Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
This man will learn too. The women who hang on his arms, batting their eyelashes and flaunting their tits as I approach, only repel me.
The high court judge sucks on his cigar, the end glowing red as he scrutinizes me through squinted eyes.
“Judge Fabre.” I offer him a hand. “Is there somewhere we can talk in private?”
He wraps his arms around the girls’ waists and palms their ass cheeks. “In my suite, you mean?” He slaps their asses. “Do you have a soft spot for one of these beauties, or do you prefer both?”
“Neither,” I say, my tone dry. “A private lounge will do.”
His face drops. “You’re no fun.”
My smile is cool. “All work and no play, I’m afraid.”
He grunts. “Go on, ladies.” He kisses each one’s cheek before groping their tits. “Go have some fun.”
They saunter off, throwing sultry looks at us from over their shoulders.
“Through here,” he says, indicating a door with a private sign to the left.
The casino owner set up the meeting. I trust him to keep the room clean of bugs, but I send one of my men ahead to check while I offer the judge a drink.
Once we placed our order for a bottle of Scotch, we take a seat on opposite sides of a roulette table. However, we’re not here to gamble, at least not in the traditional sense.
“So,” he says, spreading his arms across the back of his seat. “I hear you have a new supplier.”
“Yes.”
I remain quiet as a waitress enters with a bottle of Scotch and two tumblers. Fabre tilts his head to look up her short skirt as she bends to deposit her charge on a side table. She serves us, her lips curving into a strained smile as Fabre’s hand finds its way between her legs.
“The waitresses are off limits,” I say, narrowing my gaze.
The girl shoots me a grateful look mixed with something like fear. She doesn’t want to suffer the consequences of refusing the judge’s advances. He’s not known for taking rejections gracefully.
Sighing, he pulls his hand away. “Like I said, you’re no fun.”
The girl hurries away.
When one of the men in my guard detail closes the door, I continue. “I have an opportunity to get regular shipments from the east.”
“Destination?” he asks, picking up the glass and sniffing the liquor.
“Namibia.”
“Which port?”
“Durban. That’s already secured.” Thanks to Edwards’s old connections. “What I need is a safe passage across the border.”
“Border control,” he muses. “Why not go in directly via Walvis Bay or Lüderitz?”
“Sea patrol,” I deadpan.
“Ah, yes.” He rests an ankle on his knee. “I heard they’re getting cranky about foreign boats fishing in their seas. Tightening the vise, they are.”
“So.” I take my glass. “Can you secure the passage or not?”
“Of course I can.” He grins. “That’s why you came to me. I have those puppets in my pocket.”
“How much?”
“Twenty percent.”
I raise a brow. “Ten percent. I have a monopoly in the market. You won’t get a similar offer from anyone else.”
The corners of his mouth pull down. He considers it, tracing the rim of his glass with a finger. It’s just for show though. When it comes to this particular stock, I pull the strings in Africa. The eastern supplier was the last one who sold their product to a competitor. They quickly transferred their business when I offered them a higher price, one my competitor will never be able to match.
“Fine,” Fabre says after a moment. “You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Russo.”
I stand. “Expect the first container to arrive in April. I’ll be in touch with the details.”
My phone vibrates in my pocket. I take it out. It’s Ryan, Sabella’s brother.
“Enjoy the rest of your evening,” I say, making my way to the door. Outside, I accept the call and put the phone against my ear. “Ryan?”
“I want to talk to my sister.”
“No, good evening, how are you?” I taunt.
“Fuck you, Russo. It’s been a week with no word from you.”
“Your sister is fine.” I walk to a quiet area with less people. “There’s no need for concern.”
“I want to speak to her.”
“She’s not with me.”
“Where are you?” he asks with disdain. “Are those slot machines I hear? Are you in a fucking casino?”
“You know what the business requires.”
“Where’s my sister?”
My tone is dry. “At this hour, she’s sleeping cozily in her bed.”
“Yeah, well, excuse me for not taking your word where my sister’s welfare is concerned. My mother is worried about her.” He adds after a pause, “So am I.”
“I’ll be home tomorrow night. I’ll let you speak to her then.”
“Why can’t I call her now?”
“Goodbye, Ryan,” I say, disconnecting the call.
Pocketing my phone, I continue to the exit. It’s a pity Ryan and I are enemies. In different circumstances, I would’ve respected him. Liked him even. He’s reliable and discreet, and he gets the job done. He’s got that classy vibe going, a certain panache that well-educated men of his status possess. Not rough around the edges and uncivilized like me. The logical side of me can’t blame Benjamin Edwards for never wanting his precious daughter to marry me. Even I hate myself most of the time. It’s difficult to like someone who has no redeeming qualities.