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Then I eyed the two guards in the front seat. They didn’t strike me as militia, more like drivers with nice guns. They didn’t have the calculating sharpness in their expressions. They didn’t observe me much either. Men with violent occupations tended to assess their threats.
Hm.
It was a tough balance. I didn’t know exactly where the line was, between cartel members who were so sure of themselves that they moved freely and carelessly without thought of running into trouble…and those who were constantly on edge and waiting for shit to go sideways. Cartels lived on that razor-thin edge where arrogance and reckless behavior met utmost caution and discretion.
My grandpa had told me stories of what it was like living in Brooklyn in the seventies and eighties. Dad and Uncle Angus had some vague memories too. It’d been a little bit like this. How a laugh could morph into a death glare in two seconds. How the mafia families of New York had shaken the core of the city. How, for generations, ordinary people lived by rules and not laws. Like, my grandmother could still to this day tell me to avoid a certain street or restaurant ’cause “so and so ran that place.” Then she’d stop herself and remember that it wasn’t like that anymore.
You didn’t find dead mafia bosses on the streets of Brooklyn. You found froyo cups and the occasional syringe.
I checked my phone again, wondering why nobody had fucking responded. Elliott must’ve received the update. Squeezy had seen it, right? She’d added the number of the satphone to the chat five minutes after I’d reached out to her. But I didn’t wanna use my other phone—I’d left it in Adrien’s jungle shack. I had no signal on that thing, regardless.
I’d missed out on a lot, judging by the number of new people added to the server.
Two initials brought me nothing but dread.
GF and CF1.
If Gramps had called my dad…and Uncle Greer…
I didn’t know who EP and DP might be.
The texts had been scarce for the past forty-eight hours.
When the crew was so scattered, it made sense we sent more private messages to those who really needed the info, but it wouldn’t kill people if we reconnected a little. And how much of a hypocrite was I to think that? I’d scattered with the fucking wind. I’d fucked off completely.
I typed a quick message to the group.
Does anyone know if EJ has receeved my update? CF
I had to know, ’cause what Ididn’tknow was how long I’d be able to sit here with a phone.
I caught movement in the front and shifted my gaze to the guard in the passenger’s seat. He fiddled with the stereo until a woman’s voice poured out from the speakers. A rap artist too. About ten seconds in, I’d heard the name Blanco twice, so I could only presume it was a propaganda song.
I wanted to look at Adrien. His old partner had gone undercover as one of those propaganda singers.
Instead, the phone captured my attention again when a message popped up without a signature, indicating it was Squeezy.
I’m sure he’s seen it, but they left Europe in a rush, so it’s possible he can’t reply until he’s landed. DQ, GQ, RQ, JO, and R have taken over the Carillo op for the time being.
Whoa, what the fuck? I typed as quickly as my fingers allowed, and I didn’t care about typos. If Darius, Gray, Ryan, Javier, and Ramirez were working on apprehending Carillo, did that mean Elliott and Joel had received intel about Blake’s whereabouts? Why else would they leave Europe?
Where are EJ and JH landing? And who are CF1 and GF? CF
Landing or lannding—no, fuck that. It had to be landing.
Squeezy texted a hella lot faster than I did.
Everyone’s going to Colombia, CF. Has nobody reached out to you at all?
I swallowed my shock and reminded myself not to move a damn muscle.
No. And since I went off the grid, I guess I can’t be pissy about this but I don’t know how long I can stay in touch. We are entering blanco territory shortly, and I cant be sure I get to keep the phone. Why are they going to Colombia?! CF
I made a face internally and added a message.
Sorry for my impashience, im just running out of time CF
Squeezy’s reply appeared right after.
