A Town in Fear (A Mountain Mystery) by Shoultz D.R

Author:Shoultz, D.R.
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-12-02T00:00:00+00:00

7.3

DIEGO CARRERA SAT AT A TABLE in the far corner of Sal’s Bar & Seafood located at the upper end of Houston Harbor. Dressed in an open-collar, short-sleeve black silk shirt and sharply creased white slacks, his bejeweled rings and thick gold chain shone brightly against his dark complexion.

Sal’s was family-owned and housed in a repurposed warehouse across a cobblestone street from a marina. Multi-million-dollar sailboats and cabin cruisers were secured in the harbor just a short walk away. Carrera lived on one of the finer vessels.

Entering the restaurant was like stepping from Kansas into Oz. The exterior remained rustic and nautical, wrapped in weathered sheets of galvanized steel. The interior was Manhattan chic with black lacquer tables, white tablecloths, and chrome fixtures.

The fit Latino with a bushy mustache and irritable demeanor regularly conducted business at Sal’s. Employees knew to serve him quickly, but otherwise maintain their distance. Hefty tips kept them from asking too many questions.

Carrera tossed back his third shot of tequila while waiting for his late-arriving guests. He wiped his mouth with his tattooed forearm and slammed the glass to the table, attracting the attention of nearby customers. His evil-eyed stare redirected their interest.

Two Hispanic men in their 30s entered the restaurant. Looking like nightclub bouncers, both were wearing $200 jeans and dark sport coats over snug crewneck shirts. One was taller and clean shaven with his short, black hair slicked back, the other moon-faced and barrel-chested with a trimmed beard. The men stepped across the floor toward Carrera’s table. He signaled them to sit.

“Where’ve you been?” he asked in Spanish.

“They never showed,” the taller man replied.

Carrera’s nostrils flared. His anger was immediate.

“Didn’t show?”

“Luis and I called them several times, but got their voicemail,” the taller man continued.

“When was the last time you heard from either of them?”

“I talked to Zack as soon as they arrived in San Antonio yesterday afternoon,” Luis replied. “Everything seemed fine. He said the drops went like clockwork.”

“You’re sure they were in San Antonio?” Carrera asked Luis as the stocky man’s forehead began to glisten.

“I had Zack call back on the hotel phone. The caller ID was the Hyatt,” Luis replied.

Carrera’s cellphone vibrated. He snatched it from the center of the table.

“It’s El Rappa,” he announced before answering.

The two men tensed.

El Rappa Ramirez was respected and feared by all who knew him. The 50-year-old, angular-faced Honduran cut his teeth selling drugs on the streets of Tegucigalpa as a teenager. For three decades, he’d survived drug wars between feuding cartels, continuing to build followers and gain power. A thin scar from a knife fight extended from El Rappa’s left ear down his jaw. It was a visible warning of his toughness.

“Where are you?” El Rappa barked from his opulent home office in Nicaragua.

Located on the outskirts of Managua, his 5,000-square-foot mansion was surrounded by a ten-foot-high stucco wall fortified with razor wire along the top. Lush vegetation concealed the five-acre palace.

“I’m with Luis and Miguel at Sal’s.”

“Did they deliver?” El Rappa asked, knowing the answer.

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