In other words, Director Diaz of the Southwestern Narcotics Bureau sent a sacrificial lamb. When things went to shit, he’d deny all knowledge. Lucky would make sure the asshat didn’t escape unscathed.
“That is too bad.” Cruz put on one hell of an act of being genuinely disappointed. “We’ve dealt together before, he and I, even before you started with the bureau.”
“You… have?”
“Yes, on several occasions,” Cruz said in an offhand manner, “or rather, when Nestor controlled the business. He has since retired and left his business dealings to me.” Cruz’s sinister chuckle might have made Lucky wonder about Nestor’s fate if he hadn’t known for a fact that the man in question now resided in France, married to the former drug lord Lucky once worked for.
“You requested this meeting. What can we do for you?” Garrison asked, his serious tone matching Cruz’s.
“Ah, getting right to the point. I like direct.” Cruz reverted back to his previous casual mood. “On Friday, I’m expecting a very important shipment from Valle Hermosa. I want safe passage across the border, and through your jurisdiction.”
“I see.” How non-committal could one man be?
“I understand you can also arrange passage through the Southeastern bureau’s territory and up to New York.” Cruz leaned back in his chair, the picture of a man in command of his universe, and fully expecting to get what he wanted. “For a fee.”
Several times during the conversation, Garrison peered over Cruz’s shoulder at Lucky.
That’s right motherfucker, I got a bullet with your name on it if you fuck up.
“At the moment, I can’t guarantee Southeastern’s cooperation. Eventually, but right now we’re still moving our people into place.” The man sat ramrod straight.
People? Not just “man”, “woman”, or “guy”? Were there more folks involved in the Atlanta office, or did Garrison refer to the suspects in Virginia?
Cruz leaned forward, resting his clasped hands on his knees. All pretense of friendly demeanor fell. “Mr. Garrison, can I remind you what’s at stake? Not only this shipment, but many more to come. Nestor made his relationship with Southwestern extremely lucrative in the past, and I’ll continue. Doesn’t your recent promotion grant you more authority?”
“Yes, but… We need some time to guarantee the Southeastern corridor.”
Cruz unclasped his hands and balled them into fists. “I don’t care what you have to do. On Friday, that cargo crosses the border. Whatever is necessary, do it, but that truck cannot be stopped and searched, do you understand?”
“But…”
Cruz leaned over the coffee table, eye to eye with Garrison. “Make. It. Happen.”
Even with the man sitting across the room, Lucky couldn’t miss his hard swallow.
Garrison schooled his features. “Yes. What about the other details?”
“You mean payment for services rendered?” Cruz took on a bored tone, examining his fingernails. “Same as last time. Wire transfer to the account number Diaz gave Nestor. And Garrison?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t let me down.” So much threat in those four little words, and Cruz never even raised his voice.
After Lucky shut the door on Garrison’s back, Cruz put a finger to his lips and pulled a device out of his briefcase. “No one can hear anything but white noise now, from their side or ours, but…” Cruz shrugged. “I supposed I’ve accelerated things at your home office.” He plucked something off the chair arm where Garrison had rested his hand, and held it up for Lucky’s inspection. A microphone, and not one they’d planted.
“Yeah. If what Landry says is true, you’ve given O’Donoghue two days to make his move.” Though Lucky wouldn’t place bets on Landry telling the truth.
“I realize that’s not a lot of time, but we need to tighten the noose quickly. We have people in place who will document the shipment’s path through customs and up to Virginia. Currently, we have fifteen suspects. Three will face murder charges, and another five, accessory, in addition to corruption, obstruction of justice… Shall I go on?”
“No. I read the report.” Or Lucky would, once he found time, to know what he faced in the next few days.
“Good. I trust you and your team will handle matters in Atlanta.”
“We will.” Knowing Bo and Rett, they’d woven a web to make a spider proud.
“I wanted you here to witness the transaction firsthand, and how the IDTTF do things undercover.” Cruz gave a sheepish shrug. “Victor and Nestor still want you to join us.”
That old song and dance? “Not happening. I have a home and a family in Atlanta.” Nice to be wanted, though, especially by an organization like the International Drug Trafficking Task Force.