Ox’s problems. Getting that guy Leo and letting Vega take the fall would be nice, but watching Vega bleed to death would be even sweeter.
Ox was still a little bitter over that new guy Josh choosing the Latinos over his own kind. With sixteen shanks handed out, Ox was sure that at least one of them could end up in the jugular of Josh Farewell.
*****
Santos Vega had a lot of things on his mind. Foremost was the situation with Leo, and trying to manoeuvre a way to kill the S.O.B without any extra jail time, definitely not time in the hole. But there was also growing tension with the dirtbags in the Motorcycle Club. They were socializing, drawing in a lot of new guys to their cause. The skinheads were getting smarter, too; they had some means of getting metal out of the shop in B pod, and metal meant blades. Santos would have to make a statement soon, re-establish himself as the only superpower in this prison. Every inmate could feel a war coming, and it was in Santos’ interest to decide when and where the war took place.
The guards and the warden were another problem. They clearly saw Santos as being too powerful, yet they left his gang intact. All they would have to do is ship Charlie and Carlos out to different pods and Santos would lose his captains, but instead, the warden was making a point of keeping them together. Santos was starting to think that he would be shot, with the cover story that his gang was threatening the guards. Or maybe they’d just kill Leo and frame Santos for it.
He was going to have to kill Leo soon. There was no time left to plan. Santos wasn’t a man of many skills, but he could always feel danger closing in on him. It was a skill that had kept him on the streets for years after he should have been busted.
There had been a time, back when there were only nine or ten guys in the Eighteenth, that Santos’s instincts bordered on the supernatural. Once, they had just picked up a huge shipment of hash by sticking up some white dipshits who thought they could smuggle it into town without any real security. They took the load, almost fifty pounds of the stuff, without even making a sound. They just rolled up to the dock where the drugs were being offloaded from a speedboat into a van, approached the smugglers, showed their guns and began to load the hash into their own vehicles. They poor yuppies who actually owned the stuff were too scared to even reach for their guns, so they just stood by and watched their fortune drive away.
Santos and his crew took the stash back to a warehouse they knew would be empty and started to weigh it out into one-ounce bundles. After about an hour of work, Santos got a bad feeling. He didn’t know why, but he was sure that there was something wrong. He’d felt like the robbery was too easy, but this was something else. He wasn’t just nervous, he had a definite gut feeling telling him that there was something wrong with this stash. So he told the crew to leave the drugs and get out of the warehouse. Leo had argued, of course. He even suggested that Santos was trying to steal the drugs for himself.
Santos had gone easy on him, just punching Leo in the mouth and tossing him into the van. And less than a half hour after they left the warehouse, the place was raided. Santos couldn’t tell you then how he had made that call to clear out, and he couldn’t tell you now. But he trusted his gut, and right now his gut told him that the best possible course of action was to kill Leo Jimenez. He couldn’t explain it to anyone but himself, but Santos knew that if Leo stayed alive, something very bad was going to happen.
Looking back on that night at the warehouse, Santos knew that he should have let Leo get caught. Just knocked him out and left him with the hash, waiting for the cops. Or better yet, killed him then. It would have saved him so much trouble. And thinking about how Leo had accused him, how Leo was so quick to turn, thinking only of himself,
Ox was still a little bitter over that new guy Josh choosing the Latinos over his own kind. With sixteen shanks handed out, Ox was sure that at least one of them could end up in the jugular of Josh Farewell.
*****
Santos Vega had a lot of things on his mind. Foremost was the situation with Leo, and trying to manoeuvre a way to kill the S.O.B without any extra jail time, definitely not time in the hole. But there was also growing tension with the dirtbags in the Motorcycle Club. They were socializing, drawing in a lot of new guys to their cause. The skinheads were getting smarter, too; they had some means of getting metal out of the shop in B pod, and metal meant blades. Santos would have to make a statement soon, re-establish himself as the only superpower in this prison. Every inmate could feel a war coming, and it was in Santos’ interest to decide when and where the war took place.
The guards and the warden were another problem. They clearly saw Santos as being too powerful, yet they left his gang intact. All they would have to do is ship Charlie and Carlos out to different pods and Santos would lose his captains, but instead, the warden was making a point of keeping them together. Santos was starting to think that he would be shot, with the cover story that his gang was threatening the guards. Or maybe they’d just kill Leo and frame Santos for it.
He was going to have to kill Leo soon. There was no time left to plan. Santos wasn’t a man of many skills, but he could always feel danger closing in on him. It was a skill that had kept him on the streets for years after he should have been busted.
There had been a time, back when there were only nine or ten guys in the Eighteenth, that Santos’s instincts bordered on the supernatural. Once, they had just picked up a huge shipment of hash by sticking up some white dipshits who thought they could smuggle it into town without any real security. They took the load, almost fifty pounds of the stuff, without even making a sound. They just rolled up to the dock where the drugs were being offloaded from a speedboat into a van, approached the smugglers, showed their guns and began to load the hash into their own vehicles. They poor yuppies who actually owned the stuff were too scared to even reach for their guns, so they just stood by and watched their fortune drive away.
Santos and his crew took the stash back to a warehouse they knew would be empty and started to weigh it out into one-ounce bundles. After about an hour of work, Santos got a bad feeling. He didn’t know why, but he was sure that there was something wrong. He’d felt like the robbery was too easy, but this was something else. He wasn’t just nervous, he had a definite gut feeling telling him that there was something wrong with this stash. So he told the crew to leave the drugs and get out of the warehouse. Leo had argued, of course. He even suggested that Santos was trying to steal the drugs for himself.
Santos had gone easy on him, just punching Leo in the mouth and tossing him into the van. And less than a half hour after they left the warehouse, the place was raided. Santos couldn’t tell you then how he had made that call to clear out, and he couldn’t tell you now. But he trusted his gut, and right now his gut told him that the best possible course of action was to kill Leo Jimenez. He couldn’t explain it to anyone but himself, but Santos knew that if Leo stayed alive, something very bad was going to happen.
Looking back on that night at the warehouse, Santos knew that he should have let Leo get caught. Just knocked him out and left him with the hash, waiting for the cops. Or better yet, killed him then. It would have saved him so much trouble. And thinking about how Leo had accused him, how Leo was so quick to turn, thinking only of himself,
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