Gangster In A Suit. (Book 1)

Chapter 5.

"Stop being a such a pussy."

Calum whacks my shoulder playfully. I rein in a wince.

"I'm just saying, usually we do a stakeout for these things. Watch and gather intel before we do our little mini, money heist routine."

"Ernesto's intel was solid." I shift to lean against the passenger door, facing him fully. "The meeting is in twenty minutes. I'm sorry we don't got time to do a whole call-of-duty, reconnaissance mission. And really...money heist? We ain't thieves."

Calum's hand ploughs through his hair. "Then what do you think you're going to find? Do you think Gaza just leaves incriminating evidence for thirsty investigators like you to just stumble on?"

I free an pent-up sigh. I take a breath, staring out of the windshield. Our recon van is parked on the opposite side of the street, right by the docks. But the meeting is at a shipping yard in the bay of cargo containers. A shipping division owned by none other than Zenith. With Orian himself attending, the meet is too hot. It's basically a gathering of elite crime lords. We wouldn't make it even a mile near that place without getting a bullet to the brain.

No. Had to play it smart.

So, it had me thinking about what Ernesto said about Gaza living on his yacht. Someone like him wouldn't be dumb enough to keep any dirt on him just in case he'd get an unwanted visit by the coast guard. But the man is too paranoid to stash anything imperative away from him. No, he would still want to keep it on site.

There was a case last year. One of his men got arrested, and the guy got chivvied in lock-up before he even had the chance to snitch. Case gone. The only thing that they got was Gaza doesn't do any electronic transfers. Which means he's old school and to spell it out. He probably records his dealings by hand in a ledger. All the old timers do it. And I'm betting if he's in business with Zenith. It will be there.

This, of course, is all just speculation.

"Look, you gotta trust me on this." My head rolls to the side to stare back at him deeply. "Have I ever steered you wrong?"

He gapes at me with comically large eyes. "No, you just steer me into danger. I know you're big on the whole risk and reward thing. But this is crazy. Do you know what would happen if you were caught? If they knew you had illegal means of taking down illegal businesses?"

I shoot up a finger. "Not illegal."

"What do you call what we're about to do?"

"Necessary," I say with a grin.

He shakes his head at me, defeated. "One day you're gonna get me killed, princess—" he bolts up in his seat, "—check it out, we got tactical movement."

A string of armed men in black strut out. Clearly bad guys. Gaza's in the middle, the most prominent one of all. The buttons of his fine-embroidered shirt clinging on for dear life. His gritty, salt-and-pepper beard matching his suit. Shortly, they all roll out in a military-style convoy, all surrounding the Mercedes Benz G wagon. How cliché of him.

"Let's go."

I lurch out of the seat, crouched; I hobble to the back, where all the magic happens. Calum plops down on the seat before the table and I fix on my earpiece. My tight, four-strap backpack already secured to my rear. Calum hits the spacebar and the impressive display of several monitors all blink awake at once. He slides the microphone over and logins into the computer. 

I glance at the camera drone perched on the edge.

"You sure this ruse of yours is going to work?"