Read Online The Cartel by A. K. Alexander - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: A. K. Alexander
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truth. He sat stunned. He had a son? He had a son . The reality came over him, lifting away lies and tucked away emotions. Anguished, he cried out, frightened at the sound of the pain in his voice. He couldn't believe he had a son. The son he’d always longed for finally existed. Bittersweet tears stung his eyes as he dropped his head into his palms and sobbed.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The diesel fumes from the chartered plane gave Antonio an intense headache. As a remedy, he drank a few measures of Scotch before takeoff. Once under way, he felt the calming effect of the alcohol, and he let his mind focus on the problems he’d been trying to avoid. However, no matter how hard he tried, he could not get over the fact that somewhere in this world, he had a son--a son he longed for but could not rationalize claiming as his.
The last few weeks with Javier had been horrendous. Cynthia's death had taken a severe toll on him, and the fact that he’d insisted on staying up throughout night after night with the baby made matters worse. There were now dark shadows under his eyes; eyes, which, at one time, were vibrant and alive, now contained an unbearable sadness in them, aging Javier beyond his years. Yet, Antonio couldn't help but admire him. The devotion he had shown his daughter was nothing short of miraculous. Antonio realized that the infant filled the void Javier felt so deeply. Antonio could understand this because he himself felt such a void. He wondered what his son looked like, how he was faring. He’d obtained the address where he and Marta were living through the labels on the envelopes. Many times in the two weeks since he’d discovered that he had a son, he longed to fly to Los Angeles and visit them, if only to hold his son. But he knew that the love he still felt for Marta, compounded by the birth of their son, could lead him so far astray, that he might never return to his family. He could not bring himself to carry out such a cruel injustice. His wife was a good woman and he loved her and their daughters.
So, he buried himself in his work. Javier's interest in their business and his own politics waned in such a short amount of time that Antonio had witnessed their operations slipping. At the behest of Javier, he’d taken over the production of heroin in their jungle factory, managing all phases of that portion of the business.
Heroin was such a strange drug. Why in the name of Jesus would people want to stick themselves with a needle, and inject foreign venom into their bodies? Crazy. Nonetheless, the Mexican Mud produced quite a substantial amount of cash, and profits were growing larger by the day. If the pinche gringos wanted to get high off the brown poison, it was surely none of his business, as long as the cash kept rolling in.
The struggle for power between the Mexican and Italian families was growing fiercer, and now Simon Levine had summoned Antonio and Javier, insisting that he was no longer willing to wait. Antonio was able to postpone the meeting for a few weeks, in the hopes that Javier would rid himself of his grief. The last thing Antonio needed was a bereaved widower on his hands.
Antonio arrived in the Bahamas and slid into the back of a limousine, which delivered him to the entrance of a lavish hotel, where Levine’s driver informed him that Señor Rodriguez had already arrived. Antonio shuddered when the man also mentioned sarcastically what a cute baby Señor Rodriguez had brought with him. Antonio could see the man’s white teeth glow against his coal-black skin as he flashed a mocking smile.
The massive hotel spanned a good portion of the picturesque beach overlooking a pale turquoise sea. Once inside, guests were dazzled by dozens of slot machines, flashing and glittering. Hundreds of American tourists, zinc oxide spread over their noses, poured money into the machines, passion-fruit drinks in their hands. The Bahamas had become all the rage since Castro had
CHAPTER EIGHT
The diesel fumes from the chartered plane gave Antonio an intense headache. As a remedy, he drank a few measures of Scotch before takeoff. Once under way, he felt the calming effect of the alcohol, and he let his mind focus on the problems he’d been trying to avoid. However, no matter how hard he tried, he could not get over the fact that somewhere in this world, he had a son--a son he longed for but could not rationalize claiming as his.
The last few weeks with Javier had been horrendous. Cynthia's death had taken a severe toll on him, and the fact that he’d insisted on staying up throughout night after night with the baby made matters worse. There were now dark shadows under his eyes; eyes, which, at one time, were vibrant and alive, now contained an unbearable sadness in them, aging Javier beyond his years. Yet, Antonio couldn't help but admire him. The devotion he had shown his daughter was nothing short of miraculous. Antonio realized that the infant filled the void Javier felt so deeply. Antonio could understand this because he himself felt such a void. He wondered what his son looked like, how he was faring. He’d obtained the address where he and Marta were living through the labels on the envelopes. Many times in the two weeks since he’d discovered that he had a son, he longed to fly to Los Angeles and visit them, if only to hold his son. But he knew that the love he still felt for Marta, compounded by the birth of their son, could lead him so far astray, that he might never return to his family. He could not bring himself to carry out such a cruel injustice. His wife was a good woman and he loved her and their daughters.
So, he buried himself in his work. Javier's interest in their business and his own politics waned in such a short amount of time that Antonio had witnessed their operations slipping. At the behest of Javier, he’d taken over the production of heroin in their jungle factory, managing all phases of that portion of the business.
Heroin was such a strange drug. Why in the name of Jesus would people want to stick themselves with a needle, and inject foreign venom into their bodies? Crazy. Nonetheless, the Mexican Mud produced quite a substantial amount of cash, and profits were growing larger by the day. If the pinche gringos wanted to get high off the brown poison, it was surely none of his business, as long as the cash kept rolling in.
The struggle for power between the Mexican and Italian families was growing fiercer, and now Simon Levine had summoned Antonio and Javier, insisting that he was no longer willing to wait. Antonio was able to postpone the meeting for a few weeks, in the hopes that Javier would rid himself of his grief. The last thing Antonio needed was a bereaved widower on his hands.
Antonio arrived in the Bahamas and slid into the back of a limousine, which delivered him to the entrance of a lavish hotel, where Levine’s driver informed him that Señor Rodriguez had already arrived. Antonio shuddered when the man also mentioned sarcastically what a cute baby Señor Rodriguez had brought with him. Antonio could see the man’s white teeth glow against his coal-black skin as he flashed a mocking smile.
The massive hotel spanned a good portion of the picturesque beach overlooking a pale turquoise sea. Once inside, guests were dazzled by dozens of slot machines, flashing and glittering. Hundreds of American tourists, zinc oxide spread over their noses, poured money into the machines, passion-fruit drinks in their hands. The Bahamas had become all the rage since Castro had
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