Danger Beyond Intrigue: Volume One Page 32

  “You know people are after you?” Nick informed Sasha, as they sat in a quiet corner of the plush restaurant.

  “You mean I’m being pursued?”

  “Okay pursued, say it anyway you want. But these people are dead serious about stopping you,” he said, as a busboy set a small basket of French rolls and butter pats on their table.

  “I’m shaking. Really shaking," Sasha replied, reaching for a warm roll. "Tell me, how did you find this out?” she asked, buttering the bread.

  “My inside man. He’s connected to the pipeline.”

  “Who is he?” She asked, looking at him directly.

  “Can’t tell you just yet. Just trust me.”

  “This business is not about trust Nick. I need to know.”

  “Honey, I’m on your side. Believe me.”

  “I want to believe you,” she answered skeptically, as both avoided eye contact.

  “Hello, would you like something to drink?" the waitress interrupted, dressed in a modified tuxedo, holding a tray with empty cocktail glasses.

  "Sure, I'll take tequila straight up," Nick ordered, casually reaching for a roll.

  "Cancel the tequila, we'll take a bottle of red wine," Sasha requested.

  "Red wine, sure, what would you like?" the waitress asked, cordially watching Nick's negative reaction, then looked at Sasha, smiling.

  "Let's start with a Chateaux Margaux, any year," she ordered, returning the waitress’s gentle smile.

  "What's wrong with Jose Cuervo Gold 1963?" Nick asked agitated, buttering his role.

  "We're out of stock on the Margaux, I'm sorry," the waitress replied looking at Sasha then at Nick. "That was a great choice."

  "Good, we'll take the tequila instead." Nick replied quickly.

  "My second choice is a Chateaux Mouton Rothschild," Sasha replied with a gracious smile. "Do you have that?"

  "That's also a great choice, and yes we have it," the waitress stated approvingly. "It's an excellent vintage and mature claret," she added. "Your waiter will be here shortly," she said bubbly, turning and walking to the next table.

  "Sasha, you know I don't like wine. Why are you ordering wine? I feel cheated, I want tequila," he whispered harshly, ripping the bread between his teeth.

  “So how’s business?” she asked, suspiciously eyeing the Mexican busboy cleaning the next table, as he glanced at her and Nick, guardedly.

  “Good," he answered, chewing the bread. "But we want to export our products to Japan,” Nick stated, still sulking at being denied his tequila.

  “That’s not a good idea. Asia is being supplied with enough high grade China White to keep everyone happy.”

  “My father wants to export black tar heroin. It’s very potent, but very cheap.”

  “It’s still a bad idea.”

  “My father sent me to reason with you. He wants to meet you in Mexico," he whispered as Sasha perused the lunch menu. "He was sending Mondo, our trusted enforcer to bring you back,” he said, with a sinister glance.

  "Send Mondo or anyone else, that wouldn’t work," she replied casually, reading the menu. “But, Los Angeles is close enough to Mexico for me. Besides, I don’t think we have anything to discuss," she said, feeling imposed upon.

  “Cooperate with me Sasha. We want our black tar heroin in Japan before the Colombians can make a deal with the Yakuza gangs here in Los Angeles.”

  “Nick darling, people in Japan are happy with my narcotics. Listen, I'm opening the heroin market at my own pace,” she said, unaffected. "Come on now; choose something for lunch before the waiter returns."

  “But we offer something different and unique.”

  “I don’t think so.” She smirked.

  “Sasha, you don’t get it. My father wants in,” he said, pointing his bread at her.

  “Nicky, Nicky, you’ve got a serious ear disease. You don’t hear well," she replied, closing the menu. "The answer is no,” she whispered, waving the menu in his face. “Cool down.”

  “Que pasa, Sasha?” Nick asked indignantly

  “Nada Nick,” she answered, pretentiously.

  “Nada won’t work,” he answered, clenching his fist.

  “Explain yourself,” she asked, fanning his face with the menu.

  “We have vital information that you need.” He replied, swatting the menu

  “Que pasa, Nick?” she asked, yawning, covering her mouth.

  “Listen, we know the name of every member on the crisis response team. We know some of their counter-narcotics missions. We also know their command post locations. Now you tell me, is that information important?” Nick asked, self-assured leaning back in his chair, buttering his bread.

  “This conversation sounds like blackmail. But I only make deals on my terms,” she said in a contemptuous tone, biting her bread with building resentment.

  “You need this information," he insisted, banging his finger on the table, glaring at her. "I'm providing you with a service, every service has a fee. It’s only a small bite.”

  “Don't hurt your finger, tough guy. Nick, look, I thought you loved me?” she said, relaxing her defenses for a moment.

  “This is business. It has nothing to do with love,” he replied, gritting his teeth as Yoshida sat across the room, patiently observing their every move and changing hostile mood. Holding up two fingers, he signaled for two soldiers to get out of the car.

  “Well, let's see if I have a grip on this conversation," she replied, offended. "You want to take over my territory and blackmail me? And you want me to cooperate?" she stated frustrated, feeling hurt and slighted while watching a couple being seated at a nearby table.

  "Don't say it like that. We're combining territories and merging corporations," he said with a sense of confident naiveté. "Come on, my family knows you’re the entry point into the Asian market, we respect your authority."

  "If you love me, help me my way," she said, appealing to his senses. "Just give me the information. Just help me out and keep moving,” she asked, trying to reason with him.

  “I can’t do that,” he said, shaking his head no. "We have to negotiate this now, either here or Mexico. It's on you.”

  “Don’t threaten me amigo," she replied angrily, feeling provoked. "You’d never make it to your car if you force the issue. Believe me,” she said, staring him down eyeball-for-eyeball.

  "Okay, here's one terrific bottle of 1948 Chateaux Mouton Rothschild," the waitress announced, standing beside the table showing Sasha the wine for her approval.

  "That's the one," she smiled approvingly, as the waitress began uncorking the bottle and with a loud pop, twisted out the cork. Startled, one of Nick's men looked up, holding the Los Angeles Times in one hand and a sandwich in the other watching Sasha smelling the cork, then returned to the sports page.

  "I'll decant this," the waitress said, pouring the claret into a crystal decanter. “Let the wine breathe for a few moments,” she suggested.

  "That's fine, I can pour it myself."

  "Should I send your waiter over?"

  "Not quite yet, thanks."

  "Take your time," she said, leaving the table and walking around the potted palm tree plants to the next table.

  “Come on Sasha, enough nicey, nicey, work with me. My father always gets his way; you know he doesn’t have a conscience. He knows we were freshmen together in college in Mexico City. Dios mio, I even brought you to our Hacienda,” he said, pleading with her.

  “That’s year’s ago, for one semester on an exchange program. Don’t milk sympathy from me. Just be a good compadre and give me the location of the crisis team,” she grimaced, pouring the wine into Italian crystal glasses.

  “I can’t do that. We have to make a deal first.” He said stubbornly, pouting, crossing his arms.

  “How about I let you screw me and you give me the information?" she suggested, in a caustic tone.

  “Come on, be reasonable; let me test market our product. I'll ship 30 kilos a month of black-tar heroi
n and cocaine into Japan and we'll see how it goes,” he suggested with a cherubic smile, observing a couple at the next table partially concealed behind potted Ficus and miniature Palm trees.

  “That’s a lot to move in a month, and besides, there’s no reason to accept Black Tar,” she answered, holding the wine bottle, reading the label.

  “Come on, you can sell it in Hawaii, North Korea, Japan, or the Philippines, or buy it yourself. Just get it moving,” he suggested impatiently, tapping his foot on the black and white tiled floor.

  “Nick. I don’t take orders from you. Do you realize you’re talking about moving into another wholesaler’s territory? In Asia, we don’t do business that way. Yakuza sellers have their clients and the Triads have their clients. Everything has to be agreed upon by the Triad’s Commission and the Yakuza's General Council."

  “Listen, if you want to keep your organization ahead of the law, you’ve got to move our stuff,” he said in a coercive manner, grabbing her bicep and squeezing firmly.

  “So you’re sure there’s no other way?” She asked, grabbing his thumb, then wrenching his thumb painfully backward until he was off his seat, with one knee on the floor.

  “Enough, enough,” he grimaced. “That hurts.”

  “I’ll break more than your thumb if you want to get tough.”

  “Let me go.” he said in anguish, with an angry face.

  “Salud,” she said, releasing her grip and raising her glass, leisurely savoring the wine. “So, you’re sure there’s no other way to get the information from you?” she asked, setting the wine down.

  “Hey, my family wants a peaceful agreement. Sooner or later the Colombians will penetrate the Asian market. But we want to be first. We can do this together, come on,” he argued, rubbing his thumb.

  “Let me tell you a secret. Mexicans don’t speak Japanese and Japanese don’t speak Mexican, or English. So how can you penetrate the market?” she asked, with a patronizing attitude. “Salud,” she said, sipping the vintage wine.

  “With you! Together we can do it,” he suggested grinning, raising his wine glass. “Come on, play ball.”

  “Together?” she asked, skeptically. “Nick, I have nothing to gain from your idea. Your agreement is not with my consent. It would be made under duress. And, I'm not doing it.”

  “Come on, I love you. We’ve been through so much together. Let’s do this deal,” he said with hollow sincerity, eyeing a young waitress pushing a pastry cart past the table.

  “I see. You love me?" she questioned. "You love me?” she repeated in a scornful tone looking up at the skylight. "I think you love me in bed, but I’m not sure you love me.”

  “Think hard -- don't be foolish on this deal. We’re sitting on something big,” he argued, sitting up, adjusting his suit jacket, "This agreement may save your life."

  “Let me worry about my life.”

  “Don’t get upset, Christ, I need your help. My father is unpredictable; who knows what he’ll do to me?"

  “You're sitting on your brains. You’re just worried about yourself. Up to now your ideas only represent your interests, and I don’t like that.”

  “Be reasonable, we need a sales representative in Japan. Push cocaine or heroin, who cares? Christ, the wholesale price can start at $65,000 per kilo. If we can make an alliance, this could be very profitable.”

  “Profitable for you, not for me. My operation hums along nicely thank you. Your deal is still a bad deal. And, I don’t need another alliance” she whispered, as Nick avoided her glare, making eye contact with the bartender.

  “This is low risk for you," he said confidently. "Your organization is compartmentalized, so individual losses won’t threaten or bring down the whole organization," he said, relaxing his posture, glancing at a reprint by Jose Orozco, titled "Mexican Pueblo" depicting three dark skinned women sitting close to large cactus plants, admiring a baby.

  “You know too much,” she blurted, realizing how much Nick knew about her business. At that moment she recognized the relationship was over. She could no longer trust him or take him into her confidence.

  “I always helped you launder money. I taught you, remember that.” He said, trying to guilt her into a decision.

  “Look at me, Nick,” she said, staring into his eyes without flinching. “Don’t tell me how to operate my business. You know some of my compartmentalized cells are grossing seven million dollars a month,” she said, grabbing his Italian silk tie.

  “Hey!” He blurted, startled, grabbing his tie.

  “I don’t need your peanuts," she said with malice, yanking him closer with the thought of being betrayed by him.

  “Come on, come on, loosen up for Christ's sake,” he said quick-tempered, tightly gripping his tie, making fleeting eye contact with strangers sitting at the surrounding tables. “Mexico is a prime staging area for cocaine and heroin entering the States. We can make this work,” he whispered, snatching his tie back.

  “How’s that?” she snapped, clutching his tie again and strongly pulling him forward.

  "Give me my damn tie," he whispered angrily, grappling his tie, accidentally thumping himself in the chest with a loud thud as Sasha suddenly released her grip.

  "Damnit," he said, frustrated, as Sasha smiled.

  "Ouch, little Nicky is upset!"

  “Quit messing around. Christ, the Mexican Federal police and military work for us," he said in a frustrated whisper, straightening his wrinkled tie. "They're dependent on our drug money for Christ's sake."

  “This is not right,” she said feeling sad that the relationship was over, sensing betrayal and being sold out by her boyfriend. "Nick, you've reached the outer limits of drug protocol. You're crossing over forbidden boundaries. I'm warning you, don't go there."

  “As long as we trust each other, what can go wrong?” he said sipping the garnet colored wine, grimacing. "Jesus, you know the system for transferring drugs and laundering money is complicated, help me here.”

  “Who's your inside man?” she asked, sniffing the complex bouquet, then sipping the vintage wine, luxuriating in its aromatic essence as it exploded in her olfactory senses.

  “Do we have a deal?” he asked gulping the wine, frowning.

  “No.” she said frowning, circling the wine in her glass.

  “Bullshit! You have the authority to make binding decisions for the Commission. You can do anything you want!” He shouted in hushed tones, as the bartender glanced at Nick, putting his finger to his lips. Yoshida loosened his tie, held up his hand, twisting his fist, the signal for the soldiers to start their engines, then with two fingers, motioned two soldiers, dressed in black business suits, to move in closer.

  “I’m paid to make sound investments for my employer," she answered, sipping and savoring the wine. "You’re not getting a contract,” she replied with a tired expression, watching him drink the wine and sulking.

  "Mmmm, nice, this wine is tasty," he replied patronizing her. “Let’s talk at the hotel.”

  “I don’t think so. You’re returning by yourself. And I’m sleeping alone and enjoying it.”

  “Come on! I came all the way from down south to be with you. I'm even drinking the wine. Don’t act this way,” he said in a cavalier manner, gulping the wine.

  “You already had me. You got what you came for and once is enough,” she told him, sipping the wine then letting it rest in her mouth for a moment.

  “Come on, be reasonable,” he said, pouring himself another glass of wine and spilling a drop on the white Irish linen tablecloth.

  “You over-pushed your cause, amigo,” she said, as her second-self began emerging, watching the wine stain expand and detaching herself from her emotions. “Think of what you're doing. Think of the logical results,” she warned, shifting her psychological momentum toward a dissociative trance and emotional numbness. Her beast self was budding.

  “I can’t go home without a yes,” he replied, watching his guard eating a club sandwich at the bar, atte
mpting a conversation with a woman sitting beside him.

  “You can’t?” she questioned, as her second-self took control of her public self as her pathological transformation was building immunity from guilt, allowing her to be violent without remorse. “I just thought I meant more to you.”

  “You mean so much to me, I wish you didn’t think this way," he said with an innocent stare and faint grin. "I thought you’d say yes. Sasha, if you love me, you’ll do this for me,” he pleaded.

  “I don’t think so. In fact, good-the-fuck bye. And this terminates our conversation," she said, standing up as Nick looked down at the floor. "You're an asshole," she said, opening her purse and pulling out her wallet. "I've been a fool," she said, throwing down five one hundred dollar bills.

  "I'll be a son of a..." he said, pushing himself from the table, spilling the wine.

  "Amigo, you're pissing the shit out of me," her beast voice shouted, surging with fury, leaving the table walking past surprised customers.

  “This is a breach in our friendship,” he shouted, throwing down a hundred dollars, rushing past curious customers to catch up with her.

  “You caused it, I didn’t,” she shouted; as people stopped eating to stare at them argue as Yoshida rose to his feet signaling his men to advance.

  “Look at your behavior,” he shrieked, straightening his wrinkled tie. “It’s a business decision, not a personal decision.”

  "Seems like you got the two mixed up,” she said, as Nick hurried to her side as his bodyguard continued schmoozing with the woman customer while the other guard read the sports page, drinking beer.