have heard of them, but I don't pay much attention to scooter trash. I don't deal with them."
"No," Tomas told him, hoping it was true. If they had sixty or so men available in the city, he was fucked. End of story, next game. "The White Wolves aren't even a real Houston club. They only operate in Northside."
"Well, that is something, at least, but they could have friends here. They could have family here," the man suggested.
There was no sense in arguing that point, so Tomas said, "Yes, they could, but probably not family and friends they want to get involved in something like this. Obviously they understand something of what they are getting into, or they wouldn't have shown up with so many."
"Do they know anything about your operation? Who your partners are? Is it possible they know about my operation?"
Tomas didn't like these questions. They were blowing holes in his chance to catch Chelsea. They were also going to let this man know just how fucked up his world had become over the last week. But, lying at this point was not a wise choice either. He needed this asshole. There was no time to find someone else with the same or better resources of men and firepower. "They don't know anything about you. That I'm sure of, because until earlier this evening, I didn't know anything about you. And what I know about you at this point isn't even a whole lot. I'm basing everything on the recommendation of someone else and your reputation with him."
"This seems reasonable logic to me," the man said. "But what about your operation? What do they know about that?"
"Enough to know that I have resources in cash, men, firepower and several dirty cops I can bring down a sh… I can bring to their door," Tomas told him.
Silence.
After a period of silence so long that Tomas began wondering if they lost their connection, the man said, "I guess what I'm really asking is, how possible is it that this whole thing is… what did you call it? Oh yes, a decoy. Is Chelsea Shore really in El Paso? Or did they just get you out of Houston for a night so they can raid your… resources. See, I want to get paid. So, if Chelsea Shore is not in El Paso at all, then how am I going to get paid? What information do you have that she is really here? You said that my payment depends on her death. I cannot kill someone who is not here."
Son of a fucking bitch, the fucking beaner is right! Tomas screamed in his head, and his instincts were sending warning signals up so fast his balls felt like they were in a vice. Why the fuck would Chelsea stop in El Paso? It made no sense—no sense at all. There was, what, eighty more members of the White Wolves? What were the rest of them doing back in Houston right now?
He thought of his raided stashes, and the answer became violently clear. Fuck!
He shook himself and then calmly said, "You ask too many questions amigo. I guess I'll take care of this back in Houston where I have people I can work with."
Silence, and then, "As you wish." Then the man broke the connection.
Tomas pulled to the side of the road and hammered his fists against the dashboard of his Chevy Nova. "Fuck!"
He was completely screwed now. They had to know he was on their trail because of that stupid fucking wet-back Juan getting caught. Elias would know that he would be the one to be expected to go for Chelsea. This could be a decoy run, just to get him out of town, or this could be a decoy pickup so that he didn't notice that a small group broke off and went for Chelsea in San Diego, because that's where she was—San Diego. Every fiber of his being told him that's where she was.
Leaning back he looked at the black ceiling of his car and tried to calm down.
"Alright," he said to himself. "This is a decoy. She is not , no fucking way, in El Paso. So I just saved a shit load of money and time. But what is their play, and how do I salvage mine?"
Reaching over to the glove
"No," Tomas told him, hoping it was true. If they had sixty or so men available in the city, he was fucked. End of story, next game. "The White Wolves aren't even a real Houston club. They only operate in Northside."
"Well, that is something, at least, but they could have friends here. They could have family here," the man suggested.
There was no sense in arguing that point, so Tomas said, "Yes, they could, but probably not family and friends they want to get involved in something like this. Obviously they understand something of what they are getting into, or they wouldn't have shown up with so many."
"Do they know anything about your operation? Who your partners are? Is it possible they know about my operation?"
Tomas didn't like these questions. They were blowing holes in his chance to catch Chelsea. They were also going to let this man know just how fucked up his world had become over the last week. But, lying at this point was not a wise choice either. He needed this asshole. There was no time to find someone else with the same or better resources of men and firepower. "They don't know anything about you. That I'm sure of, because until earlier this evening, I didn't know anything about you. And what I know about you at this point isn't even a whole lot. I'm basing everything on the recommendation of someone else and your reputation with him."
"This seems reasonable logic to me," the man said. "But what about your operation? What do they know about that?"
"Enough to know that I have resources in cash, men, firepower and several dirty cops I can bring down a sh… I can bring to their door," Tomas told him.
Silence.
After a period of silence so long that Tomas began wondering if they lost their connection, the man said, "I guess what I'm really asking is, how possible is it that this whole thing is… what did you call it? Oh yes, a decoy. Is Chelsea Shore really in El Paso? Or did they just get you out of Houston for a night so they can raid your… resources. See, I want to get paid. So, if Chelsea Shore is not in El Paso at all, then how am I going to get paid? What information do you have that she is really here? You said that my payment depends on her death. I cannot kill someone who is not here."
Son of a fucking bitch, the fucking beaner is right! Tomas screamed in his head, and his instincts were sending warning signals up so fast his balls felt like they were in a vice. Why the fuck would Chelsea stop in El Paso? It made no sense—no sense at all. There was, what, eighty more members of the White Wolves? What were the rest of them doing back in Houston right now?
He thought of his raided stashes, and the answer became violently clear. Fuck!
He shook himself and then calmly said, "You ask too many questions amigo. I guess I'll take care of this back in Houston where I have people I can work with."
Silence, and then, "As you wish." Then the man broke the connection.
Tomas pulled to the side of the road and hammered his fists against the dashboard of his Chevy Nova. "Fuck!"
He was completely screwed now. They had to know he was on their trail because of that stupid fucking wet-back Juan getting caught. Elias would know that he would be the one to be expected to go for Chelsea. This could be a decoy run, just to get him out of town, or this could be a decoy pickup so that he didn't notice that a small group broke off and went for Chelsea in San Diego, because that's where she was—San Diego. Every fiber of his being told him that's where she was.
Leaning back he looked at the black ceiling of his car and tried to calm down.
"Alright," he said to himself. "This is a decoy. She is not , no fucking way, in El Paso. So I just saved a shit load of money and time. But what is their play, and how do I salvage mine?"
Reaching over to the glove
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