CS: Blood Lines(Cont VIII)

“The Eights and the Cubans are negotiating a possible unity. They both are far weaker than the Black Dragons and the Gambinis. We don’t need to worry about the Dragons, they pretty much stay out of it. The Gambinis, well, we’re housing a very dangerous man who, if push comes to shove, we can turn over to the proper authorities. They won’t bother. Our first priority are the Cubans and the Eights and from there we’ll work on the big two. Anyway, we’ve got a few rats in each organization, but most of them don’t know shit. So what I need you to do is find the man who knows all about these things.”

“That is?”

Reno withdrew a picture from his breast coast pocket and slid it across the table. “That is Morris Murray.”

“Small time drug dealer fading from the market out in LA. Resurfaced here peddling large amounts of pretty good stuff. Has a tight ring, runs it throughout the city and even into the upper crust big-wigs running the conglomerations around here. Married, has five children with two women but doesn’t pay any child support.” Max looked up from the picture, “He knows about these things?”

“That ring that he runs is the Eight’s drug ring. They rake in the cash for it, though most people think Morris does it himself, entirely untrue. That prick has been marching his fucking peddlers through our territory and even into Chinatown, which is why he’s had beefed up security and the Eights are investing a lot into him. If anyone we can get to knows about what’s going on between the Eights and the Cubans, it’s him. After all, the Eights are obviously looking into taking some of the Cuban’s drugs off their hands, especially since their market has been cut off after recent gang fights.” Reno smirked. “What do you think?”

“Just give me the location of where to find him and I’ll see what I can do.”

Reno leaned in, “Don’t see…do. That’s the kind of guy I was told you were.”

“That’s the kind of guy I am. But I never make promises. Things could turn out to be unfavorable.”

“Don’t give me that diplomatic, fancy-worded shit. I’m not some little peon you can impress with your plethora of exotic words and ability to harness your vocabulary. I’m not stupid. I can see right through that shit. Just do the job, all right? He frequents a night club called the “Melody.” It offers more than just drinks, if you catch my meaning. Room 13 is his favorite girl. Do what you have to do, but make sure that if he walks out of that room breathing he’s not going to tell anybody what happened.” Reno nudged Max’s foot with his own, sliding the pistol back over to him. It was a glock, and Max hated them, but he made do with what he had.

Max nodded and rose from the booth, emerging onto the street and disappearing into the alley with nothing but the picture and the gun. Things were already beginning to go differently then he had expected, but he knew why he was here and there was no point in asking questions. There were so many factions fighting in this city, nobody could guess which one would win. Max knew: it would be the one that he was on.

Reno watched him go, leaving a generous tip and stepping out into the street as the Benz came around. The passenger window rolled down and Bobby scanned his boss. “Things go well?”

“Just as I planned, Bobby. We’ll see where he draws the line and what camp he decides to settle in.”