Luis took a seat on the other side, well out of Sean’s reach. The gun although resting on the table, was still aimed at Sean and Luis’ finger was firmly fixed to the trigger.
“Well?” asked Luis.
Sean continued to rub the table’s surface; it really was remarkable how smooth it was. One piece, that could, he calculated, easily seat twelve and it was at least 5 inches thick.
“Seriously,” asked Sean. “How much would one of these run you, do you think?”
Luis looked at him with some confusion. “What?”
“This table, how much?”
“I don’t know, it’s your table, you tell me!” replied Luis, a little off-guard.
“You see, that’s just it, it’s not mine!”
“I thought you were Sean Fox?”
“Oh, I am, just not the one you think I am.”
Luis lifted the desert eagle and aimed it more precisely. “You said you had the leads.”
“I said I would give you them!”
“So do you have them?”
“I can get them.”
Luis stood up. “What the fuck do you mean you can get them?”
“Just that. I can get them.”
“So you don’t have them?” Luis cocked the pistol and pointed it at Sean’s head.
“Not at this moment but I will have them very soon,” replied Sean quickly. He could see Luis was beginning to lose it.
“How soon?” Luis’ arm began to shake under the weight of the pistol. He was going to have to use it or bring it down very soon.
“Please sit and I’ll explain everything!” pleaded Sean holding his hands in surrender. He had noticed Luis’ shaking arm and figured he had to give him a reason to put the gun down before he used it.
“No more bullshit!” exclaimed Luis, forcefully retaking his seat and laying the gun on the tabletop.
Sean winced as the gun clattered into the solid oak surface and left a noticeable dent. Jesus you’d think it was mine, he thought.
“Where to start,” thought Sean aloud. He had wondered what he would tell Luis and then decided, what the hell, tell him the truth which is exactly what he did up to and including awaiting a phone call from the head of the CIA’s special operations division to tell him who the leads were.
Luis fidgeted more and more as the story was laid out before him and when Sean finished talking, Luis sat speechless. His mind was working overtime trying to compute how best to use the information he had just received and more importantly how his uncle would react.
“So where do we go now?” asked Sean, prompting Luis for a response.
Luis shook his head, he needed more time. His uncle would not react well. The man he thought he had killed was the man in front of Luis now but he had never worked for a drug dealer. The man who worked for the drug dealer was just pretending to be the man sitting in front of him now. Whatever the case, the first thing his uncle would want to do would be to kill the man, with or without the leads. However, they needed the leads more than his uncle would ever know. Without the East coast distribution, they’d be out of cash in a matter of months and out of power about two seconds after that. There was only one solution.
“You want your son…” started Luis.
“He’s not my son!” interrupted Sean with some frustration.
“You know what I mean, you want her son and I want my leads.”
“OK?” Sean began to see some light. The boy was smart, he had to give him that.
“That leaves us two problems, my uncle and the Gulf Cartel. My uncle I can deal with, the Gulf Cartel is a bigger problem.”
Sean looked quizzical enough for Luis to explain further. “ The little war playing out in Nuevo Laredo is to stop a meeting scheduled between the East coast distributors and the Gulf Cartel. If that meeting goes ahead, they’ll steal our business and your…” He corrected himself. “Her son, will be of no use to my uncle and he will be killed.”
“So we need to stop that meeting and get one for you guys!” offered Sean.
“Exactly. Can you do that?”
Sean was now in a place where he was offering to assist a drug cartel to make a deal to gain the distribution rights for the American East coast, all to save a boy’s life who up until a few hours ago, he never knew existed and had in fact never met.
“Yes,” he responded with some conviction, surprising even himself.
“Excellent. Although there is one other problem,” Luis continued awkwardly.
Sean nodded for him to go on.
“My uncle. He cannot know you’re alive. If he did, he would have to kill you, leads or not!”
“I understand,” replied Sean, not understanding at all. His uncle was obviously a fucking psycho and seriously unstable.
Luis nodded towards the living room. Sean looked at him and wondered what was wrong.
“Are you OK?” he asked, as Luis continued to nod towards the living room.
“The men!” he whispered.
Sean looked at him with some confusion. “The men?” he shrugged.
Luis leant forward conspiratorially. “They are my uncle’s men,” he said, smiling and pushing the Desert Eagle towards him.
Sean suddenly realized what Luis was asking of him. “Shit, I can’t just walk in and kill them!”
“You already killed two of my men!”
“Your uncle’s men,” corrected Sean “And they were trying to kill me! I don’t do cold blooded murder!”
Luis smiled. “It won’t be cold blooded!”
Sean grabbed the gun and ran.
“Shoot her!” shouted Luis.
Chapter 27
The odds of the incumbent Texan Governor winning the upcoming Presidential election were already stacked in his favor. Just under half of the previous sixty years had been served by a Texan resident at The White House. With the country struggling out of recession, a budget deficit in the stratosphere and the incumbent president with a spending plan in disarray, it was a foregone conclusion that Texas Governor Rick Brown, the republican poster boy, would be the nation’s next president.
That of course was before El Jefe had decided to launch an all out war on his doorstep in Nuevo Laredo. With just over eighteen months to run until the election, the party hierarchy had made it clear — don’t cause a fuss and for God sake, keep your pecker in your trousers or your wife. Having an ex-Miss Texas as a wife, one of the requests was hardly an issue. Having two warring drug cartels on your border meant the other was slightly less within his control. It was with that in mind that the Governor took to the platform and spoke to his fellow Texans.
To date, the only negatives that any of his contenders could throw at him were his age and lack of military experience. As of the date of the next inauguration, Rick Brown would be 42 years and 217 days old. Meaning if and when elected, he would beat the youngest president in modern history, JFK, by over a year and the youngest president in the history of the United States ever, Theodore Roosevelt, by just over 100 days. His age was of course outside of his control, unlike his military experience. But that in itself was a story.
Rick Brown had been destined to be president from the day his father turned his back on big business and entered politics. John Brown had turned his back on big business for the good of his State and country. Fed up with imbeciles running the country into the ground, he decided to put his money where his mouth was and 'stop bitchin and start doin’. His campaign took off like wildfire and the self made billionaire swept into congress, taking the 23rd Congressional district away from the Democrats for the first time in the history of the seat.
With seemingly the senate and presidency for the taking, John Brown was the most talked about congressman for the first two years of his candidacy. His speeches lit up the house and had the old guard running for cover as he single handedly vowed to clean up politics. With billions in the bank, he was beholden to nobody and the public loved him — right up until the accident that ended any chance of his presidency.