Ch 9 - Are You Asking Me To Make A Decision For You?
"The doctor said a trip away from the place where the incident happened would be good for him!" James wasn't certain he wanted his son with him in London looking for information on a VC who had ghosted Marcel and Chicho, but he didn't expect danger, besides the boy would be safe in the presence of three ex narcos. However, Teresa was not convinced, and James felt it difficult to balance not disturbing her mental state and doing what was best for Tony's mental state.
"I've never been so scared!" She puffed and huffed after Tony had defiantly said he was going with the men. "We've had it easy as parents...we're so vulnerable!"
"Why?" James needed to acknowledge her statement although he did feel vulnerable as a parent who had to teach his kids things, but who knew full well he couldn't always protect them.
"We have 3 kids...if anything was to happen to them", her hand went through her hair, and she nervously tied it in a messy bun. "I'd even say 5 kids…because Pote's girls are like my own…"
"That's part of life…", James understood but didn't know how to help her drop these thoughts: "That's why I'm hesitant getting involved in matters that may turn out to be …sketchy…but helping Marcel is very important to you, so…", he couldn't finish as she interrupted him:
"What do I do? I'm pulled in two opposite directions…and Pote's reaction...can't stop thinking about it…help me please, guide me...What would you have me do?", she sat on the bed and stared ahead.
James was silent for a minute considering her words: "You asked me to help you the other night …and I will! …But it was about finding information…Are you now asking me to make a decision for you?" She had told him a long time ago not to make decisions for her and he had respected that, so he couldn't help but wonder now.
Teresa sighed deeply and mumbled a 'yes'. To him it meant she felt really fragile, so he sat next to her and put his arm around her shoulders: "Let me first see what I can find, okay?"
She nodded and laid her head on his shoulder.
James quizzed both Marcel and Chicho on their detailed recollections of meeting the VC, a man by the name of Lawrence Lancaster, getting to do business with him first in the US, and then getting convinced to expand internationally. After they had no more details to share, James warned them that this op was 'his' and they had to follow his lead.
"I was so …astonished when Teresa…decided to help us…keeping in mind the risk…so, I'd let you have the lead for sure!" Marcel noted, shaking his head.
James neither liked, nor disliked the man. But he clearly remembered things quickly going south when he had met him for the first time, having been sent to assist his escape from Louisiana, when Marcel had stupidly defied him to meet with Lucien, and had ended up betrayed.
This reckless decision and later stubbornness had not impressed James at all. So, he decided to make things clear: "She needs to do this. I have told you before she'd help others…and get herself in risky situations! I'm going along with it …for now…to support her…because her life has been one long trauma…and I'd help her get closure, but not at any cost!"
Both Marcel and Chicho nodded in silent agreement, while Tony gave his father a weird look.
A little while later Tony removed his earphones and turned to James: " So, when they build this resort in Thailand…can we go visit?"
James chuckled: "Sure…but let's not put the cart before the horse!"
"I've never been to …a resort! Tony said. "I'd be very interested to see what a high end one has to offer…what entertainment there is …and maybe I'd meet a girl there...or two…", the boy looked through the window while James couldn't figure out where this line of thought had originated.
"A man really needs one woman, son...the real one!" he said and cleared his throat.
"Hmm", Tony shook his head: "How old were you when you met Mom?"
"Ahh… 26...27...thereabouts", James said.
"Well, I'm only 16...So, I gotta long way to go...!" and he turned back to the window. James sat speechless for a while.
As they suspected, Lancaster was not available, the receptionist informed them, and she had no information, neither on his return plans, nor on how to contact him. He rented a small side office in a downtown high-rise. The operation was not big at all.
After they checked into a hotel, James left Marcel and Tony in charge of watching the office building from a nearby cafe, while Chicho and he headed for the Club where Lancaster had met the men once during their negotiations. It had been a 'weird place for a business meeting' according to both men, hence the need to check it out right away.
The Club was housed in a three story former factory, constructed of smudged red brick, in the Eastern outskirts of London. Their rental, a murky sedan, was as inconspicuous as the sketchy neighborhood.
The windows of the Club were painted over, some were barred. The only clue as to what was occurring inside was the line of young people waiting for admittance, and the resonating bass beats from inside.
James looked at the place in bafflement and decided that it would be pure hell inside. He couldn't shake the feeling that if one of the men had had any common sense, they would have felt something was way off with this VC! So, now he had to figure out a way inside past the line.
He zipped his leather jacket up, then walked past the crowd to the front door, where a skinny man, sporting an orange mop for hair, sat on a chair, and actively chewed gum. Some from the line started protesting even before James had opened his mouth; others only glared at him. The dress code was baggy jeans and cargo pants; his leather jacket didn't make the cut. He hoped his behavior wouldn't create a scene. Looking around, he could spot tattoo artwork on many of waiting in line, wearing light clothes despite the cool breeze. He briefly chuckled at the thought of his own expensive and enormous tattoo, that he had gotten rid of after he had given up the Life.
Then he told the bouncer that his niece was inside, and he needed to collect her.
"We're at capacity. You gotta wait!" the bouncer kept chewing the gum.
"Really?" James said. " Did you not hear me? I am only picking her up …besides I'd like to know how many fire exits you have?"
"Who are you?" The bouncer got up from the chair. He wore an extendable baton on his hip.
"I won't be long." James made a step to the entrance.
"I told you, you can't come in". James knew the whip with a baton hurt like hell and tried to de-escalate the situation.
"She is not even 16, man! You let her in when you shouldn't have!" he said.
"What? We check IDs. She must have had a fake one!" the man paused. "Get in, then get out fast!'
James strode into the packed sweaty crowd. There was a disc jockey, some people were dancing on large hardwood floor under the loud sounds of some screeching techno. Many sat on mismatched chairs or were perched on stairways and wooden crates, drinking and smoking pot. It stank badly of pot and sweat. He moved avoiding any jostling. Then he had to exercise special skill avoiding a drunk woman who came onto him.
He noted two doors, and the one on the left looked like the one to the office, where Lancaster had met the men, because a guard stood in front of it. He was hunched over, reading something on his phone. James staggered as if drunk and pushed the door, but the man was instantly next to him, closing it firmly.
"Bathroom", James said slurring his speech. The man pointed to the right where the bathrooms obviously were.
"There's a broken pipe, man!" James said.
"Get her fuck out…or I'll have you kicked out!" The Balkan accent was faint, but discernible. Lancaster hung in very weird places for a reputable VC, James thought.
"Bathroom", James repeated again and walked to the 2nd door, then swiftly entered the office, which was empty and dark.
The guard was instantaneously onto him and when the man's fist drove forward into James's solar plexus, he easily sidestepped the blow and dropped his center of gravity. He did a simple wrestling takedown: his right arm going between the men's legs and around to his spine. He had been told by a trainer a long time ago that in wrestling and in boxing one could not be shy in the rink.
James then leveraged up and gripping the man's collar with his left hand, took him off the floor entirely and dropped him hard on the oak floor, which was pretty hard. Then just as a precaution he dropped his fist into the man's gut. Hard, but he didn't feel anything break. He got out of the way on time to avoid the vomiting.
If the base of operations of a shady business was this club, James had no doubt there would be criminal activity involved. The Club was not at all different from the one Camila had operated out of back in Dallas, and James happened to remember its inner workings very intimately. Teresa, he thought, on the other hand, always kept the level up: both the Winery in Phoenix and the jazz bar in Nola had been high end.
James searched the man still sprawled on the ground and found a Glock 17, semi auto pistol, which he slipped in his waist band, and a driver's license indicating that the man was one Gregor Mladic, a Serbian name, that didn't sound like the man was anything more than muscle. In his rear pocket James came across a pack of zip ties, which were conveniently used to bind his wrists and ankles.
When he finally got into the door on the right, he was surprised to find that beyond it a staircase descended into the building's massive pungent basement, redolent of mold and heating oil.
The smell was gross. Almost choking now, his mouth covered with his untucked shirt, he made his way down the main corridor. To the right there was another door. He drew out his flashlight and hurried over.
Then he smelled the smoke and heard screams from upstairs that were quickly followed by rush of tramping feet. The man must have regained consciousness, James reasoned. And as the door of the office had been breached, a fire must have been set to destroy evidence. So, he better find the evidence fast!
