Tempered Steel (Steel Riders MC Book 2) (8 page)

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Hank had already accepted the fact that he was going to murder someone. It was Thursday, about six in the evening, and he was holding his gun to the back of the head of a man who had been running one of the distribution chains for the Orlin cartel. Apparently, he took a little more than he should have. It was strange to Hank that this was such a common problem.

Orlin is talking to him, mostly in Spanish, which Hank is fluent in, though he hasn’t let Orlin in on this information. Orlin’s monologue is tedious and, in Hank’s mind, a flagrant waste of time, because Hank can tell that Orlin is going to order him to kill this man. It is all over his body language.

It is a test to see if Hank will hesitate or act when given a command.

After another minute of talking, Hank realizes that he is wrong, this isn’t
Orlin wasting time
. Orlin is trying to see if Hank will lose his cool under this kind of pressure.

Hank allows himself the slightest of grins, since he doesn’t feel any pressure from the situation at all. The pressure left him when he decided that yes, he was going to murder this man. From that point, he’s been calm.

The man under his gun, however, is feeling the pressure. He is quaking at this point, shaking so badly that the sweat pouring out of his forehead is being flung off by the trembles.

“So you understand, Hector. I have to do this,” Orlin said in English, and then to Hank, “Kill him-”

The gun went off before Orlin could quite finish the command.

Hank straightened up, checked the room, and then put his gun into his side-holster. “Do you need anything from his desk? Perhaps his laptop?”

Orlin studied him. “Actually, yes, bueno. His laptop, please.”

Hank strode over to the desk and found the travel case for the laptop. He packed it all up and looked around again. “Yes?”

“Si, we go now,” Orlin agreed.

Outside, two enforcers fell into step behind them as they went down the walk to the waiting limo.

Once inside, Orlin gave Hank another appraisal. “You did not drive the truck today?”

“It is at the body shop being repainted. It will be done by next Tuesday, they told me,” Hank said.

“And this suit, it looks very good on you. I did not expect you … how do you say? … cleaned up so well, yes.”

Hank allowed himself a grin. “You mentioned last week that today would be busy with negotiations.”

“I did? It is, definitely, si, but I guess I must have, perhaps in passing? Certainly not as a directive.”

“No, nothing like that. I think your motivation was to let me know I might be bored most of the day,” Hank said.

“There are many emotional states I can picture you occupying, Hank, but boredom I don’t believe is one of them.”

“Professional wrestling,” Hank offered. “Bores me silly.”

Orlin laughed at this, and his laugh was genuine. “My son, he is into this, and may the Virgin bless me, I cannot get through a whole show with him. I try, I really do, but it is just too much.”

“It shows much that you try anyway. He’ll remember that. I’m sure it will be one of his fondest memories,” Hank said, looking out the window as the limo descended off the freeway and into the valley of El Cajon.

Orlin turned thoughtful. “Yes, maybe it will be. I have a similar memory of my father and his attempts to be interested in my interests. I knew even then that he wasn’t, but he did try. Yes, Hank, a very fond memory indeed.

“So,” Orlin said, returning to his business posture, “You performed very well back there. Any thoughts?”

“No, not really.”

“How would you be with, say, interrogation? Perhaps chain saws and such?”

“I think you would find better value using my talents in other areas,” Hank suggested.

Orlin nodded at that. “True, very true. Brutes are for that kind of work, and you are not a brute. In fact, now that I think of those talents, especially your talents in the areas of observation, I have a meeting in an hour which I was not going to have you attend, but I think I should change my mind.”

“A meeting like the last one?” Hank asked.

“No, this meeting is with Cuarto Rivera. Do you recognize the name?”

“Runs a sizable territory east of Tijuana. His father was one of the main heroin growers until the War on Drugs, when just like everyone else, he realized that cocaine was much more profitable, anyway. He has a wife and three daughters, no legitimate sons.”

“You say
legitimate
as if there are sons who are not,” Orlin pointed out.

“There are. Two, in fact, by a woman who lives in a house he provides in Tijuana. It is more or less an open secret; everyone knows, no one talks about it.”

“Personal feelings?” Orlin asked.

“None. I’ve never met the man. My information is what I’ve picked up from newspapers,” Hank told him.

“Then your recall is impressive. I would have sworn you had at least met him, the way you discuss him so clearly. But, this is good, for my purposes anyway. Fresh eyes on Rivera, and then your thoughts afterward,” Orlin said, pleased with the idea. “It would be preferable if you just listen, however.”

“Of course.”

The meeting was held in a medium-sized room. It felt expansive with the large slat doors leading to the balcony patio open and the sunlight pooling across the thresholds. Three short couches were situated around a glass and rattan magazine table.

After introductions, at which Hank was introduced as Orlin’s new executive assistant, the two cartel leaders took a couch across the table from one another while Hank took the one in the middle. He sat against the arm toward Orlin’s side of the room. Guards were stationed outside of the room out of ear shot, but a yell or commotion would bring them in quickly.

Hank also noticed that neither man objected to his sidearm.

Cuarto Rivera was at least thirty years Orlin’s senior. Slightly round in the middle and mostly bald on top, he still had the presence of a very powerful man. But he was nervous about something — extremely nervous.

Rivera made a twisting motion from left to right on the couch when he sat down. “Forgive me, please. I have to keep my back loose these days or it becomes very painful.”

“I understand. I only hope I age as gracefully as you have,” Orlin lied, though Hank didn’t believe Rivera picked up on the signs.

“The last time I was here,” Rivera said with an easy manner, “I was with my granddaughters. Remember, Ruiz?”

“Oh yes, two of them, I believe.”

“No, three. Isabella, Maria and Sibel.”

“Sibel?”

“She is the oldest. She was wearing an orange dress, if memory serves.”

Orlin turned thoughtful. “I am ashamed at my lack of attention. The only one I recall in an orange dress was … well, she was another guest.”

Something solidified in Rivera after this exchange. He wasn’t nervous anymore. Hank reflected on his own calm after he had decided that he was going to murder that man earlier.

He’s here to kill Orlin.

All the signs were there: in the eyes, the shoulders, the hands. This man was bent on murder now. He wasn’t angry, not really. Hank also bet it had something to do with the oldest granddaughter as well. The one Orlin recalled as being
another guest
. Did he mistake Sibel as being
someone
else, or
something
else?

Hank’s gut churned with conflicting ideas and emotions. It could end here. He could simply let it happen. Orlin would be dead, and the club could go about its business. Of course, there was the strong possibility that he would be killed as well by the guards of both of these men coming into the room and then turning on each other.

Shit.

No, it wasn’t the right time, and certainly not the right place.

The men talked easily to each other, discussing possible price increases and delivery incentives, for about twenty minutes. Orlin was completely relaxed now. He was in his element, on his own turf, and growing in power. He didn’t fear this old man, though he did respect him. Orlin wasn’t a fool.

Then Rivera began to do his back exercises again, and Hank knew this was it. The back exercises would camouflage the pistol draw. Orlin would die never comprehending how the old man shot him.

Rivera began with the right side, and then twisted his torso to the left as Hank rose and walked steadily in his direction, coming between Rivera and the table, hiding the draw from Orlin as Rivera came out of the twist with a small, nickel plated .38 automatic.

Hank snatched the gun, keeping the slide from moving, and twisted it from his hand. He slipped it into his jacket pocket while he continued to walk by.

Rivera was stunned.

“Senor Rivera? Are you alright? Hank? Did you do something? Step on his toe, perhaps?”

Hank turned back. “No, but if I did, I certainly apologize Senor Rivera.”

Rivera didn’t get to be the head of a cartel by letting himself be surprised for very long. “No, nothing like that. I just twisted a little too far that time. Hank, please, don’t concern yourself at all.”

“I’m very relieved, but perhaps you would like a drink?” Hank offered.

“Maybe a water?” Rivera asked.

“Right away,” Hank said, and he continued walking toward the small fridge in the room. “Orlin?”

“Si, that would be good, Hank, thank you.”

After that, River was so closely guarded he made poker players appear enthusiastic. Twice, Hank noticed Rivera men poking their heads in from out on the balcony and opening the door.

They were told,
Hank thought to himself.
They’re expecting the signal. What will they do now?

The answer appeared to be:
nothing
.

When the two men decided to break for dinner, Rivera did his exercise thing again and then stood up. Maybe the exercises were real, or he was simply a thorough con-artist. Then Rivera rose and came over to Hank.

“Are you learning much?” Rivera asked.

“More than you can imagine,” Hank assured him.

Rivera studied him and then nodded. “That could be true. You have an eagle’s way of looking at things. You see vistas. Here is my card. If you are ever in Mexico and require assistance, use it.”

Hank checked the position of the others in the room, and then said, “Perhaps Sunday, around two, we might talk? I believe it would be mutually beneficial, and it would also allow what I rudely interrupted to move forward.”

Rivera studied him intently. “Si, but first tell me how you could have known so precisely.”

“You told me,” Hank replied. “First, you related what happened to your granddaughter. Orlin thought she was one of the entertainment women. She was probably so scared, she couldn’t cry out. Afterward, she was so ashamed she couldn’t speak. And then your exercises: They were the perfect camouflage for a draw. It would have worked beautifully. Of course, it was a suicide run. You didn’t expect to walk out of here, and I am not ready to die. So, I had to stop you.”

“If you could have left the room?”

Hank met the elder’s eyes and said, “I would have and with a prayer on my lips for you.”