Deadly Games - Cate Noble [15]
Harry had received credit for most of the kid’s kills, which had bought him his pick of assignments. The assignments had all basically sucked, but getting back on Travis Franks’s team had been Harry’s only goal at the time.
Back then those bastards got all the cushy jobs. When it came to connections, Travis Franks was rumored to have God’s ear. Returning to Travis’s fold had meant sucking up to Rocco Taylor—a bitter irony since it had been Rocco’s fault that Harry had gotten kicked off Travis’s team to begin with. One more strike against his “old buddy” Rocco.
The idiom that it wasn’t what you knew but whom had since become a guiding principle in Harry’s life. Cultivating connections and multiple backup positions over the years had served him well.
As yet another medivac helicopter lifted off the interstate, Harry peered through the blinds of his old Winnebago. At least he wasn’t stuck out in the un-moving traffic. He’d spent the last three hours in relative comfort.
He tried his cell phone again but got the “all circuits are busy” recording. Not too surprising. A disaster like this quickly overwhelmed cell towers. Chances were good his contact, Edguardo, was stuck out there in traffic now, no more able than Harry to get a cell phone signal.
And once he did hear from Edguardo, they would need to decide on another location to make the transfer since the rest area probably wouldn’t clear out for a while. Lifting an unconscious woman from a car trunk was one of those things that went better under the cover of darkness.
The good news was he’d worked with Edguardo several years ago and knew the Mexican mercenary was dependable. He’d stay the course.
Edguardo had two other advantages: one, he’d worked with the Rialto family, the powerful Ecuadorian drug cartel that had expressed interest in the exclusive right to produce SugarCane, a high-powered designer opium that the dope fiends of the world craved. The Rialto cartel had a reputation for honoring commitments, a rare trait among South American crime alliances. The Rialtos also had the cash to back up their promise to top any competitive bid.
Until recently, ’Cane had been available only through Minh Tran. Harry knew this because he’d supplied the drug to Tran. But not anymore. The supply line had dried up months ago and Dr. Rufin was the only one who could restock it. Since there was no repairing the hostility Minh Tran now felt, Harry was a free agent.
Once Harry recovered Dr. Rufin, again, and secured the formula for SugarCane, Edguardo could serve as Harry’s go-between with the Rialto cartel.
Edguardo’s second advantage was his unwitting status as a guinea pig. Edguardo’s failure to recognize “Bob Munson” as Harry Gambrel meant that Harry’s disguise was solid. A good plastic surgeon was worth any fee.
So, was Edguardo now stuck in that traffic jam outside or had he been unable to even get onto the interstate? Either way, he was probably even more pissed than Harry.
After twisting the top off his thermos, Harry refilled his mug. He blew across the coffee’s steaming surface before taking a sip. After years of choking down the strong, bitter brew that foreigners called coffee, good old Folgers tasted like nectar.
He kept the television muted as he flipped through channels, finally settling on ESPN to watch the replay of the Dallas Cowboys kicking San Diego’s ass.
In spite of its beat-up exterior, the Winnie’s inside was fully tricked out. For two hundred extra bucks, the RV’s previous owner had thrown in the illegal black box that unscrambled all the satellite channels and Internet.
Harry pumped his fist as Dallas scored a field goal. Lord, he missed living in the states! Two years of living and working in the cesspool called Southeast Asia gave one a whole new appreciation for all things red, white, and blue.
In fact, once Harry’s future was secure—beyond risk this time—he’d consider moving back to the U.S. Hell, maybe he’d keep the Winnie and pose as a retired RVer. Travel from Las Vegas to Atlantic City. The thought almost made him snicker.