Head of the Snake.

December of 1992.

"Arin is the oldest."

Larry listened with practiced interest, his cold blue eyes uncharacteristically serious. Something about this operation had made him suddenly realize its gravity – or weeks on the road had finally dimmed his carefree attitude.

"He started the operation when he was a teenager. I got a lot of conflicting stories on his past, but as far as I could tell, his father left before he was born, and his mother was a drug addict. He raised his brothers. He heads the whole thing – deals with all the money, all the clients, all the organization. He tells his brothers where to be and what to do. Everyone is afraid of him. His name is enough to clear a street. He has a busy schedule."

Larry ran his hand over the surface of our table, his fingers lingering on score marks that seemed very knife-like. "You spent most of your time with him, then?"

I nodded, "Once I knew who he was, I followed him to find his brothers. Javier is the next oldest, and then you have Elias and David. Each has their own factory, like the one we saw Mateo in. Some are on the outskirts of the city. I followed Elias to the coast and back. I think he runs information as well, but I lost track of him for a while. He has a girlfriend who oversees his factory – and I think her father or her older brother is involved as well."

"You're missing two."

"Mateo and Manuel are the youngest. Manuel was a baby when this started. I spent a day following Manuel, and I'm pretty sure they wouldn't trust him with any aspect of the business. He's an idiot. He throws money around and makes trouble."

"Good surveillance." Larry was the one to teach me some of these critical skills – how to follow, how to poke and prod, how to find information and piece it together. "Now, the analysis. Who is the weak link?"

Manuel was the weakest in appearance, but he had built very little in his life so far. I knew Larry expected me to single him out. But his impact on the business was minimal, his influence a drop in the bucket. He was safe at the top of the tower, having no impact on the structure beneath him – it was the foundation, the base, that was the most critical.

"Arin."

Larry smiled, "What do you base that on?"

"I've been pushing them, cutting tires on cars, leaving obvious evidence of surveillance near their meeting places. Arin is the one it all rides on. He gets the call."

"We're facing a problem, then. We have a very tight-knit organization with a very dangerous plan afoot. It's only a matter of time before that bad batch makes its way to the United States and wipes out a couple hundred druggies in one fell swoop. And, you know, whatever, right? Those idiots probably deserve it. Scum of society. But attacks like this embolden our enemies. If some illiterate brothers from El Salvador can launch an attack on the US, anyone can, right?"

He was pushing for a solution.

I had already thought about it. I knew what he would want. He always aimed for the most dire, the quickest and the dirtiest.

I just shrugged.

Larry looked disappointed. "What do you do with the head of the snake?"

"Cut it off," I responded dully.

"Exactly." Larry stretched, groaning. "I tracked the money to a small terrorist cell working out of Uganda. They probably want recognition, to make a name for themselves by going after the big dogs. Unwise. Anyway, everyone who needs to know has been told, and our mission is almost over. Just a little cleanup left to do."

I said nothing.

Larry leaned in, a thoughtful expression contrasting with his words, "I want you to kill Arin, and make it look like their rivals did it. Then we can go home."