. “With all the new security measures your government has put in place, how do we know you can get all you’re committed to into the country? Because once it’s ordered, amigo, you’re responsible for it. I don’t give a fuck if it makes it in or not.”

“Because I just gave you my word.” Giovanni had to stop himself before he tacked an insult to the end of his sentence. “That should be good enough.”

An older gentleman sat to the side smoking a cigar and listening. Giovanni had dismissed him as an advisor and concentrated on negotiating with Juan, who up to now had asked all the questions and done all the talking.

“Your word means mierda to us.” Juan’s mouth went up in a sneer when he said the Spanish word for “shit.” “With all the heat you have on you right now, you’re lucky we’re even here talking to you.”

“You listen to me, you little pissant,” Giovanni said, ignoring his son’s hand on his shoulder as he aimed his finger at Juan, seated directly across from him.

“Please, Mr. Bracato, my nephew is a man used to speaking his mind. There’s no reason for name-calling.” The older man put his cigar down and patted the young man sitting next to him on the leg. “We are simply protecting our livelihood. Surely you can understand my family’s concerns.”

“Who are you?”

“I am Rodolfo Luis, and it’s my coke you are buying.” He picked up his cigar and pointed it at Giovanni. He looked like he wanted to snap Bracato’s finger off. “Speak to me like you just did to my nephew, and I’ll have you drawn and quartered like in days of old.” He took a drag off the smoke to keep it lit and snickered. “Though we use chainsaws now to make it easier on ourselves.”

“Come on, Tío Rodolfo. This asshole knows the score.” With a snap of his fingers Juan leaned over and pulled the open briefcase over. “We’ll hold on to this in good faith.”

“Just remember that you fuck me and I have enough men to take you out,” Giovanni threatened. He felt his ears get hot when the three men just laughed in his face before leaving. If the dealers decided to renege on their deal, five hundred large of his money was walking out with them for just meeting with him.

“Pop, you shouldn’t have lost your cool like that. We need these guys.” Francis dropped into the chair Juan had been sitting in.

“You think I don’t know what I’m doing?” Before his youngest son could answer, Giovanni slammed his hands down on the table. “You don’t know fuck. I was making deals and getting this family to where we are today from the time I was ten, so don’t tell me how I should or shouldn’t act.”

Across the street Lionel and Joe sat in the service truck trying to drown out the rest of the restaurant noise to hear what was going on. They had followed the Bracatos to Costello’s, an Italian restaurant toward the back of the Quarter, only to lose sight of them when they stepped into the private room in the back. Whoever they were there to see was already behind the oak-paneled doors when Joe and Lionel arrived. Since only the two of them were watching and trying to listen in, they never saw the car pull out from the block behind them or the Luis family depart through the kitchen.

“You want to go back to the house, Papa?”

“What I want to know is where your brothers are. I hate walking into a meeting looking like my family has better things to do than meet with the fucks who hold our future in their hands. Where are they?”

“I don’t know. Maybe they were taking care of the business we discussed yesterday. If you want I can start calling around and see if I can find them.”

With a little difficulty Giovanni pulled away from the table and lumbered to his feet. “Forget it, let’s go. We’ll catch up with them later on tonight. I want to make sure my guy at the Piquant keeps an eye on the greasers who just left with a shitload of my money.”

The briefcase Giovanni was talking about sat between Juan and Rodolfo on the way back to their hotel as they laughed about the fact that the older Bracato obviously didn’t know that his son Stephano was already selling their drugs in Mississippi. When they turned onto Royal Street in the French Quarter past the front of the restaurant they had just left, Rodolfo pointed at the van parked across the street. “See, mi hijo, these are the things you have to look out for when you come to America.” He used the nickname “son” for his nephew because he thought of his sister’s child as his own. Juan’s father had left long before his birth, moving to the next town and the next woman waiting to be used.

The man hadn’t gotten far before Rodolfo’s men caught up with him and returned him to the Luis estate. The penalty for deflowering, then leaving Rodolfo’s little sister had been a slow death straight from the imagination of the man who controlled most of the coca plants in Mexico.

At the back of the property that bordered the mountains, they stripped the handsome drifter who considered himself a ladies’ man and tied him to a tree. Then one of Rodolfo’s men coated his genitals in honey and stepped in the fire-ant pile at the base of the tree. The miles of beautiful countryside ate up his screams as the little insects chewed away at what had been a source of great pride. The men went back a couple of days later to scatter his bones.

“Every place you visit, you need a padrino to warn you of what dangers lie in wait,” Rodolfo continued.

“A godfather? I don’t understand.” Juan looked at the van as it disappeared around another corner. “Who was that?”

“You just listen to your tío, and I’ll teach you how to swim in waters other than those in your own backyard.” He patted his nephew’s leg and closed his eyes for the rest of the ride. What Rodolfo didn’t realize was that in these waters, the sharks didn’t work for the government.