Harper, Texas
Harper's Diner
11:01pm
Silas had showered and changed for his meeting. His suit conveyed the demeanor he wanted to keep: professional. The suit would serve as his own personal reminder.
His men had the entire diner closed early. Five were driving around the nearby streets searching for anything out of the ordinary and three were outside the diner on foot. Gael and Armando stood on either of his sides. Harper's Diner was one of the properties he owned. He approached a checkered table where two men waited for his arrival.
"Detective Littman," Silas gripped his hand solidly while the man stood to greet him. He was around his mid-thirties and blonde. His hands were slick with moisture. "Detective James," Silas greeted the short, stocky old man. He stood as well but it clearly took more out of him to do.
Silas pulled out his chair and sat down. A cup of black coffee was to his left. The owner of the diner always had one ready for him when he took over the space. He was glad to have it; he was exhausted.
"You know why you're here?" Silas picked up the mug and brought it to his lips. Before the men could speak, Silas interrupted. "I'm sorry—did you want a cup of coffee?" His nonchalant attitude was probably the most frightening thing about the exchange. He couldn't let these men know he was stressed. He was set on showing composure.
The men both shook their heads to suggest they didn't.
"Continue." Silas said. He took a swig with his eyes fixated on them.
"We didn't know about the hit." Littman got straight to the point. Silas could appreciate it; the formalities were a nuisance in this situation. "The director is keeping seizures hush because he knows there are moles." Silas gave him a raised eyebrow. "Not necessarily for you but other organizations. He knows so he lets one person in at a time."
"By the time we found out about the tip, they were already taking it. No one knew anything." James said quickly. The fat under his chin fought to keep up with his words. Silas looked between the two curiously.
"You're telling me I pay you for nothing?" The men shook their heads vehemently.
"No, sir, we're saying—"
"You have no purpose for me anymore." Silas finished. The men continued trying to explain over one another and Silas watched, somewhat entertained by the circus show. "Who is it that the director tells his movements to?"
"Colton Keller." Silas nodded, pleased by the quick release of information.
"The loss I took today," Silas shook his head slowly. He sighed and rested his forearms on the table. "It'll set me back a few weeks." The men waited. "I have a lot of mouths to feed—including yours. You'll be missing your next few payments as a way to make up for this misstep. Maybe it'll motivate you to make yourselves of use again—who knows?" The men's resentment rose.
"How's your Jill and the baby?" Silas reminded them of the leverage he had. Silas took another sip of his coffee. He had never been the man to hurt women and children, but no one would dare put him in a position to test the theory. Littman's face softened and his bitterness had turned to fear.
"And congratulations on Patricia's acceptance to Yale, James." Silas used a napkin to swipe at the corners of his mouth.
"In either case, I want a name of the tip. I don't want to be the one to find it first." Silas looked between the two men and could see the understanding settle in their eyes. "Understood?" The men nodded. "They will see you out." He waved behind him to his men at the door. James and Littman stood and hustled away. When the door closed, Gael and Armando sat before him.
"We think it's Flores." Gael announced.
"Why?" Silas looked him head on.
"Who else would not want to steal your product but just get it taken from you?"
"Plenty!" Silas barked. "My father still has men out there waiting for me."
Silas had the means to own every step of his selling. While others used traffickers to bring their product to the States, he was there at the border with his arms wide open waiting for his men to come through with his product. He owned the cocoa plantation, the trucks, planes and boats to bring it in and the distributors who sold it. Men paid him to use the complex infrastructure he built. Some paid for his marijuana, cocoa and opium plants. They could buy the seed strains his chemist and botanist created. Some paid him to distribute their own product directly. Everything was his and it was something to envy.
However, it made ruining his operations much riskier. Although he was shortened a shipment, he was glad the shipment was his. Manuel, Flores and Enrique all used that warehouse in Otay for their own operations. If this tip acted again, there was no guarantee that they'd come after him again. He would have to explain to the men of the Sinaloa cartel and their allies where their product had gone and how it left Silas' possession in the first place.
The possibility made him feel weak and vulnerable.
