Nikolai 2 (Her Russian Protector #6) (9 page)

So overtures had been made and a new man from the main Aryan group out of Dallas had been sent down to Houston. Nikolai couldn’t remember his name.
I need more coffee.

As if reading his mind, Kostya said, "His name is James Mueller. They call him the Red Baron." He actually flashed a smile that revealed how stupid he found that nickname. "He's not your typical skinhead loser. I think you might actually like him. You know, except for all that white power bullshit."

"We'll see. Where did you put him?"

Kostya laughed mischievously. "Between Nickel Jackson and Mr. Lu. It's our own little version of the U.N. Security Council in there."

Nikolai chortled at the mental image of a racist sandwiched between a Vietnamese importer and the burly black gangster who ran all the action in the area of the city known as the Bloody Nickel.

"By the way, boss, Julio wants a private meet after the council finishes."

Nikolai groaned. "He's not going to like what he hears."

Kostya shrugged. "I'm just the messenger."

"Where did you seat him?"

"Between Besian and Mr. Lu and across the table from Spider."

Nikolai knew and respected the Calaveras MC vice president. He suspected Spider didn't like this mess any more than he did. That fucking phone call this morning threatened to push the cartel and the MC into a war.

Back in April, the big story around town had been the hit-and-run death of a high school kid leaving a concert up in the The Woodlands. The poor kid had been clipped and dragged by a motorcycle. The rider had jerked the kid free and sped off, leaving him in the middle of the road where he was hit again by a truck.

The cruelty and coldness of that death had bothered Nikolai. Within a day of the story hitting the news, Kostya had quietly informed him that the kid was actually the godson of Julio Jimenez, the Guzman cartel's top guy in the city. Kostya had believed the kid was really his biological son so Nikolai had put out feelers to find the asshole who had killed the boy. It would have been a nice gift to the cartel and a good deed that would buy him some goodwill down the line.

Because of the motorcycle connection, he had specifically asked Romero to get the Calaveras on it. The bastard had sworn up and down that none of the MCs in town had anything to do with it. The rider that night hadn't been wearing a kutte or colors. He was just some random guy on a Harley.

Except that he wasn't.

Romero had been lying through his fucking teeth and had been forced to admit to that this morning. It had been his closest friend Mando Fernandez, the damned sergeant-at-arms for the Calaveras MC, who had killed the kid. He had been doing a bit of freelance work that night so he hadn't been wearing his vest or riding his usual bike. Mando had called Romero the next morning, after the kid's identity was revealed, and Romero had given him orders to keep his trap shut. They had planned to take that secret to the grave.

But someone had found out and told Julio. Now Julio wanted blood. Nikolai didn't blame him. The thought of someone hurting his child was like a spear to the chest. The person who made the mistake of even trying to touch his son or daughter would know a grisly and violent end. He would make sure of it with his bare hands.

As Nikolai entered the storage container for the quarterly council get-together, he still didn’t know what the hell he was going to do about this situation. The fact that Romero had known the whole time rankled him. This was something he had needed to know but his father-in-law had kept him in the dark.

Romero had let this fucking wound fester and rot—and now Nikolai had to decide how far up the limb would be amputated.

He glanced at the guards lining one wall. Each boss brought one man inside to watch his back. The rest of them remained outside. Even before he opened the door that sealed off the secret chamber portion of the container, he could hear the raised voices from inside. This council had been started to keep the peace and negotiate easements when it came to territories disputes. Usually the meetings were peaceful and short but the summer heat had a way of inflaming tempers. There was a lot of business on the table today, and Nikolai had a bad feeling it was going to be like trying to wrangle cranky toddlers in a daycare center.

He stepped inside the room and swept his gaze around the sparse interior. A round table, some chairs, no windows. He glanced at the familiar faces seated at the table and mentally catalogued their allegiances, strengths and weaknesses. If he didn't get what he wanted through negotiation, he would apply pressure to those weaknesses.

When he dropped down into his chair, Nikolai spotted the cup of coffee waiting for him. Kostya, of course. He took a sip while the room quieted down. The new guy, blond and green-eyed and dressed impeccably in a grey single-breasted suit, looked uncomfortable as Nicky and Mr. Lu leaned across him and hissed at each other. He let his gaze linger on Julio Jimenez who looked unnaturally calm. Spider drummed his fingers on the table and assiduously avoided looking in Julio's direction. Beside him, Besian unwrapped a jawbreaker and popped it into his mouth. They exchanged a look before the Albanian mob boss dropped back into his chair and rolled the hard candy around his mouth.

"All right. Let's get this shit over with," Nikolai stated. He gestured toward the Red Baron. "This is James Mueller. He's with the brotherhood out of Dallas." There were murmurs of introductions around the table. Just in case Mueller had any funny ideas about his position on the totem pole, Nikolai made sure to end them. "He won't have much to say today. He's here to listen."

Mueller simply nodded.

Nikolai tapped his fingers on the plastic lid of his coffee cup. "Who is up first?"

"Me." Julio waved his hand, and Nikolai's stomach clenched as he expected shit to get real and loud fast. "We have an issue that needs to be addressed. It's between me and him."

The knot in his stomach eased when Julio pointed toward Mr. Lu. The elderly man held up both hands and immediately started to protest. Julio began to talk over him, and Nikolai stepped in like a father separating arguing children. "Come on. One at a time. Julio?"

"Our market share is dropping around the city, and it's not because the red ribbon campaigns are working. Our dealers—Lalo and his men—are reporting that someone is undercutting their prices and flooding the market with product. It's coming from his territory."

"No, no, no." Lu waved both hands. "We don't deal in drugs." He stated his position firmly, and Nikolai didn't detect a hint of untruth. Apparently the old man was in the dark about his nephew's activities. Boychenko had reported back with an address and half a night's worth of observation that confirmed Bobby Pham was dealing.

"Bullshit," Julio spat back. "I had two guys do buys from a dishwasher at a pho shop and a massage parlor."

"I can't control every single lowlife in my territory." Mr. Lu turned his attention to Nikolai. "If there are side deals going on in my backyard, I'll take care of it." He glanced at Julio. "You should have come to me first. This didn't have to be escalated as a council matter."

"I wanted it out in the open, in front of everyone," Julio said and cast a look at Spider. "But if Lu says that he'll take care of it, I take him at his word."

Nikolai sipped his coffee. This was far from settled, but he wasn't going to get involved. Not publicly, at least. "Next item?"

"That's me." Nicky raised a dark hand glittering with gold jewelry. "And Lu."

The old man made an irritated noise. "I told you that all purchases are final."

"No, no, no, no, no." Nicky pounded his finger against the tabletop like a nail going into wood. "You guarantee the shipments."

"Yes, I guarantee the shipments. I guarantee that they arrive and are transferred to you. That's my guarantee. I don't guarantee what's in the boxes!"

Nicky leaned across the table, forcing Mueller back into his seat. "How in the hell are my boys supposed to push lean when the syrup is bad? Huh?"

Ah, now Nikolai understood the issue. Nicky bought huge quantities of promethazine and codeine from Chinese suppliers to sell to users who mixed it with lemon-lime soda to get high. They called it lean because the kids who drank that shit started to tilt and lean after a cup or two. It used to be easy enough for Nicky's guys to doctor shop to get their ingredients. With the DEA cracking down, Nicky had turned to Mr. Lu who imported and delivered the cough syrup without incident.

"What the fuck do you want us to do about it?" Besian rolled the jaw breaker around his mouth. The sound of it knocking against his teeth irritated Nikolai but he tried to ignore it. "Lu is right. We pay him for shipping and customs. That's it."

"He gave me the supplier contact. That's on him," Nicky insisted. "He's on both sides of this deal. He's taken a cut from the supplier for making the contract, and he's getting my shipping and handling fees. Now he's telling me that he can get me the good stuff from a different factory—at twice the price and only if I clear the debt on that last shipment that I can't even give away." Nicky shook his head. "This shit ain't right, y'all."

Mr. Lu started to argue about his policies, but Nikolai had had enough of it. Besian caught his eye, and they shared a look of understanding. It was time for the gangster version of good cop, bad cop.

"You know, Lu, it sounds like you're losing your touch, old man." Besian crunched what was left of the jaw breaker between his back teeth. "You've got kids selling some of that sweet Colombian
llelo
right in your backyard, and now you're making the whole Fifth Ward sick with your bad syrup."

Mr. Lu sputtered. "That is not—"

"Nicky, maybe I should put you in contact with my man. He can get you anything you want from anywhere in the world." Besian made the offer with a smile, but it was a threat as dangerous as a knife to the throat for Lu. Without the confidence of the men at this table, he couldn't do business. If they started using Zec for their shipments, they would cut the old man off at the knees.

"Look," Lu interjected hastily, "we don't have to be so drastic." With a resigned sigh, he turned toward Nicky. "I'll take back the shipment, and I'll get you a clean shipment on my dime to replace it."

"I want the same price for the new shipments," Nicky countered.

"I can't get it for that price," Lu insisted.

"Bullshit. You and your—"

"Enough," Nikolai interrupted. "Nicky, the market is the market. When prices rise, we all have to adjust." He looked to Mr. Lu. "At the same time, it's better to ease these types of price changes onto our customers. So let's talk about a six month discount." Knowing that Nicky wanted a good deal and Lu had to think about thin margins, he started off at a number that left room for negotiations. "Thirty percent?"

"Impossible!" Mr. Lu vehemently refused. He waited two heartbeats before countering, "Ten."

Cheap old bastard.
"Twenty-five."

"Fifteen."

"Twenty," Nikolai said, his voice lower and sharper.

Lu sighed. "Yeah. Okay."

Nikolai glanced at the man who ran the Fifth Ward. "Do we have a deal?"

Nicky gave a slight nod. "Yes."

"Good." Nikolai placed both hands around his coffee cup. Fully expecting Julio to bring up his issues with Mando, he asked, "Anything else?"

"Pussy," Besian said, fishing a new jaw breaker from his pocket.

Nikolai's mouth settled into a grim line. His family didn't touch the skin trade, but several of the men at the table had lucrative business lines dedicated to it. "What about it?"

"In the last two months, I've had to send my guys out to chase away the corner girls who have been hanging around the strip clubs." He popped a green candy into his mouth. "They come in vans from Nicky's district and hang around the parking lots. Instead of spending money to get into a VIP room in my clubs, the customers are taking their dollars outside to visit these cut-rate streetwalkers. It's cutting into my bottom line and draws police attention. Lights and sirens are bad for business."

"Look, man," Nicky sat forward, "Sugar's sits on the edge of the buffer zone. Do you expect me to hook GPS tags on my girls? They walk the streets. I can't help it if they cross an invisible line."

"Invisible line my ass," Besian growled. "I'm pretty fucking sure they can see the huge hot pink lips blinking on top of Sugar's. This is you making plays and edging into my territory." He swept his hand along the table. "We've talked about this. We agreed—"

"We agreed that you get the high-end action," Nicky cut in with a wag of his finger. "You get the security business for the high-end escorts Alina runs out of her brothel and the strip clubs. I have all the street action.
That
was the deal. But you've been pinching my girls and running your escorts around my territory."

"That's not the way it happened," Besian argued. "I can't help it if your girls are tired of giving fat fucks handjobs in back alleys and getting their knees dirty over at the Flying J parking lot. Employee retention isn't my problem. You should take that up with Alina." He crunched another jaw breaker. "We're just her hired muscle."

Nickel Jackson rapped one of his golden rings on the table. "Don't give me that line. You and Alina have been running your games for years."