Austin Camacho - Damaged goods

Anything else Hannibal needed to know about the man he derived from the quality of his help. The man behind him watched Hannibal. The man across the room watched Rod. Neither of them looked to their boss for guidance. They would know what to do if things went wrong.

The last person Hannibal looked at was Sarge, sitting in the far corner with his hands behind him. Cuffed together, Hannibal assumed, or taped. He wore a black sleeveless tee, shorts and running shoes. Hannibal guessed it was what he had on when he heard Marquita was gone. Sarge turned his face away, probably to hide injuries, but it also served the purpose of hiding any look of recognition.

“All right, Mr. Mantooth, do you know this one?” the stranger asked.

“This son of a bitch is called Smoke, Mr…” The stranger raised a finger and Rod stopped. He didn’t want his name dropped in front of strangers. And suddenly, Hannibal knew who he was.

“You’re the Colombian buyer,” Hannibal said, taking a couple of steps forward and getting back into character. “Rod told me he had a big hot deal going down. Didn’t think he was this well connected though.”

The stranger waved another finger, and the bodyguard on the left stepped forward. He reached into his jacket but instead of a gun he produced a flattened roll of duct tape. Hannibal sighed, nodded, and put his hands behind his back. Once his wrists were secured, the guard led him to the end of the sofa where he was lowered to the floor.

“You are too free with your business, Mr. Mantooth,” the stranger said.

Rod sat forward. “I never told this boy anything about you. But now I know he’s a spy. Snuck in here to rip me off. Stole a couple of my girls.”

“You should have shut his mouth permanently.”

“I thought I did.” Rod’s voice became harder, and Hannibal could see his control slipping.

“I prefer to do business with careful people.”

“You’ll deal with me,” Rod said, standing, “because I got this.” He waved the computer disc in front of himself like bait to attract a shark. This was an opportunity that Hannibal could not pass up. He locked eyes with Rod, rose to his knees, pushed out his chest and forced a big grin.

“You a joke man. Your dreams are bigger than you are. You ain’t no gangsta, at least, not on a level where you can deal with this guy. Look at him. He’s money.”

“Shut the fuck up!” Rod was in front of Hannibal in two long strides with an arm raised to backhand him. Hannibal shifted his gaze to the stranger.

“You really want to work with this asshole?”

Rod spun to stare at his guest. The stranger’s face was passive, showing the slightest hint of annoyance.

“Sorry, Smoke is it? Sorry but this man has something I very much want and I will work with him this one time. After which, I fear he will dispose of you.”

“So you really want this formula he’s got?” Hannibal asked. “You want people to be able to get off their habits?”

Rage and surprise fought for dominance on Rod’s face. The stranger betrayed only amusement.

“You are smarter than these others,” the stranger said, pulling out a silver cigarette case. “Of course, I would like for some of my senior staff to be able to sample our product without fear of addiction. But also, consider how much product some wealthy customers might purchase if they also did not have addiction to fear.”

“Yeah, I can see that, but is it really worth the pile of cash I know this slug is demanding?” Hannibal asked. While he spoke he twisted his wrists, feeling the tape pull hairs from his arm.

The stranger tapped the tip of his cigarette on the case before putting it into his mouth. His nearer bodyguard jumped to give him a light. He took a casual drag on what used to be called a regular length cigarette and spoke through the smoke.

“Like my product, the formula’s value is set by the demands of the marketplace. More importantly, I must control this formula in order to keep it out of the hands of those who might share it injudiciously, which could ruin my market. For this, I will pay this man a large sum indeed.”

Hannibal took in the briefcase on the stranger’s right, probably full of cash. A smaller black case sat at his left. Then an unexpected backhand slap from Rod rocked Hannibal’s entire body.

“Didn’t I tell you nobody can stop me?” Rod said, his lips curled back into a snarl. “I got me a date with destiny.”

Hannibal tilted to his left, teetered on one knee, but managed to right himself without falling. “Yeah,” he said, spitting blood onto the carpet before looking up again. “But it’s a blind date. When your destiny does show up, you won’t recognize it. And it might just be uglier than you expect.”

The stranger barked one short laugh, and his bodyguard also grinned.

“If you continue to play with this one, he will eat you like a barracuda,” the stranger said in his oddly accented yet cultivated voice. “Besides, I have a plane to catch. Let us complete our business.”

That was the cue for the bodyguard on Hannibal’s side of the room to cross to his boss and pick up the larger briefcase. He sat it on the coffee table and opened it, revealing the stacks of cash Hannibal expected. Derek sucked in a breath. The bodyguard looked to Rod. Rod nodded and handed him the disc.

Hannibal considered the rescue options to be slim. Sarge was bound and wedged into a corner where he would be slow getting into the action even if he somehow freed himself. Hannibal saw no possible allies he could turn in the room. The Colombian had what he had come for and would now leave Hannibal and Sarge to Rod’s limited mercy. Hannibal though the police would be there by then if Missy had sent them. Perhaps she had decided to distance herself from the crash site before calling for help. After all, she believed Hannibal to be an underworld character. She might have decided not to have any more to do with him or Rod. Out of respect for Hannibal’s undercover status, Cindy would wait hours before raising a general alarm.

With rescue hours away, Hannibal realized how thin his hand was. He had only one card, and the time had come to play it.

“He’s ripping you off, you know. The formula you’re paying for isn’t on that disc.”

Rod’s face contorted into something akin to deep concentration. The stranger released another short, barking laugh.

“He’s lying,” Rod shouted.

“That would be a foolish lie.”

“It ain’t,” Hannibal said. “It’s a scam. This cracker’s just trying to trick you out of your cheddar.”

“That would be a foolish trick,” the stranger said, tapping his cigarette ash onto the floor. “We will know, very soon, which of you is the more foolish.”

The first bodyguard sat the smaller case on the coffee table beside the first. When he pulled a laptop computer out of it, Hannibal realized that his outburst had been unnecessary. He fought to maintain a straight face as the guard opened the computer, booted it up, and placed the disc into the CD-Rom drive.

Hannibal closed his eyes for a moment, sending a silent apology to Cindy. There was no way around what would come next. The Colombian would have to make a statement. Rod would resist. There would surely be a firefight. Barring exceptional luck, he and Sarge would die in the crossfire.

Unless he could bargain his way out of it. He still knew the location of the formula.

The bodyguard crouching at the computer tapped keys in silence. The smoke of a custom blend cigarette flared Hannibal’s nostrils. Then the computer user’s eyes flared as well.

“Boss, there’s only one thing on this disc, but it’s not a data file.”

“That’s crazy,” Rod said. “You don’t know what you’re doing.” Despite his hubris, Rod was easing back toward his chair. The stranger raised a finger to his chin,