The Cartel (8 page)

A courteous gentleman from the front desk escorted Antonio to the Presidential Suite. "Is everything to your satisfaction, sir?”

"Yes." A mirrored ceiling reflected an enormous round bed covered in black velvet. There was a built-in hot tub in the center of the room.

"Is there anything I can get for you, Mr. Espinoza?" the man asked.

"No, I think that will be all," Antonio replied, tipping him.

"Thank you, sir. Mr. Levine will see you and Mr. Rodriguez in the private dining room at seven. Is that time suitable to you?”

Antonio nodded, hoping that Javier had hired a nanny by this time. Calling the desk, he was put through to Javier's room.

Javier’s tired voice answered the phone. "Hello?"

"What do you think you're doing, bringing Isabella down here while we’re about to deal with Simon Levine? Where in hell did you leave your senses?"

"Leave my daughter out of this. She goes with me no matter what, no matter where. I brought a nurse along to be with her when I can't. She is my daughter, my responsibility. I expect you to understand that. And if you and the hardball playing Jew don’t like it, then you can both go fuck yourselves."

Antonio was taken aback by the vehemence of Javier's outburst. Never in his life had he been spoken to like that—and certainly not by Javier. For a moment, Antonio wanted to shake some sense into his head. Instead of retorting, he calmed down and replied, "Fine. Be in the dining room at seven—alone." Antonio hung up the phone with a newfound respect for his partner and friend.

*****

Simon Levine was a small man, but his mere presence commanded respect. Although his gnarled features and razor-thin body gave him the appearance of fragility, his gravelly voice boomed when he spoke, causing all within his range to stop what they were doing and pay attention. Antonio couldn't guess his age, perhaps sixty, maybe even seventy. His salt and pepper gray hair receded behind his ears, with only a marginal tuft left at the very center. His narrow eyes didn't reveal much—a skill that Antonio figured Levine had learned from years of experience in this dangerous business. He offered his hand to Antonio, who found to his surprise that the man’s seeming weakness was only a facade. The stoop shouldered man had a strong grip.

"Please sit down, gentlemen." Levine motioned to the table inside the elaborate dining room, aglow with candlelight. "I'm pleased you could both make it here. I hope your flights were pleasant and that everything is to your liking.” He poured each of them a glass of expensive French wine. "This is my finest," he said, taking a sip and sending the waiter away with a flip of the hand.

Antonio glanced over at Javier, who hadn't cracked a smile and obviously wasn't in the mood for congeniality. Antonio nudged him with his knee underneath the table, and Javier brought himself to the proceedings with reluctance. He smiled on cue and drank his wine. The formalities dispensed with, Antonio viewed this as an appropriate time to approach the subject of their presence there.

"Mr. Levine, you did not ask us here to drink your wine and to lounge in the luxury of your hotel."

"Call me Simon, as I will surely call you Antonio. You are right. I have not called you here for these things. However, I do enjoy seeing to your comfort, and I want you to feel free to ask for whatever you like while you are here in the Bahamas. Do so at my expense, please." He smiled at Antonio and Javier, flashing the brilliance of a gold cap on one tooth. "Allow me to explain to you why I have invited you here. I think I can do as much for you gentlemen as you can for me. You've been running illegal immigrants through here for years now, as many other families from Mexico have. But I like the way you do it. You’re honest. You give your people, no matter how simple, what they pay for—a one-way trip to Miami. Many of the other families aren’t nearly as fastidious. They steal their clients’ money, leaving me with a heap of uneducated foreigners I don’t want hanging around my doorstep. You understand?"

Antonio and Javier both nodded.

"Therefore, I'd like to make you a few propositions that should increase your business ten-fold. The first is, we make a deal. I allow
only
your organization to transport your people up here. In return, I see to it they get to the States. Together we shut down all the other organizations.
Voilá
, you and yours monopolize the trade, my friends."

"And what do you want out of this?" Antonio asked.

"Smart man," Levine replied, shaking a finger at him. "I want a mere five percent off the top, nothing more, nothing less."

"And how do we know you don't set this up with all the others?"

"As I said, I like the way you gentlemen do business. I'm not in the game to fuck anybody over. If I can find a couple of honest partners who feel the same way, then why do I need anyone else?"

"How do we get rid of the others?"

"Force. If they don't back out peacefully, we use a little force. Nothing commands more respect than a well-placed threat. Wouldn't you agree?"

“I like it, Antonio. I think we should see how it goes. Besides, we can still run them through Mexico into San Diego,” Javier said.

"Javier is right,’ Simon said. “I don't need any part of that. I'm only talking about the Colombians, Brazilians, those people wanting to go to Miami."

Antonio nodded his head in agreement. The words of the deal sounded good, but he still wasn't sure he trusted Levine. The man had been in bed with the Italians and he wondered if they weren’t indirectly behind this idea. And he didn't like the idea of sharing money with anyone. But if it would help flush out some of the competing organizations back home, it would be well worth it.

"You mentioned something about more business?" Antonio asked, intrigued by Levine's offer.

"Yes, but first we feast. A man cannot think on an empty stomach. Eat, my new
compadres
. Isn't that the word you use?" Levine snapped his fingers.

Three waiters appeared, setting down trays of food. Antonio's mouth watered as he realized he hadn't eaten anything all day. Letting down some of his defenses, he decided old Levine might not be so bad to do business with, after all.

He and Javier filled themselves on the dishes before them, downing medallions of beef in a Bordeaux sauce, sautéed vegetables, garlic potatoes, and cheesecake dripping with raspberry glaze. By the time the meal was finished, Antonio patted his stomach and loosened his belt.

He noticed Javier’s demeanor had changed drastically, seeming to relax for the first time in weeks. Antonio smiled at the sight of the familiar twinkle in Javier's eyes.

After the feast and the table were cleared, the men shared cognac, while three gorgeous native women, clad in nothing but chiffon skirts, danced for them. After a few dances, Levine ordered the women away and got down to business.

"I want to help you organize. I know you dabble in marijuana and heroin, but I think I can see to it that your dabbling turns into a lot more. Enough to profit all of us greatly all the way around.”

Antonio leaned in, curious as to what offer Levine would present. He motioned for him to continue.

“You are esteemed men in your countries—respected, good businessmen. Politicians.” He eyed Javier. “Would you be interested in setting up plans with me to run the drugs in a much larger volume through the Bahamas, and then into the States? Then you could put the money back into my investments here, such as the casinos and hotels, and we launder the money clean."

"It sounds like an expensive venture to me. I don't know if we have that kind of cash ready to invest," Javier commented.

"Not a problem," Levine replied, holding up his hands. "I'll loan you the initial investment, with a small interest applied on the payback, of course."

"How does this benefit you?" Antonio asked, wondering again if Levine could be trusted. “Other than the interest on a loan that I’m not certain we would need anyway.”

"Your investment in my casinos for one thing, and I want a thirty percent cut as well."

"Thirty? You can’t be serious?" Antonio said. "Why in God's name do you think you should take a thirty percent cut of our business? We're the ones taking all the risk. You want us to move the drugs and all you do is take our investments, accepting it into your casinos? That sounds like bull-shit deal for us, if you ask me."

"I didn't mean to offend you, Tony. Please, let's all relax, and see if we can't make a deal which suits us both," Levine remarked in a cool, even tone. “I certainly don't want to screw you," Levine replied, wiping a trace of sweat from his upper lip.

"I take my business very personally." Antonio crossed his arms and leaned back.

"In this business, that can either be a great asset or a serious detriment. It all depends on how you want to play the game. I'm counting on your playing of the game so both of us can participate and come out as winners."

"There's no way in hell I'm going to offer you thirty percent of my business. I'd be willing to go ten."

"Ah, come on, let's be fair here. I may not be taking the same amount of risk as you, but I am putting my business and myself on the line. I'm willing to offer you a substantial amount of cash to set up a big operation, plus give you an exclusive to use my paradise here for you to process your business ventures through. Ten is too low for me."

"Twelve."

"Nah, still too low." He shook his head, a sly smile on his face.

Antonio sighed and a silence fell across the table. He eyed Levine. "I'll go as high as fifteen and that's it. You're still getting cash off the top of the immigrants we run through. As far as I can see, I'm offering you one hell of a deal.”

"You drive a hard bargain, my friend, but I'm anxious to do business with you." Levine stretched out his hand and, with a handshake, closed the deal. He leaned back in his seat. "I think some good ground rules have been laid here this evening. Now I would take great pleasure if you would both partake in having another cognac and sharing some fine Havana cigars with me, given to me by none other than Batista himself. This was before Castro got his grubby hands on that unfortunate country. I tell you, the fucking wops are still having a hard time getting over that one. They want Castro so bad, they can taste it.”

Levine handed out the fine cigars, and as they sat puffing on them, Antonio hoped the deals he was making with the Jew would not be the cause of his own downfall. He was sure that somewhere in those percentages that the Cosa Nostra would be getting a take. First things first. If they could get rid of the competing Mexican families life would be easier. He’d later deal with Levine and any of the mafia he needed to.

Once back in his suite, Antonio was able to relax. Levine had put him on edge. No matter how Levine referred to the Italians, Antonio knew the old man had an affinity for them. He admired them. If there was one group of people Antonio didn't want to work for or with, it was them. They were sneaky, not to be trusted. The only honor they recognized was within their families. They were too well known for causing wars, and Antonio had no desire to be a part of that.

The meeting had done one thing for him, and that was to take his mind off Marta and his son, Alejandro. What a good and powerful name, he mused in his near drunken state. The cognac the men shared together after dinner eased through his body, warming him.

As he went over the evening's events, there was a knock at the door. When he opened it, there stood one of the island princesses who’d danced for them earlier. Her sensuous beauty sent the blood rushing through his veins.

"Señor Espinoza, I'm so glad we could spend some time together," she said in a soft voice tinged with an exotic accent.

"Please call me Antonio. I'm pleased you could join me. Would you like a drink?"

"No thank you, Señor."

He poured her a brandy anyway. The implication was subtle, but the message was clear: he was in control, and if he wanted her to have a drink, then she would have one. As they savored their brandies, Antonio walked across the room and turned on the stereo. Frank Sinatra was humming in his smooth voice.

When Antonio turned around, the green-eyed beauty was loosening her pale yellow chiffon skirt. "No, no.” He approached her, setting his glass down on the coffee table. He took her by the hand and led her into the bedroom, where he began his seduction. He pulled her close, kissing her lightly on the neck; her scent brought back old memories. His mind wandered as the smell of jasmine filled his nostrils, traveling directly to his brain. Marta had smelled so similar. His mind tried to deceive him, telling him this was Marta he was making love to, but his heart knew the truth.

Even though the island princess succumbed to each request, his heart still ached for the one woman who would always hold his heart, the woman who had given life to his only son. Had it been possible, he would have gone to her. But that could not be. His loyalty to his wife and daughters was fierce. He also knew from Marta’s letters that she had no wish to ever see him again.

Marta finished cleaning the windows inside the Beverly Hills mansion she took a bus to daily, making them look as though you could walk through them. Her work was hard, but she felt fortunate to have a job. Elisa was home taking care of Alejandro. She wished she could be home with her baby but she knew that she had to earn a living and make a good life for her son.