Page 102 of Double Down

“How do you know?”

“My father approached them years ago. They were going to make some deals, but Calhoun turned him down, said he wasn’t trustworthy.”

Maverick snorted. “The mafia thinks your father isn’t trustworthy?”

“I may have had a hand in that,” Conrad says with a shrug. “It was several years ago, and I thought it was too risky. I still do.”

Con takes the slow, straight path to the sideboard while he talks, like he needs the motion to keep from exploding. He doesn’t pour anything. He stares into the crystal, reverses direction, and keeps pacing.

“They avoid direct retail. Think wholesale plus logistics. They prefer medical-adjacent products. Less meth and coke and more pharmaceutical-grade opioids, designer benzos, knock-off Botox, and more. Anything the rich, beautiful, and greedy want to get their hands on. Their MO is to acquire at scalethrough theft or gray-market diversion, sit on inventory in shell-controlled warehouses, then push by proxy—contractors, not employees.”

“Contractors who look like ‘our’ staff,” Storm says flatly. “Instead of your corner pot dealer.”

“Exactly.” Conrad nods once. “They like using other people’s storefronts. The upside for them is that if someone knocks, the storefront catches fire, not the warehouse. The downside for us is already pretty fucking clear and why we won’t get involved with them if I have anything to do with it. If someone plants a tip, we end up with cops like dickweed the other night and we look like the storefront.”

“Which is why you blocked it before,” I finish for him.

“Exactly. Now someone is moving around us, we need to find out who. Especially since the deaths suggest they are cutting the drugs with something that makes them dangerous.” He pauses. “I don’t see them doing that, though. That’snottheir MO.”

“Territory?” I ask, because I like maps; they help me see patterns. Maybe it can give me an idea of who they may be working with.

“They don’t care about turf wars,” Conrad says. “They care about corridors. Ports, interstates, last-mile freight routes. They’ll ride piggyback on any corridor that moves volume and use six layers of LLCs to do it. They keep themselves insulated. Nobody important handles the box.”

“Can they be reasoned with?” Maverick asks.

“I’ve never met them,” Con says, turning back, “and I don’t want to. But their reputation is intense. I don’t want to be on their radar, good or bad.”

“Jesus fuck, can this get any more complicated?” I ask.

“Yeah, it can. And it has.” Con sighs. “Mrs. Langford got some fucked up Botox in the spa. Or at least, that’s what she’s claiming. And she is making threats—cops, Page Six, and her husband and his merry band of power-tripping politician buddies making our lives hell.”

Something about that clicks, like I have all the pieces but they are not fitting together yet.

“Storm, any updates on the staff?” Mav asks. “Please, good news.”

“No, I can’t find any people with connections. I have fired people for stealing and a host of other shit that should have been cleaned up a while ago, including a janitor that hides cameras in women’s bathrooms and live streams content to the dark web. But nothing on the drugs.”

“Who all have you interviewed?” I ask.

“Pretty much everyone,” he shrugs. “Maids, janitors, wait staff, concierges, desk staff, security?—”

“—the spa staff?”

“No, not yet, but the spa was closed when the OD happened. There haven't been any complaints about them, and they turn a profit on a shoestring budget.”

“What if Langford did get the bad Botox here? The Calhouns said they were missing faux-tox too, right? What if it’s the spa that is running everything?”

“Fuck,” Mav says. “How do we prove it, how do we stop it?”

“We don’t, not yet,” I say. “We need to find out if it’s the truth. We need to be able to give Calhoun more than just a theory because he’s a crazy motherfucker. We need to give him the thief. And we need to look at why we are being targeted.”

“Because we’re rich?” Mav asks.

“No, it’s more than that. I think this is retaliation for Phoenix,” I say. I have a feeling that I just can’t shake. All of this ties back to her.

“Works for me.” Conrad shrugs. “In my experience, if there’s a headache, it’s usually her fault,” Con says, and I move to take a seat.

“Could this all be blow-back for the men we put in the ground after they grabbed Phoenix?” I ask again, ignoring Conrad’s comments. Though he’s right, and we all know it.