Bad Blood Empire Page 20

  The man's face was blinking red and black as the show of lights above head took a turn for the grotesque, bestowing upon his opponent an eerie quality.

  Teddy Harper has just made one big mistake, Vince thought, staying down on purpose. He had brought the fight to the ground, and Vince knew how to leverage his low center of gravity.

  In one swift movement, he seized the man tights and pushed hard on his legs, overthrowing Teddy, who tripped and fell over. Vince closed the ensuing struggle with a devastating headbutt that brutally hit home, his hairy skull hardly cushioning the blow.

  Teddy growled in pain, and his vision became instantaneously blurry on his left side. The two men clambered back to their feet, each taking a step back. As he patted his eye, Teddy realized his brow line had suffered a dirty cut, and he was bleeding profusely.

  What came next happened so fast that Teddy barely had a chance to register the blade entering his stomach, right under his ribcage. He squalled, but his yell was muted by the pounding arrays of speakers scattered across the club.

  The first onlookers, always keen to peek at a drunk fight, were gathering around the two men, and Vince knew the security crew was next. Immediately, he realized that Teddy had taken advantage of the disorder to vanish. Joder! I can’t let him disappear.

  Vince Martinez elbowed his way through the huddle, on the lookout for any hint at his target's location. Blood-stained blade in hand, he glanced at the stairs, then at the exit. The man was badly hit, and the only reasonable course of action in his state was to find medical assistance, outside the club. The Mexican dashed to the exit, and scanned the road nervously as he stepped outside. Only ten men at most were in his field of vision. Some elegantly dressed. Some drunk and loud. Some trying to get lucky with girls passing by. But none of them Teddy Harper.

  . . .

  As Lloyd Davies flipped to the final slide of his presentation to the investment committee, Zakariya couldn't help but think that the man had a gift for predicting market trends. Here he was again, elaborating on his conviction that the oil price would fall further on the back of an unexpected curb in OPEC production, just when every other analyst on the Street prophesized a rebound.

  He had quizzed him many times about this special ability, which bordered on autistic genius, especially in an era when everyone had equal access to instantaneous information. And inevitably his explanation fell short of fulfilling Zakariya’s curiosity. Lloyd was simply good at making connections between seemingly unrelated data points, one of those beautiful minds having achieved mastery in one type of mental performance, but performing poorly in others.

  Taking him aside after the meeting, Zakariya was eager to pick his man’s brain about something entirely different. It was the first time he contemplated introducing someone from the civilian society – a complete outsider – into his other organization. To his amazement, Lloyd brought up the subject first.

  “Glad to see you more often at the office, boss. I understand other matters have required your full attention.”

  Zakariya was startled at the subtle boldness of the man, yet his face betrayed no surprise. This was exactly what he had expected from him. “One of my other business interests went through a crisis, indeed. You’re well informed,” Zakariya said, trying to inject some distance between them.

  "That's what I do, research. I myself had a little crisis of my own, which made me realize a number of things. I understand you suspected me of something." Lloyd decided to be upfront. "And I'm glad we managed to establish that I had nothing to do with it."

  Zakariya tried to contain his urge to smile. “I know you’re a reasonable man, you know how to pick your side.” He stood up. “The truth is, I had to see whether you had this in you. You might be a gifted researcher, but you’re not the only smart guy working for me. I’m aware of your inclination for non-conventional enterprises.”

  Lloyd swallowed hard. It was his turn to be thrown off. Inclination for non-conventional enterprises? Those were his intimate thoughts; he had barely touched upon it with a couple of close colleagues. The man has ears everywhere! Sensing that this was more than a casual conversation, he was determined to seize his chance. “I can only imagine how much profits were hurt following your unfortunate feud with the Aydins.”

  Zakariya was beginning to see what he hoped would materialize. "We've got that last part under control." He smiled. "The profit part, however, will need some work."

  “Well, if I may...I’ve been doing some thinking about the predicaments that an organization in the situation just described would face.” Lloyd realized that the wild excitement he felt was feeding into his speech, and he caught himself just in time. Simplify! “It’s fairly straightforward. In any business, the only way to increase profits without a change in product range is either to decrease cost or raise prices.”

  “I’m aware of this. And neither of those solutions would make a durable difference.”

  “No, but there is a third way. One that would permit you to streamline your business, increase profits and expand your organization at the same time.”

  Zakariya Mansouri gauged his man in silent for a moment, Then, he folded his arms and said, “Alright, you’ve picked my interest. Tell me more.”

  CHAPTER 51

  For the first time in a while, Chloe and her man were able to take a breather and enjoy a moment of complicity, comfortably tucked into the high velvety chairs at the main bar of club Lucky 77. The establishment was only a few minutes away from opening, but until then, they had the place to themselves.

  The fresh, azure-blue interior of the establishment offered a stunning contrast to other top private clubs that would typically bet on a more subdued, plush atmosphere reminiscent of American pre-prohibition salons.

  The high bar thrones they were sitting on invariably bestowed upon patrons a feeling of superiority. Right before them, the spacious ebony bar was set on a separate, slightly lower level.

  As she glanced up, Chloe felt the same mesmerizing awe that always provoked in her the hypnotizing golden sunrays covering the ceiling. The body of the artifact was hung dead center on top of the bar, like a heavy sprig of mistletoe. A fantastic piece of metallic artwork that seemed conducive to crucial conversations.

  “Two minutes before the masses are let in. Gianluca over there is about to have one hell of a night.” Zakariya pointed at the bartender who was readying his utensils.

  "Let us enjoy this few last moment of bliss, just you and me," Chloe said, shaking her hand upward into her hair to inject some volume into her slick mane. "And poor Gianluca..."

  “He’s well-paid, and probably don’t want your pity.”

  “Well, I know what it is Gianluca,” she said in the direction of the bartender, who was unsure whether they meant to include him in the conversation. “I have just started a new job, and it’s mad busy.”

  “Oh yeah, she does know what you’re going through, my man.” He turned back to face Chloe, and added, “I’ve been fairly absent lately, business has been tough, but it’s as if you’re redefining the notion of business. I feel like you spend all your evenings at the gallery. Those tortured artists can’t possibly require that much attention.”

  "You'll always be my priority, my handsome man. You know that. That's why you're shamelessly playing with me and my feelings." She paused, staring straight into Zakariya's eyes and cupping his cheek with her palm. "Zak, don't you think it's time to retire?” Her eyes were burning through his should. She added, “For some reason, I feel like you guys are on the verge of another feud with other families."

  Right then, the first patrons walked in, shattering the calm, idyllic cocoon they had shared for the past half hour.

  “There will be no feud,” Zakariya said, just in time before a bubbly Lola appeared and broke the last layer of intimacy the couple was enjoying.

  “Guys, I’m so glad to be here!” She exclaimed enthusiastically. “Zak, you’ve done wonder with the place. Can you believe it’s the
first time I come here?”

  "Ladies," Zakariya said, "I'll let you two catch up, I've got a meeting to attend. Everything is, of course, on the house. I mean on Gianluca." He winked at the girls as the unsuspecting bartender flushed in embarrassment

  . . .

  Zakariya Mansouri only had a few stairs and two security checkpoints to clear before reaching the meeting place. He couldn’t remember the last time he had entered the boardroom of club Lucky 77 in such a promising mood. The men seated around the oval table looked like they were about to hop on their biggest adventure yet. Even Zinedine’s somewhat elongated facies and small almond-shaped eyes oozed hopeful determination.

  The integration of Vince in the family had been seamless, an unsurprising feat given that his good work over the years had been widely noticed. Zakariya was proud that he was another glorious example of the efficacy of the organization reward system. The underworld was ruthless and unforgiving, but in well-run clans, it had the benefit of offering truly equal chances. There were no races, no religions, no discrimination. In the face of a loaded gun, only the deserving came out alive.

  "I heard that Harper gave you troubles, mate," Rayyan said. "He's a new guy on the block, but my guys tell me he was a notorious, and reckless gangster in Miami, and before that, in Birmingham."

  “Man, I swear I would have ripped his head off if the bastard hadn’t run away like a hijo de...” Vince didn’t finish his sentence, and he looked passably exasperated.

  "Don't worry about him, he'll be dealt with soon enough," Zakariya said, "I'll send some of my men after him. I can smell troubles if we let him live. He killed two of our best informers in the Aydin family, two good, devoted men, and this is unforgivable."

  “Boss, please leave him to me,” Vince pleaded, “I still have his blood on me, figuratively, and this is a bond I need to sever myself.”

  “Goddam man, you’re taking this personally aren’t you?” Djibril interjected. “What did the man do to you? Ask you for a dance?” He launched a heartfelt, loud but lonely laughter.

  Vince Martinez wasn’t amused. “The man attacked me from behind, and called me a twat.”

  This time, the entire assembly erupted in a tearful guffaw.

  “Alright Vince, he’s yours,” Zakariya said. “Complete the assignment, and get a few men to help you out, this is no lone wolf mission anymore, forget about the initiation. Let’s not take further unnecessary risks.” He paused until the room was silent again. “Now, gents, the reason why we’re here.” He glanced at his brother. It was the signal Mustafa had been waiting for.

  "The war with the Aydins has shown that we're too vulnerable to exogenous factors," he explained. "Our supply chain clogs too quickly, and our structure isn't as seamless as it could be. The low-level dealers paid the real price of the war; they were beaten out of their territories. We'll address this separately by deploying security forces at strategic points.

  “At the other end of the chain, it had become obvious that our main suppliers, the Marseillais, are becoming increasingly disloyal. Most of the men Zak and I once knew there are gone, replaced by foolhardy young guns devoid of loyalty.”

  Zakariya went on, “This is why we have decided to branch out our supply chain, and deal directly with the producers. No cumbersome intermediaries and greedy middlemen. And we’ll progressively cut off the Marseillais altogether.” All the lieutenants were listening attentively. “This may not seem like it just yet, but this is a momentous shift in the way we operate. I have big hopes for the future of this family. We may be in an unstable position right now, but believe me, with the plan I have in mind, in a year’s time, we’ll be a different organization entirely.”

  Zakariya didn't want to give out too much just now. A lot of the details had yet to be settled, a lot of people had to be convinced and bribed, but cutting out intermediaries would propel the Mantes-la-jolie boys into another dimension entirely. A dimension of their own that could only mean one thing – their rule would be total.

  End of Part I

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  In the same series:

  LITTLE HAVANA EXILE

  How far would you be ready to go…to avenge the murder of your closest friend?

  A tormented childhood in the outskirts of an old English metropolis, stained by incessant bullying and petty crimes. A voluntary escape from the family cocoon. A path obscuring by the day.

  At the age of 18, Teddy Harper suddenly finds himself at the helm of the largest organized crime gang in Birmingham, UK. And with it, its lot of ruthless enemies and deathly perils.

  When close associate and fellow ringleader James Wilkinson gets ambushed and savagely murdered by a rival group, Teddy is confronted with a choice that could alter the face of the city's underworld - stop the bloodshed and work toward a truce…or plot a revenge of epic proportions.

  As he finally yields to his dark side and commits the unthinkable, he is left with no choice but to set sails for an untimely and treacherous exile.

  "Exclusively for fans of high-octane action-packed tales of gangsters, mafia, vengeance and prison breaks such as the Godfather, the Outsiders, and Narcos."