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Feeling irritated and miffed at the bitch-ass actions of the people around me, I lift up the file to see what has made Roscoe so twitchy. At first glance, it is exactly what you would expect to see from someone like Tripp Bose. He lives lavishly and spoils his wife and daughter. His only child. He inherited his business from his father, made some missteps along the way, and now the company is hanging on by a thread. He doesn’t want his family to know so he continues to live as if he is in the black. His contact list is getting shorter and shorter by the moment, and his list of enemies is growing. Meh. Nothing new here. Same old story with white bred boys who have no balls.
However, it is the information that comes after that sets my teeth behind my tongue. He has been trying to close a deal with Ransom Smith. CEO of Smith Jewelry Empire. Ransom is a very shrewd businessman. He has multiple stores in every state, his hand is in real estate, luxury cars, and even in the media pool. All of this makes him smart, innovative, and hard to beat. None of this worries me.
What does worry me is that he is a very bad dude. Shut the fuck up, I tell my own inner demon. I know I am not a good dude. I have killed, maimed, and tortured all in the name of Four Patrones. I have never and will never apologize for it. I was bred for this by my father from the moment I was born. It is my legacy. But we have a code. A list of things that are never to be done, if you will. Things that we just don’t dabble in and if we found someone in our organization doing so, it would mean certain death.
We honor women and view them as sacred. They are something to be revered and protected. The woman we choose to carry our seed is considered our property from the moment she is selected. She will be put before all others. As a result, we view all women as someone’s sister, mother, or daughter. The same for children.
But Ransom, not so much. That fucking diablo is a wife beater, pimp, and he is teaching his son some of the same. Her fucking clueless-ass father is trying to broker a marriage deal between the two of them, so he can get his hands-on Ransom’s money. Selling his fucking daughter to the highest bidder. To a monster and his spawn no less. Unless Tripp knows and doesn’t care. “MOTHERFUCKER!” I roar throwing the shit off my desk. Over my dead body. Just thinking about my girl coming to any harm from those fucking vile excuses for men has me seeing red.
Damn it. I was trying to talk myself out of taking her too soon. To give her more time. Maybe even court her a bit or something. But this shit just upped my timeline. I have to make way for my woman. NOW. Time to call in the big dogs. First, I need to set a few things in motion. Picking up my phone, I call Cortero, my contact with the police department.
“Saxson. What can I do for you?”
“Tero. How’s Bethany and the girls?” I ask about his wife and daughters. I saved them from a home invasion one night, when I was leaving the bar by his house. He has been paying me back ever since, even though I keep telling him he doesn’t owe me. Seems right now though, I am calling it in.
“They are great. Bethany keeps telling me to invite you for dinner. You should come by.”
“I will be sure to do that when I come back from my honeymoon.”
“Honeymoon? Have I missed something? I didn’t even know you were dating. Who is the lucky woman?”
Really not in the mood to get into this right now. “It’s a long story friend. Listen, Ransom Smith, I need you to pay him a visit. Maybe put him on notice. I need him to be spooked. Rumor has it that he has been trafficking girls out of the back of his shop. I need him to move them so my guys can retrieve them.”
“Saxson, no disrespect, but you’re in the Spanish Mafia. Now you want to be a good guy? Am I hearing things?” A fucker can’t ever do good shit without all the fanfare.
“We don’t traffic, deal in paid sex or hurt women and children. Nor do we know it’s happening and let it. Is that ok with you? Or don’t you remember that I saved yours.” I don’t like to bring it up but now he is pissing me off.
“No. You don’t. Consider it done.”
“Thank you. Keep me updated.” Hanging up, I call the next person on my list. My mama.
