Failed State (A James Winchester Thriller Book 1) (James Winchester Series) - James Samuel (top novels of all time .txt) 📗

room. A couple of needles rested next to the two men. Their heads rested listlessly against the wall, drool dripping from their mouths. If it wasn’t for their tiny twitches, Romero would have assumed they were dead.

“How are our supplies?” asked Romero.

“Good, sir. We’ve got plenty of Fentanyl. It’s letting us make more from what we have. I’m sure you know that profits are up, and it’s not just due to what’s coming in.”

“Excellent,” said Romero.

“So, this industrial-scale stuff.” Hawkins fell onto the sofa and switched the TV off, which had been showing some cop show. “What do you mean by that?”

Romero smiled and clasped his hands behind his back. He’d always liked Hawkins; he could count on his loyalty.

“Political support. My operations in Miami have the backing of some very powerful people, including people who have influence in Washington. I’ve also been working on gaining that same support within California. Only there are certain complications…”

“Like what?”

“The state governor is opposed to drugs in every way. No matter how much money I offered him, he would never help us. Unfortunately, he’s one of those men of principle, which is something we can’t work with.”

Hawkins readjusted himself. “What’re you going to do?”

“There are politicians lower down who have already agreed to work for me. We can deal with the governor by stopping him from the bottom. I now have influence all over Southern California. But to really launch this I need a different type of man working for me.”

Hawkins’ face broke out into an enormous smile. “People like me?”

Romero grinned back at him. “Businessmen. I don’t want any dealer with a direct line to me. That’s for personal protection. If they don’t know who I am, they can’t do anything against me.”

Hawkins thought about it. “I can be a businessman.”

Romero’s fist tightened behind his back. “I’m sure you could.”

He whipped out his Glock 22 pistol and shot Hawkins in the chest three times. The enormous black man slumped to the side, taking up most of the sofa, his lifeblood seeping into the fabric.

The front door swung open and Romero’s butler, Scott May, entered. He looked on impassively at the scene before him.

“Is there anything you need, sir?” asked Scott.

“We have three more of these before we go home. The sooner we dissolve our relationships with these people the sooner we can be safe.”

Scott nodded. “And the money?”

Romero glanced back at the notes wrapped in plastic. Scott had been his most loyal servant. Money was useful, but he wanted to transform it into a lightning rod for an empire that would stretch across North America. Keeping Scott onside was vital to his plans.

He shrugged at his butler. “Take as much as you can carry, it’s yours. All used notes. No questions asked.”

Scott’s greedy eyes glinted at that. “Thank you, Mr. Romero. Thank you very much.”

Romero allowed his butler to grab a bag from the car and fill it with as much money as he could. The more money he paid Scott the more his loyalty grew. He couldn’t afford to underpay his staff or one day they would turn on him. A king relied on his subjects.

He crossed back to the room where the two junkies enjoyed their high. Romero went to stand in front of them. Their eyes didn’t move to acknowledge him. They hadn’t heard anything of what had transpired there today.

“Scott, come here.”

His butler returned with a half-full plastic bag. “Yes, sir?”

Romero cleaned the Glock of his fingerprints and pressed the gun into the hand of one of the junkies. “Remember to call the police when we’re out of Korea Town. Tell them you heard gunshots from this house. Give them the address.”

“Very good, sir.”

Romero left the house in high spirits. He’d removed a major cog in his former drug operation, and he had the perfect pair of fools to pin the whole thing on. Just another three visits and he could rest easy.

Chapter Twenty

Guanajuato, Guanajuato, Mexico

 

Diego had decided to recuperate at Dr. Silva’s house. A quick bribe to the doctor for rent and expenses and James knew Diego would be safe. With Quezada now aware of Diego’s involvement, he couldn’t risk going home to convalesce. Diego couldn’t even shoot with anything more than a pistol.

“Tell me, who is Rosher’s wife?” James leaned over the shoulder of Sinclair. “I never thought to ask her name.”

“We know that.” Sinclair never took his eyes from his computer. “You were foolish. You focused far too much on Rosher.”

James shrugged. “How was I supposed to know the wife would be the one we would need? I trusted Rosher. He seemed so genuine. I didn’t think they’d ever manage to get out of that bordello.”

“Well, they did. And now I’m here trawling through slow Mexican news sites to find a picture of his wife. I would have thought, based on your description, that Rosher would attend more events with her. Apparently not.”

James paced around Sinclair’s hotel room. Situated halfway up the valley of Guanajuato City, above their heads the little hotel lay in the shadow of the enormous statue on top of the El Pipila; below their feet ranged the colourful buildings of downtown.

“Your place is nicer than mine,” mused James.

“Shhhh… look at this. I think we’ve found something.”

James rushed to the screen of Sinclair’s high-powered laptop. He saw not the wife of Rosher but Rosher himself shaking hands with the chief of police, Ocampo. The same Ocampo James had encountered on the night Francisco and Mario had taken him to the bordello. It was a press release from the governor’s office.

“What’s this got to do with me?”

“Rosher has come out of hiding. I suppose it makes sense when you read this article.” Sinclair pointed his index finger at