Fernando considers this. “Very noble. I shall think on the matter. In the meantime, I’d like to have a word with Plato in private.”
“It’s okay, man. Just go,” Plato hisses. “This is the best possible outcome, believe me.” It doesn’t look like the best possible outcome from where I’m standing, but hell. I don’t think I’m going to accomplish anything standing here, forcing the point. Plato looks at me with wide, urgent eyes, and I make a vow to myself. This poor bastard is not being fed to any animal, be it a pig, a wolf or a fucking monkey. I’ll work it out. I’ll make sure he’s safe.
“All right, then. I’ll be downstairs.”
“I think you are forgetting something,” Fernando says quietly. “Your apology?”
“Oh. Of course.” I can’t remember the last time I apologized to anyone, let alone for something like this. Do I feel bad that I killed that sick fucker? Nope. Do I feel like I should be scraping and bowing because he’s dead? Abso-fucking-lutely not. But the situation will spiral out of control if I don’t. I angle my head to the floor, averting my eyes. “I’m sorry, Fernando. Please accept my humble apologies. I should have respected your hospitality, and I let my own anger get the better of me. I promise, it won’t happen again.”
With cold, dead eyes Fernando stares straight through me for a moment. “Your apology is accepted, Mr. Garrett. I’ll be will you shortly. For now, Ocho will show you where to wait for me.”
And just like that, I am dismissed.
CHAPTER SIX
BEND OVER
“One hundred kilos. That is the smallest amount that we deal in, Mr. Garrett. We find this sorts the chaff from the wheat. Only serious buyers come to us, and buying our cocaine in these quantities demonstrates your intent.”
We’re sitting in a poorly lit, barely furnished office much like the one back at the bunker, and I’m beginning to feel like I’m in way over my head. There’s a large, round, black button mounted on the wall behind his head; will I be ditched out of my chair, through a trapdoor, into a tank of shark infested water below, à la James Bond, if he hits the thing?
“In case you were wondering, that is a cost to you of two million American dollars. Do you have that amount with you?” He knows I don’t have two million dollars just sitting in my back pocket. He’s being an asshole, but I can’t call him out on it. I have to play ball. I smile confidently.
“Carrying that amount of money around with me in a foreign country wouldn’t be very smart now, would it? I have fifty thousand. That’s what I can give you as a show of good faith.”
I don’t want to buy any coke, but if I don’t keep up this pretence, I’m gonna be in serious shit. If handing over every single last dollar I have with me means I buy his trust, even for a couple of days, then it will be worth it, though. Despite my apology, Fernando is obviously still not happy with me. He sits back in his chair, his face falling into shadow, and for the first time he looks sinister and evil enough to be the head of this cartel. “Fifty thousand. Okay. And you will have the rest of the money for me in three days’ time. And your boss will bring it here, yes? You are his right hand man, but I would prefer to forge our business deal with the man in charge.”
“That won’t be a problem.” It will be a problem. It’s gonna be a huge problem. Jamie knows I’m probably going to be using his New York cover, but he has no idea that I’m promising away two million fucking dollars, or that he is now expected to show up. Nothing to be done about it now, though; the lie will have to hold water for the time being.
“Okay, Mr. Garrett.” Fernando holds out his hand for me to shake. “We have ourselves a deal. But know this. I am still waiting to hear from my friends in America. If they tell me anything about you or your employer that might give me cause for concern, there will be consequences. I will leave that to your imagination.”
He gets up, splaying his fingers out on his desk as he leans forward on it. “Now. My rules. If you go through the blue door, you may not leave that room until I give my express permission. We both know you have discovered this rule already, so there will be no excuses now. Second rule. You may not kill any of my guests without my express permission. Lucky for you, the man you killed, William, owed me a great deal of money and wasn’t planning on paying it to me any time soon. If you had killed one of my wealthier clients who pay on time, I would not have been so lenient.”
“I understand. No more killing people. Promise.”