Page 14 of Cozen

The man who clapped his cheek filled his vision in front of the restaurant. Sargon closed the door of the black town car before giving his new boss the attention the man thought he deserved. It was not about respect why Sargon didn’t care to indulge the man, but about the fact he didn’t particularly like this guy.

“You good, Sargon?” Kale asked.

Kale Tompkins—small time coke smuggler, and big time gambler—had offered him a job two months ago when Sargon first rolled into New York. He’d overheard the man discussing an upcoming drug run he was taking down through Florida to get to the Keys.

Getting himself a new job was as easy as pointing out a safer route for Kale to take for the run. A route that didn’t include going through territory that didn’t belong to the guy. Things like that could get messy, and it wasn’t any fucking skin off Sargon’s back to speak up.

So, he got himself a job.

How long this job would last was another story. Maybe until he felt the restless need to get up and move again, or even once he became bored with his current surroundings.

It all depended …

Today, though, he was the muscle.

“I’m good,” Sargon told Kale.

Being small time in a world full of big times meant Kale didn’t have a lot of clout to back him up. A few men scattered between different jobs, or responsibilities. Certainly not enough to carve him out a respectful berth of space when it came to other people in the underground criminal world.

Sargon had been around all kinds of people in his lifetime.

Cartel leaders.

Cosa Nostra bosses.

Gun traffickers.

Thieves.

A Madame or two …

It took all fucking kinds of people to make this damn world go around, and Sargon was lucky—or unlucky—enough to have met quite a few of them over his twenty-eight years of life. He could tell a man who had made his mark in the criminal world simply by taking five seconds to talk to him.

Kale Tompkins was small fish.

Small time.

But the guy paid well, and let Sargon do his own thing when it came to a job. He appreciated that, so he watched the guy’s back.

For the most part.

Sargon’s tenure as Kale’s man could end as easily as it begun, too. With something like a second job offer, or the dangling promise of something better.

“Looks like the subject of your meeting is already here,” Sargon noted.

He nodded at the front door of the restaurant, and Kale’s gaze followed. Behind the clear glass, a man stood waiting to open the door for them. He looked in their direction, and nodded before pressing the Bluetooth in his ear, and speaking something they couldn’t hear.

Sargon was decent at lip reading, though.

They’re here, boss.

“Gotta appreciate a fucker who doesn’t make a guy wait,” Kale muttered.

Despite the unbothered inflection in Kale’s tone, Sargon knew the guy was worried about this meet with Jett Griffin.

As he should be, Sargon supposed.

Small time coke smuggler.