Yet when he was Jesse’s age, he knew what drug cartels were; he knew how to shoot a gun and field-strip it; he could hot-wire a car even though he wasn’t old enough to drive. He could tell almost just by looking whether someone was carrying a weapon under their jacket, and he had a knack for spotting drug deals going down at school.
What about Jesse? His mother was Madison McAllister. She’d caved in to the pressure that her father placed on her and didn’t tell Sean that she was pregnant thirteen years ago. She did everything her dad wanted … did she do everything her husband wanted, without question? Without argument? Had she been ignorant of her husband’s criminal behavior? Was Jesse sheltered and blind? Would he get himself into trouble simply by asking the wrong questions? Would Flores keep Jesse to ensure that Carson Spade did what he was supposed to do? Was Carson here voluntarily … or had he been forced to come? Had they grabbed Jesse first to ensure compliance? Was Kane right and would both Carson and Jesse be dead as soon as Carson did his job?
The guard opened the main doors. Motioning for the other three men to leave, he led Sean straight across the wide, opulent foyer and through one of a dozen sets of ten-foot-tall French doors. The center of the mansion was an atrium, covered from the elements but with a glass roof. It was humid in here as well, likely to keep the many plants thriving. A narrow lap pool had been installed dead center, and a smaller, but more opulent black-bottomed pool with a waterfall and Jacuzzi was off to the right. Four sets of staircases went up to landings north and south.
The main house had to be, minimum, thirty thousand square feet. The atrium itself was about half a narrow football field with nooks and crannies and lots of places for the bad guys to hide and take a shot at his head when they had a chance.
A short, trim man of fifty with dark graying hair wearing white pants and a red floral shirt sat at a table next to a fully stocked bar. The bar had its own bartender.
He smiled when he saw Sean. “Thank you, Romie, you can leave.”
The guard said, “He hid the bag.”
“Of course he did. He wants to see his brother first.” He motioned for Sean to take a seat, which he did. There was no good place to sit and see every angle of the atrium. “I’m Dominick Flores. It’s good to finally meet you, Sean Rogan. I’ve heard a few stories about you, never know exactly what to believe and not believe. But since I know most of the stories about your brother are true, I would be impressed if even half of yours are true. What would you like to drink?”
Jack had already warned him that refusing to drink with Dominick Flores would be insulting.
“A cold beer would be nice,” he said.
Dominick laughed. “A beer? Are you a lightweight?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Bernie, two cerveza, por favor. And two shots of the Fortaleza reserve.” He smiled at Sean. “Just one,” he said. “You’ve earned it.”
Sean raised an eyebrow. “Earned it?”
“You have balls, I admire that. You must be aware that your brother has a bounty on his head. More than one bounty.”
“And I’m prepared to pay for him.”
He dismissed Sean’s comment with a flip of his hand. “We’ll get to that.”
Bernie brought out two cold bottles of Negra Modelo, two shot glasses, and a bottle of Fortaleza tequila. Dominick poured the shots and slid one over to Sean. “Salute,” he said and held up his shot.
Sean went along with it, picked up the glass and said, “Salud.”
They drank together and slammed the shot glasses back down on the table. If Sean wasn’t so tense, he would have enjoyed the drink—he would be hard-pressed to remember a better tequila.
He opened his bottle of beer and sipped. “Thank you.”
Dominick smiled then snapped his fingers. “Your brother.”
Sean looked around. At first he didn’t see anything; then on the landing directly across from the bar, a door opened. Kane was brought out. He was cuffed and his face was swollen. A cut on his cheek would most certainly scar. Sean tensed.
“He put up a fight, but they’re all superficial wounds,” Dominick said. He waved his hand and Kane was forced back through the door. It closed.
“The money?”
Sean said, “Paper and pen.”
Dominick snapped his fingers again, and Bernie brought over a notepad and pen. Sean drew a line on the top. “This is your gate.” He then drew the road. “Point six mile down the road there’s a fallen oak tree—I think it’s an oak, it’s distinctive because two new growths are coming out of the base.”
“I know the tree.”
Sean drew a stick tree, then another line to the west. “There’s an overgrown path here. About one hundred steps there’s a thorny hedge that’s completely overgrown. The bag is in the hedge. It’s black, so they’ll need some lights, but it’s almost dead center.”
Dominick looked at the bartender, who approached and took the paper from Sean. He left the atrium.
Dominick leaned back. “How do you know Dante?”
“Kane.”
“Friends?”
“I wouldn’t say that.”
“Enemy?”
“I wouldn’t say that, either.”
“I’ve always wondered why Kane never slit his throat.”