David Corbett - Do They Know I'm Running

Vasco said, “Sancho would laugh in your face. Then he’d string you up by the balls.”

“Not for three million a year.”

For a moment, it felt as though gravity had loosened its hold on things. The whole room seemed to float.

Vasco said, “Get outta town.”

“Things’ve been loose up till now, right? No el mero mero calling the shots for everybody. That’s gonna change. And the clicas that get in first, make the connection to the chiefs below the border-”

“You mean L.A.”

“L.A. answers to El Salvador now. That’s something you should know. Fuck, El Salvador is Los Angeles now. All the deportees.”

“How the fuck you know these people?”

“Prison. After I got sent down myself.”

Vasco tipped back and pondered that, rocking. His face was pockmarked and sagging from all the abuse, the crank and the liquor, the pills and the smoke, plus the stress of his petty empire. The purplish fluorescence of the overhead light didn’t help. “Why should I trust some mensos in lockup? Especially when they’re thousands of miles away?”

“Because if you don’t, somebody else will. Sancho, for one. You wanna end up answering to him?”

“Won’t happen. Not me.”

“Oh yeah. You.”

“Bullshit. What is this, some kind of threat? You come in here, try to shake me down?”

“I’m offering you a shot at one and a half mil a year.”

“I thought you said three.”

“Three tops, one and a half guaranteed. That sound like a shakedown to you?”

In the window behind Vasco the moon peeked beneath a vast ledge of cloud. Downstairs, one of the vatos cackled, “Te lo dije, él es un malapaga .” I told you, he’s a deadbeat.

Vasco met Happy’s eyes and let the stare linger. “Smuggling what, exactly?”

“First thing, you help me get my uncle and another guy across the border.”

“That’s not my problem.”

“You wanna get to phase two it is. My people are in with the Valle Norte cartel. They’re gonna move the product by boat, it’ll sail out of Turbo, Colombia, hidden on pallets under loads of tropical fruit-bananas, plantains, mangoes. After a layover in Acajutla it’ll come into the Oakland port, my dad and I will know which shipments, he’ll work it so he gets the load. He’ll truck it to a warehouse in Richmond owned by an importer who’s already on board. You’ll divide up the shipment, send it to the various wholesalers around the bay. They pay you, you skim your share, the rest goes back south through the channel.”

“These people have names?”

“You buy in, then you’ll know what you need to know.”

“This is bullshit. You’re winding me up. Buy in?”

Happy reminded himself this was all for his father. “How else you think this happens?”

“How much?”

“Thirty grand.”

“You’re out of your fucking mind.”

“That’s five jobs like the couple in Pinole today. For one and a half mil a year on the back end. Guaranteed.”

“Nothing’s guaranteed.”

“You’re not paying attention to what I’m telling you.”

“You think I’m handing thirty large to you with nothing but-”

“You’re not handing it to me.”

“Who then?”

“You’re wiring it to El Salvador. Once it gets there, my father and this other guy I mentioned? They get brought up across the border. Once that’s done, you’re in on the franchise.”

“Okay, that’s twice now you’ve mentioned this other guy. Who is he?”

Happy paused for the proper effect. “He’s from the Middle East.”

Vasco blanched. “You saying what I think you’re saying?”

“Once he’s here, he vanishes, you have no more connection to him.”

“And when he does whatever he’s gonna do, and they connect all the dots and find out how he got across?”

“There’s no way to tie you to it.”

“You said I’m wiring money.”

“From somewhere here in the Bay Area to San Salvador, happens a thousand times every day. You smurf it down in smaller amounts, use a fake name, or have everybody on the crew send a piece, fake names again, and we bribe the guy at the envío de dinero window. It gets picked up by someone on the other end, again a fake name, he vanishes on that end. Who knows where he goes, who he meets or what he does with the money? You got ghosts on both ends and they can’t track one guy sneaking across the border regardless. Can’t be done, no matter what they say. Meanwhile, once he’s across and forgotten, you get rich.”

Vasco seemed puzzled by it all and angry he had to work so hard figuring out the downsides. “You say this guy, this Arab, he’s coming across with your old man? He does, they get caught, that ties the Arab to you. You’re tied to me. I’m fucked.”

“They’ll split up before they cross. Christ, use your head.” Happy decided not to mention Roque’s involvement and made a mental note to keep it a secret from here on out. “You think everybody’s stupid but you?”

Vasco wasn’t backing off. “You got somebody on the border, somebody you’re bribing to get everybody across.”

Happy shook his head. “Vasco, listen to me, it’s not your problem.”

“Like hell it’s not my problem. Some bent fed gets caught helping a terrorist across, you think they’re not gonna fuck his ass bloody till he coughs up every goddamn name he knows?”

“He won’t know yours.”

“Prove it.”

“The guy who takes the money in San Salvador is like twenty links removed from anybody taking a cut at the border, and that’s all cash, hand to hand.”

Vasco’s gaze drifted toward the window again, met his reflection in the glass. “How long you been sitting on this?”

“What do you mean?”

“How long you known about it?”

“You think I been shopping it around?”

“How long ?”

“The coke thing’s been in the works for a while. Since I’ve been back I get texted every few days, progress reports, questions. Then my old man got popped and I said, Let’s do it. Started putting a plan together, to bring him back and get this other thing rolling, the franchise. They added the curve, the Arab. Said the one depended on the other. I’ve got no say.”

“And you chose me.” Vasco didn’t sound pleased or privileged. “Why?”

“You want me to go someplace else?”

“Answer the fucking question.”

Happy told himself: Let him rant. It would make the prospect of getting the last laugh that much sweeter. “Just seemed wise, start with somebody I know.”

“Not like we’ve ever been exactly tight, though. Am I right?”

“No, which is why I won’t have a problem taking this someplace else, you turn it down.”

“You’re setting me up.” Vasco cracked a sick smile, pointing his finger. “You’re setting me up, cocksucker.”

Happy unbuttoned his flannel, opened it. “Pat me down, you feel that way.”

“I want nothing to do with no ragheads blowing up buildings.”

“You’re not seeing the whole picture. I take this elsewhere, you don’t just lose the Colombian franchise. You gonna find yourself on the bottom looking up at whoever grabs it. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Guy who steps forward gets to play kingpin this end of the bay. El mero mero . Could be you. If so, you’re the one who gets to collect taxes. Nobody moves nothing without giving you a piece. You walk into any salvadoreño business you want, you tell them what they pay, you’ll protect them from anybody else tries to move in, shake them down. You’ll have the muscle to kick the norteños back into Sonoma, you’ll run things up here. This anoints you. You turn your back on this, though, all that shit rains down on you. You can ride or get ridden. Just the way it is. Meanwhile, you’re already set up to launder the money through the business here, all the other shit you got in play. That’s one more advantage you’ve got over the competition. They’re just street hustlers. They can’t take it to the next level.”