The Italians were represented, then the head of the Asian mob who he'd never met - he had always conferred with his underlings. But if the don had come, then perhaps he was in trouble. Carlos pushed his magnum into his waistband and watched, taking up the automatic in its place. A high-bailer Dominican got out, and then a Russian, and a Jamaican. He knew these men. Their bulky guards stood beside them. Still he waited and stared at the headlights of the limo that were aimed at him, but he relaxed when they went out. All right.
It was odd, but even in the darkness he could see. The moon cast a blue ray into the clearing, and owls could be heard hunting, sending their mournful call out into the trees. The limo had a series of small flags, making it appear to be a diplomat's car. What the f**k - high-level government? Carlos kept his motor running. Suddenly a hundred Gs didn't seem to be enough money, and a setup felt like it was in the offing. He couldn't identify all the countries on the tiny flags. He squinted. Southwestern states and European countries? What was the one with a five-pointed star with an emblem in the center? The assembled team smiled in the darkness. His eyes had to be playing tricks on him as the strange moonlight seemed to made their teeth whiter, longer than normal.
He was about to put his gears in reverse when the limo door opened and two men were thrown from it. They hit the ground with a grunt so he knew they were still alive. Excellent. Their hands were bound behind their backs by nylon tie-strips. Carlos breathed out slowly, steadying his impulses. He continued to study the situation as a tall, light-skinned brother got out next without assistance, looked directly at his windshield, and then nodded and smiled.
"I have the beginning of your hunt, Rivera," the man he didn't know called out. "We are all invested in this, like you are. Bring your weapon, if you'd like - but also your money."
Carlos opened his car door, and carefully got out, packing two weapons, and reached for the silver metal briefcase in the backseat to bring with him. But he left his doors open, and his car running.
"Speak to me," Carlos called out, leveling his machine gun at the men on the ground, and then swinging it up toward the unknown man.
The others in the circle raised their hands, stepped forward to show they were unarmed, and made a half circle around the mystery man, who grabbed the two struggling forms on the ground - bringing them to their knees.
"Carlos, let me formally introduce myself. I am Fallen Nuit. I own Blood Music - and these men here," he said, nodding to the dark suits surrounding him, "are my associates, my brethren - and yours."
Carlos nodded and lowered his weapon, glancing around at the faces he knew.
"The problems with your organization are bad for everyone's business."
"Yes," the aged Russian said. "It makes people wary to go out at night. Makes it hard to make a killing, and drives down profit."
"Makes people ask unnecessary questions," the old Asian said.
"We cannot have that," the elderly don said with a sinister half smile. "Especially in the music and club industry. We need bodies at night."
"As do we all," the graying Dominican agreed, casting his gaze to the Jamaican who nodded. "We need them to keep coming like cattle."
"Ayree."
"So," Nuit said, as he walked around the two kneeling men, coming closer to Carlos, "we are all here to form an alliance. Your cause is our cause. A very simple matter of practicality and business. We heard your call to arms, and responded - the way family should when there's an outside threat."
Carlos nodded. He appraised the man who had spoken with a smooth, controlled voice. His vibe was one of pure confidence, arrogance. He liked his style. He couldn't place his race, though, as he looked into the blackest pair of eyes he'd ever seen. It was like staring at a very tall version of Prince ... could be Latino, could be black, could be a mixture, skin as pretty as a woman's, no matter. The man named Nuit smiled as though reading his mind, and a flash of brilliant white escaped his lips and caught in the moonlight. Carlos had to shake off the eerie tremor that staring at this brother produced. He had an almost feminine quality about him, but at the same time his vibe was cold business and very male. Wealth and power oozed from his pores. The man put one finger to his lips, just as Carlos was about to yell a question, and smiled a half smile.
"I'm unarmed. Let's discuss this with finesse," Nuit crooned as he slowly came nearer. "I'll come close enough to hear you, but not close enough to make you draw your weapon, si?"
"A hundred Gs seems too little to split amongst so many," Carlos said across the clearing to Nuit, and gestured toward the group. "But that's the bounty."
Carlos studied the headman's smooth, relaxed demeanor, and the way the silk of his voice had more easy threads running through it than his black, custom-tailored suit. The wealth that surrounded the brother was in the billions, and yet it was evident that this relatively young man was in charge. Intrigued, Carlos lowered his weapon and stepped forward two paces - drawn to his sheer power.
"Oh, no," Nuit said with a wave of his hand. "We can't claim this bounty. We came to add to it, and offer you ten times that to finish the job for us." The man nodded as one of the black-suited guards retrieved a leather briefcase from the limo, walked forward, and handed it to Nuit.
"I prefer skin - leather," Nuit said with a smile, his manicured hand stroking the case. "Silver is so ... passe. You keep it. I bet what's inside my black bag is bigger than what's in yours anyway." Then Nuit laughed.
A million dollars? Nothing came for free. Carlos lowered his briefcase to rest beside his leg and studied the group harder, noting their every detail so that he could remember each one if this shit went down wrong. Moonlight glinted off Nuit's gold cuff links and huge ring that also held the same crest as the flag he couldn't identify. Without a word, the men behind Nuit held up their hands showing their rings as if to answer the unasked question again. The others had the same ring. He hadn't noticed that before. The shit was beginning to spook him.
"What's the deal?"
Carlos felt suspicion riddle him as he looked at a henchman grab the men on the ground by their suit collars and thrust them forward before Nuit, then step back in line with the others who were watching the transaction.
"These two," Nuit said, putting a foot on one man's back, "are from the FBI. They used to be our helpers - then made some foolish decisions. We still have others inside, and the Minion is inviolate. Not to worry. These are ours - so we cannot accept your money in good faith. Fair exchange is no robbery."
"What's that got to do with me and my bounty?" Carlos asked the question across the small divide between them. "I have one fight - the FBI isn't on my agenda."
A million dollars or not, he was out. Carlos reached down to pick up his silver case, keeping his eyes on the group with his finger hovering on his gun's trigger. To accept their money meant taking up their battle, and he only had one - to avenge his brother and family's deaths. Going after feds was way over the top, and very bad for business. The police were already sniffing around his operations too much. And who the hell were the Minion? This wasn't his fight!
"But it is. These men took out your family."
Nuit's words stilled Carlos, and he set down the case slowly, stood and walked forward, ignoring the protest and pleas of the men on the ground. Either this rich, suave motherfucker could read minds, or he was tripping. When Nuit threw back his head and laughed, Carlos wanted to bitch-slap him.