WOODCREEK
CHAPTER ONE
El paso, Texas
"Hey you! This is
trespassing!" said a man on a stallion to the Mexican immigrant. "Por
favor! We have not eaten in days" said Rodriguez. "Look my
family" pointing at his wife and two children. Jonathan pulls out his
rifle and points at the man and says "Go on now! You are
trespassing!" Shouted Jonathan pointing it now at his wife and two
children
"Jonathan
stop!" said Michael Woodcreek. "They are Mexican immigrants who are
starving" said Michael. Jonathan lowers his rifle and puts it in its
holster. "Come on now, you are in safe hands no need to fear" said
Michael Woodcreek to the illegal immigrants.
"Go tell Lucy I got
a fresh batch of visitors, tell her to prepare some food and running
water" said Michael. Michael Woodcreek, is the father of the Woodcreek
ranch family a descendant of Thomas Woodcreek a cowboy and famous cattle ranch
mogul, a ranch that had been established since the second world war. He's great
great grandfather proclaimed this land from the Native Americans but leave
together in peace.
And now this peace is
being threatened after 100 years...
"Have you seen your
father?" asked Lucy to his youngest child. "He went out with Jonathan
for hunting, anyway Jonathan isn't really good at it" said Meryl. "Go
freshen up. I need you to get ready for soccer practice." said Lucy.
"Okay mom"
Meryl said. As she went upstairs singing a sweet lullaby his father had taught
her. "Hello? Where are you?" asked Lucy over the phone. "Im down
by the creek" said Michael. "You do know we have an appointment with
the therapist?!" insisted Lucy.
"Yeah, that's gonna
have to wait hun, we just picked up a Mexican family" said Michael.
"Another one?!" exclaimed Lucy. "God help us all" said
Lucy. "Prepare the guest house, we need them safe for questioning before
ICE arrive" said Michael.
"Okay got it"
said Lucy. "And by the way be nice to them we need to know where they're
coming from" said Lucy. " Okay honey" said Michael.
"Mr. Rodriguez you
have a lot of explaining to do..." said Michael Woodcreek.
The Woodcreek family
have been living on their generations profiting from getting drugs across the
border as a new power struggle ensues...
CHAPTER TWO
"Jonathan! Go to
your house and cool down, I am sure Maggie will be thrilled to see you"
said Michael Woodcreek to his son.
At the ranch
"Jonathan almost
shot the Mexican immigrants we brought in" said Michael Woodcreek.
"That boy needs to be on damn leash!" said Lucy the stay at home
wife. The Woodcreek family had lived on the El paso farm for generations and
now, that same power is being fought for.
Michael's burner phone
rings. "Babe I got to take this...business" said Michael, Lucy nods
her head in approval. "Yeah talk to me" he said as he entered into
his home office. Decorated with trophies of deer, buffalo and a wild lion from
Africa.
"Did the shipment
arrive safely?" The Mexican known as El Jeffe, a drug baron, out in the
gulf of Mexico. They had been doing business in Mexico trafficking drugs across
the border for nearly half a decade now.
"Yes we got them,
they all arrived at the La Maria Airport safe and soundly" said Michael.
"What about the mules?" said El Jeffe. "What MULES!?"
exclaimed Michael. "The ones I sent over the boarder to your
ranch..." said El Jeffe. "You mean the Mexican family that showed up
at our house?!" shouted Michael.
"Yes senior
Michael" said El Jeffe hesitantly. "Are you stupid Jeffe! I thought I
said no more mules, the DEA are gonna come knocking on my door step!" said
Michael in great distraught. "Mules are too much of a great risk El Jeffe!
Your putting me under a lot of risk!" said Michael pouring a glass of
whiskey and taking a sip out of it.
"El Jeffe. Let not
this fucking happen again, immigrants are being hunted down with dogs by the
ICE! Get your shit together!" He yelled over the phone instantly hanging
up the burner phone. Taking another sip of his Whiskey.
Moments later
"Ola senior Rodriguez,
I hear you have a package for me!" Said Michael. "We are terribly
sorry senior, El Jeffe said we should not speak while spoken to" Mr.
Rodriguez said with veneration. He reached out for his under garments pulled
out a key of coke.
"Put it in this
duffel bag" said Michael. Rodriguez complied astutly. "Tell your boss
I said I don't want any more mules. Is that understood, comprende?!"
He told the Mexican family as they started to pack their belongings and flee.
At the ranch
"Damn Mexicans think
they can get to set the rules that our family had for generations." said
Michael to Lucy as she was preparing dinner. "l told you the Mexicans love
dirty business, maybe we could change our business partners and go with
the Chinese?" suggested Lucy Woodcreek.
"I know honey.
Don't start." said Michael as he was getting massaged by his wife. "
I love you" said Lucy with a spark in her eyes. "I love you too
honey." said Michael with amusement and proceeds to lean over and give him
a kiss.
"Where is my baby
girl Meryl?" He asked. "She is quite asleep" she said. "Ah
Okay I love her so much" said Michael. "Me too" said Michael.
"Let's us have dinner, we have a big day tomorrow" said Lucy.
"What's the
occasion?" he asked timidly. "Ah...you're daughter's recital!"
she said shocked he didn't remember. " Oh yeah" he said slowly
recalling.
The Woodcreek family
have been running the Woodcreek ranch for decades as cattle ranchers by day and
drug barons by night. A new danger arrives as they are under investigation by
the police...
CHAPTER THREE
Michael and his
son Jonathan were tending to the farm cleaning the barn when Michael got a
phone call from his lawyer Lucious.
"Hello Michael! How
are yah?" said Lucious. "I'm doing good how are the kids Trish and
Lisa?" replied Michael. "They're all right! God i wish I had sons
though, these teenagers these days can be a piece of work! Look Michael can we
talk business?" said Lucious. "Yeah sure I'm all ears" said
Michael as he switched to his burner phone and called him back.
"Jonathan go
check on your mother" said Michael. "What about the barn Dad?"
said Jonathan. "For once in your God damn life! Can you do as I say?"
Said Michael. Jonathan abandoned his farm tool and left like a dog between his
tails.
"Talk to
me!" said Michael. "Michael, I don't know how to put this....you're
under investigation" said Lucious. "I'm what?!" Michael
exclaimed in shock and awe. "I just got a tip from the feds that you were
harboring said fugitives from Mexico" said Lucious.
"It was my
kids fault, damn I should put him in a fucking casket!" Said Michael.
"What are the implications? How much do they want?" said Michael.
"Its not that easy Mike the DEA are also in it and have brought out one
your old cases from the archives, the Woodcreek drug bust of 1995!" said
Lucious disappointed.
"We had
nothing to do with that old case, it was a drug deal that went sideways and we
paid the jury some hush money!" said Michael. "Oh shit! What are we going
to do now?!" Said Michael. "Just lay low keep an eye on Jonathan and
no talking to our "friends" in Mexico until this dies out!" said
Lucious.
"They are
monitoring any strange activities, they got you and your family under surveillance"
said Lucious his esteemed lawyer. Lucious and Michael were buddies from the
University of Texas and both graduated with honors Lucious in Law and Michael
in Business administration.
Lucious was very
well spoken and immaculate and was the valedictorian of the class of 85'. There
friendship grew day by day closing business deals both dirty and clean. It was
a bond that not even the gods would break. Lucious introduced Michael to his
first and only wife Lucy who was a cheer leader at that time and would later
fall in love with Michael and got married in Hawaii, with Lucious being the
best man and the wedding and marriage also being a complete success.
Michael quickly
switched to his other burner phone. "Listen I talked to El Jeffe and
he promised he would not bring mules at my doorstep" said Michael.
"Be that as it may you are under investigation not for the drugs but for
harboring potential militia and cartel" said Lucious.
"Me?! What the
actual fuck?! I need this to disappear. Cassidy is coming home from spring
break and doesn't know about the family business. Make this go away
Lucious!" ordered Michael.
"Okay hot
shot! Say hi to Lucy for me" he said and hung up the phone.
"Shit!" Michael exclaimed.
Woodcreek Ranch
"Hi love" said
Michael as he approached Lucy. "Hi my baby" said Lucy and gives him a
kiss on his cheek. "Did Cassy call?" asked Michael. "Yeah she
did, she is arriving at 1 am at the airport, will you go fetch her?" said
Lucy. "Yes I will" he said.
"Listen we are
being investigated by the feds. Don't worry i have it under control" said
Michael. "What?!" said Lucy surprised. "Shh! You will wake up
Meryl" said Michael. "Are you joking Michael?" said Lucy.
"I said I have it under control" said Michael. "Well I would
hate to see out of control!" said Lucy coldly.
"Just make sure our
daughters are safe!" said Lucy. "You know i wouldn't let anyone touch
a strand of hair on their heads!" said Michael. "Okay! Cowboy show us
your moves...." said Lucy non chalantly.
CHAPTER FOUR
Guadalajara, Mexico
The air was thick with
the scent of marigolds—vivid orange blossoms scattered like sacred confetti
across cobblestone streets. It was Día de los Muertos, the Day of
the Dead, but the city of Guadalajara pulsed with life. Candles flickered on
every corner, illuminating the faces of dancers, drummers, and
mourners-turned-revelers. Acoustic guitars wept and laughed through alleys,
while families carried portraits of the departed, placing them gently atop
gravestones dressed in offerings—pan de muerto, tamales, bottles of mezcal.
This day wasn’t about
grief. It was about memory. Celebration. A portal between worlds.
They believed the dead
returned—ancestors roaming among them in spirit—and so they sang, danced, and
feasted, as if welcoming old friends home for one last night. Cemeteries
transformed into places of laughter, of stories whispered to the soil. Photos,
candles, and favorite meals were left at tombs like sacred invitations for the
departed to dine among the living.
From the edge of the
city, far from the festivities, Michael Woodcreek stepped out
of a dust-covered taxi. He adjusted the brim of his tan cowboy hat, shielding
his sharp eyes from the punishing sun. He’d come to meet Pedro Gonzalez,
a local fixer and loyal dog of one of Mexico’s most feared drug lords—El
Jefe.
Pedro waited in a rusted
four-by-four truck, engine idling like a growl. Without a word, they rolled off
the tarmac and into the wilderness, kicking up clouds of dust as the city gave
way to the breathless green of the forest.
The drive was long,
silent, and sweltering. The deeper they went, the hotter it became. Michael
felt like they were descending into some infernal pit—like they were
trespassing into Hell itself. Trees towered around them like watchmen. Every
mile stripped away civilization. Every mile whispered: No one leaves
here clean.
Finally, after hours of
travel, the truck rumbled to a halt in the heart of the jungle.
Smoke lingered in the
air—thick, bitter, chemical. Ahead, masked men moved like shadows. Some wore
gas masks and military gear, others civilian clothes, all armed to the teeth.
They stirred concoctions in massive jerricans, guarded by rifles and machetes.
The jungle had been turned into a laboratory, and the canopy above stretched
like a shroud over their sins.
Just beyond the smoke,
nestled under the arms of the trees, sat a weather-beaten shanty. Outside, on a
reclined leather chair that looked absurdly regal in the setting, sat El
Jefe—a legend draped in denim, gold chains, and casual menace.
As Michael approached,
the drug lord rose and embraced him like an old friend.
“Señor Michael,” El Jefe
grinned, his teeth sharp and perfect. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
He’d been on the FBI and
DEA’s most wanted list for over a decade, and still no one could touch him.
Once, when asked how he stayed hidden so long, he laughed and said:
“Even dogs have secrets.”
The sun flared high and
unforgiving. Michael winced, cursing under his breath. Damn. Forgot
sunscreen.
“You’ve been quite the
nuisance, amigo. Comprende?” said Michael, voice flat.
El Jefe chuckled and
made a lazy calming gesture with his hand. “Relax, my friend.”
He stepped inside,
emerging moments later with a fine bottle of cognac. He poured two glasses, his
movements slow and theatrical.
“First,” he said,
lifting his drink, “we celebrate.”
Michael took the glass,
though his eyes remained hard. “Cheers,” he said without a smile.
“Salud,” said El
Jefe, clinking glasses.
They sipped
together—synchronized, like two dancers in a dance neither of them trusted.
But the mask slipped
quickly.
Michael’s voice dropped,
sharp and low: “What kind of shit did you pull at my house?”
El Jefe raised a brow.
“You do not send
mules. Or any FUCKING BODY. To my house,” Michael roared, his voice
slicing through the humid air. Around them, the masked men froze mid-task. Eyes
turned.
El Jefe didn’t flinch.
He only smiled wider, amused.
“Tranquilo,
Papa,” he said. “Just remember where you are.”
A pause. The air grew
still.
“It’s understood,” he
added smoothly. “We’re friends, no?”
Michael knew what that
smile meant. This man was a narcissist, a serpent wearing a saint’s grin.
They emptied their
glasses and walked together toward the compound behind the trees—where the real
conversations, the dangerous ones, would begin.
CHAPTER FIVE
El Paso, Texas
The air was humid and
heavy with heat. Summer loomed just around the corner, and a ruthless wave
scorched the city like a warning from the gods. The sun blistered skin with the
cruelty of judgment, as if punishing the people for their sins. Homeless men
and women fanned themselves with torn newspapers and fast-food wrappers,
drifting like ghosts between the towering steel skyscrapers that stood tall and
lifeless—guardians of capitalism and indifference.
Lucy Woodcreek stepped
out of her white Mercedes G-Wagon, the sun bouncing off its polished surface
like fire off a mirror. As she approached the boutique yoga-palates studio, a
disheveled homeless man dressed in tattered rags stepped into her path.
"Excuse me, miss.
Spare a dollar for an old man?" he croaked.
Lucy’s blonde hair
shimmered under the relentless sun, like a halo of gold. Her pale skin,
protected by layers of sunscreen, remained untouched by the sun’s vengeance.
She wore oversized Ray-Ban sunglasses, expensive and deliberately
chosen—evoking that “cool mom” energy she’d curated so well. Slowly, she
lowered the shades, glanced at the man with mild disgust, then walked past him
without a word.
The world is not for the weak, she thought.
After class, sweat
rolled delicately down her swan-like neck. Her cheeks flushed pink from
exertion, and her form-fitting gym attire—designer, of course—clung to her like
feathers on a peacock. Growing up in Texas, Lucy had been the head cheerleader
of her varsity squad. Girls idolized her. Boys chased her. She had
everything—flawless skin, an enviable figure, a picture-perfect family, and a
husband others whispered about in envy.
Once a part-time model
and chief editor at Vogue Magazine, she had retired early to pursue
her dream: becoming a housewife. It was a dream she had clung to since
childhood, and Michael had made it a reality.
She slid into her
G-Wagon and headed for the family ranch on the outskirts of El Paso. But as the
skyline faded behind her and the open plains stretched ahead, a chill crept
down her spine. Something felt... off.
A black Cadillac.
It had been behind her
since she left the studio. Dark-tinted windows. Smooth. Silent. Menacing.
Lucy reached for her
phone and called Michael, who was from a business trip in Mexico, he had told
her to keep it a secret from the kids as the feds were watching their every
move.
“Michael,” she said, her
voice tight with fear. “I think I’m being followed.”
“Where are you now?” he
asked, voice suddenly alert.
“I just got off the
interstate.”
A brief pause crackled
through the speaker. “Listen to me carefully. I want you to pull into the
nearest gas station. Ditch the car. Pretend to use the bathroom. Call an Uber
from inside. Leave through the back exit.”
“Okay, honey… see you
soon.”
She did exactly as
instructed. At the gas station near Monty’s Garage, she parked the G-Wagon,
entered the restroom, and slipped out the back. As the black Cadillac pulled in
silently behind her, she ducked into the waiting Uber and exhaled deeply.
Woodcreek Ranch
“What the actual
fuck, Michael! I was being followed!” Lucy screamed, red-faced and shaking.
“Calm down, honey,”
Michael said, motioning with both hands like he was trying to settle a wild
animal.
“What kind of car was
it?” he asked quietly.
“Black Cadillac. Tinted
windows. I couldn’t see inside. Michael… are we being watched by the police?”
Michael’s brow furrowed.
“Not likely.”
“Not likely?” she
echoed, her voice laced with sarcasm and fury.
“It could be the
cartels,” he murmured grimly.
A cold silence followed.
Michael stared into the distance, chewing on the thought.
“Where’d you leave the
car?” he asked suddenly.
“Gas station near
Monty’s,” she replied, her voice still shaky.
Without another word,
Michael grabbed his jacket and keys.
“I’m going to get it. Do
not leave the house. Keep an eye on Meryl. Don’t let her out of her room,” he
said firmly.
“Wait!” Lucy called
after him. “Promise me... Promise me Meryl, Cassidy, and Jonathan will be
okay.”
Michael paused at the
door, turned to her, and placed a soft kiss on her cheek.
“I promise.”
Then he was gone—his
black BMW vanishing into the horizon, swallowed by the burning sun.
CHAPTER SIX
Cassidy Woodcreek resembled her mother in so
many ways. Both had swan-like necks and golden hair they wore like crowns.
Under the moonlight, Cassidy’s tanned skin shimmered with an almost untouchable
glow. Her figure turned heads — girls envied her; boys adored her. Among them, Jake Hunter was the one who had captured her
heart. Their love, young and reckless, bloomed like a spring flower.
Her father, Michael,
disapproved. Too young, he would say. But to Cassidy, forbidden
love was the sweetest kind — Romeo and Juliet reborn in the heat of Texas.
The sunset that evening
sank like molten fire over the horizon, yielding to the silver reign of the
moon. Cassidy and Jake had been invited to a spring break party near a lake,
the waters reflecting the burning light of an oil rig in the distance. After a few beers,
Cassidy stripped down and leapt into the glowing lagoon, her body a vision
against the fiery surface.
Jake followed, tossing
his shirt and jeans aside, diving clean as a pro. Laughter echoed across the
lake. They wrestled, splashed, and kissed with abandon, his strong shoulders
lifting her high, her laughter ringing like bells. The Texas night was hot and
heavy, the air filled with the buzz of cicadas and the smell of spilled beer.
Their friends watched with envy or admiration before leaving them alone under
the moon.
Wet skin against wet
skin, their kisses deepened until the world around them faded.
“Do you love me?”
Cassidy asked, her voice breaking the silence between breaths.
“Of course, I do, Cass,”
Jake replied, startled by her sudden question.
She hugged him, but her
eyes held a storm.
“Come with me to Florida.”
Jake’s expression
darkened. “I can’t, Cass. My place is here in UT. I’m joining the football team
this summer.”
Rage and heartbreak
flickered across her face. She climbed out of the lagoon, water dripping from
her body like a mermaid dragged ashore. Pulling on her clothes with trembling
hands, she stormed away.
“Cass! Wait!” Jake
shouted.
“Damn it…” he muttered under his breath.
Cassidy climbed into her
white Mercedes Benz — her sweet-sixteen gift from Michael — and sped off. Tears
blurred the dashboard. The alcohol twisted the highway into shifting rivers of
light. She flicked on her hazard lights in panic, but instead of safety, the
flashing caught the eye of a patrol car.
Red-and-blue strobes
filled her rearview.
“Good evening, ma’am,”
the officer said as she rolled down her window. He was tall, pale, his
nameplate reading Kent.
“Have you been drinking tonight?”
“No, officer,” Cassidy
answered, her voice tight, forcing sobriety.
“License and ID.”
She handed them over.
Kent’s eyes widened at the name. He walked back to his cruiser, checked his
system, then returned with a different tone.
“You’re Cassidy
Woodcreek… daughter of Michael Woodcreek?”
“Yes.”
Kent exhaled. “Your
father and I go way back. Don’t drink and drive again. I’ll let you off with a
warning this time, honey.”
Cassidy’s relief was
bitter — once again shielded not by her own merits, but by Michael’s
reputation.
“I’ll escort you home,”
Kent added, flicking on his low siren as he guided her back to safety.
Santa Maria Airport
Outskirts of El Paso
Morning broke golden
over the dusty airstrip. Michael Woodcreek adjusted his Ray-Ban sunglasses and stepped from
his Ford Ranger, cowboy boots crunching on gravel. His world
never paused — not for FBI surveillance, not for cartel threats.
Money still had to flow.
“Morning, Pedro,” he
called to one of his men.
“Morning, Boss,” Pedro
replied.
“Shipment in?”
“Yes, sir. Just
arrived.”
Together they entered
the warehouse, where workers unloaded heavy crates from a private aircraft.
Michael cracked one open — and froze. Submachine guns. Rifles. Grenades. Not
the usual cargo.
His chest tightened.
Someone was playing him. Pulling out his phone, he dialed El Jefe. Straight to voicemail.
“Fuck,” he muttered.
The distant wail of
sirens rose, closer by the second. FBI. Or worse.
“Hide them!” he barked.
His men scrambled, dragging crates into a hidden compartment below the
warehouse floor.
A black SUV skidded into the lot. A woman stepped
out, her frame lean and solid, eyes sharp as a hawk’s. She leveled her gun at
him.
Michael didn’t flinch.
“Do you know who I am?”
“Then you know I don’t
miss,” she shot back, lowering the barrel slightly but not away.
Her badge caught the
morning light. Wendy.
“We’ve been watching
you, Mike,” she said coolly. “We’re searching this place.”
“You got a warrant?”
Michael’s voice was flat steel.
“No.” She smirked. “This
isn’t official. Consider it a courtesy. Stop whatever the hell you’re doing —
or the Mayor won’t be able to save you next time.”
Michael let out a dry
laugh. “Maybe I’ll ask him myself… over a game of golf.”
Wendy’s lips curled into
a half-smile. She holstered her gun, slid back into her SUV, and roared away,
dust spiraling in her wake.
Michael stood there, jaw
tight, the echo of sirens still in his ears. Someone was setting him up — and
the game had only just begun.
WOODCREEK
CHAPTER SEVEN
Southside Houston, Texas
The full moon loomed from a
distance, its pale and white glow draped the streets in silver light, spilling across
Downtown, Houston. The shimmering full moon cast its light on the rooftops of
damaged houses making shadows that seemed to dance in the darkest of nights. An
eerie silence swept over the broken roads as two black SUV's their windows
tinted like black ink parked in front of a house.
With their windows rolled down, a
myriad of guns popped out of the windows-AK47 rifles and rented the seemingly
abandoned houses with bullets. The bullets rippled through the rusted
chain-link fence, sparks flashing as bullets struck steel. The MS-13 gang were
reclaiming what was rightfully theirs a holy turf war against the Latino Kingz.
Their tattoos covered up by black balaclavas so as to not hold any witnesses.
The Latino Kingz had tagged their
yellow crown on one of their walls and this was revenge, all thanks to Michael
Woodcreek and his shipment of the weapons from El Jeffe the Mexican drug baron.
On the rooftop one of the Latino Kingz aimed with an AR-15, custom black with a
thirty round mag sprayed its bullets on the car and burst through an MS13
gunman’s chest, killing him instantly in a pool of blood.
Shotguns roared; the sound of
bullets lingered in the air as more Latino Kingz emerged from the house guns
blazing. Windows shattered, dogs barked in the distance, babies were wailing
and innocent lives lost from ricochet bullets. The block became a battlefield,
the walls sprayed with blood instead of graffiti.
Sirens wailed from a distance but
it was too late, bodies were piled up, blood was seen all over the neighborhood.
Some attempting to flee only to be caught by stary bullets a grizzly sight. EMT’s
showed up much later providing first aid to all the injured folk and gangs.
Woodcreek ranch
Michael Woodcreek sips his Bourbon
slowly.
“The perimeter is secure Mr.
Woodcreek.” said El Cuervo
El Cuervo was a Latin American
sicario with ties to the drug cartel in Guadalajara. El Jeffe sent for extra
protection after he double crossed him sending a shipment of weapons which was
not part of their deal. His tattoos covered his skin of skull and bones and on
his back the Virgin Mother of Jesus Christ. He was ex communicated from the
MS13 and was now working in contract basis as a sicario providing private
security.
His hair was cropped short, his
eyes were without soul and seemed to cut through Michael sharp as steel. Across
his chest was a red rosary that dangled across his neck a charm that seemed to
save his life over the years. He checked his pistol, a Glock 19 fitted with a suppressor.
Across his back was an AR-15 rifle ready for action.
He seemed to always lurk in the
shadows like a towering sentinel. His footsteps immutable and unchanged sure
footed and precise.
“Okay El Cuervo,” said Michael
Woodcreek.
He put down the glass of Bourbon
and went into the Kitchen to make himself a sandwich.
“Daddy…Have you seen my purple
top?” asked Cassidy Woodcreek with a thick Texan accent.
“No I haven’t sweetie” replied
Michael.
“Ask your mother” he added.
Lucy Woodcreek storms into the
room.
“Michael what did I say about
your men going upstairs…” asked Lucy.
“I am sorry, El Cuervo tell your
men that the house is out of bounds especially upstairs” said Michael to Woodcreek.
“Okay boss” said El Cuervo
radioing the new orders through his walkie talkie relaying the new
instructions.
“Michael. How long are your men going
to be here?” asked Lucy Woodcreek seemingly frustrated.
“Just until the smoke clears
honey” said Michael caressing her hair and giving her a kiss on the cheek.
WOODCREEK
CHAPTER EIGHT
The air was humid and thick. The sun was hot and torrid. Pedestrians sat by the yellow sand beach fanning themselves as surfers rode the waves like huge stallions. It was high season for the tourists flooding into the great Miami City also known as Vice City for all the diabolical things that happened in this city full of sin.
Drugs ruled the streets from Fentanyl to Cocaine, America was its biggest market and Miami its biggest consumer. The night life was precedented by its people, the city came alive in the night. Disco clubs paraded from street to street blasting loud music that left the city in a constant state of unrest.
The people were warm and benevolent towards outsiders but as in all cities one had to be extra careful. The sung hung high like a watching sentinel, perfect weather for a swim or a dive in the deep ocean. Jet skis could be seen dancing on the shore line, as tourists craved the adrenaline rush.
The rich would have their yachts deep in the water having parties; drinking champagne of course and trying exquisite sea food served by their butlers. People wore light clothes mostly shorts for the men and tank tops for the ladies to show off their beautifully tanned bodies.
The cool breeze of the conventional winds sent warm chill that made the weather tolerable and better. Some walked their dogs with great joy. Some common celebrities could be seen taking pictures with some of the locals brandishing their flawless white teeth and well-built bodies. An encounter that left the fans in gratitude.
El Jeffe hoped out of the jet with great glamour his neck glistening with diamonds and rare stones. His goatee was well trimmed and sharp. His hair was cropped short styled with the best hair products. He wore a flamboyant shirt from Versace with black cargo short and topped off with the latest sandals from Lacoste.
He took off his Ray Ban sunglasses and greeted one of his henchmen armed with an AR-15 across his hands. His face masked with a black Balaclava.
“Hola jefa el carro esta esperando”
He said as he entered the black jeep paving way for him with a hand gesture. There inside he was met with a beautiful lady and American affiliate Maria. El Jeffe being a seducer stole a slight kiss across her cheeks as he leaned forward. Maria simply obliged, for that was her nature to recognize power and to be submissive.
“You have a meeting with El Castillo at 2pm” said Maria with a thick Mexican Spanish accent, words breaking in between words.
“I know Maria” said El Jeffe.
“I need to rest and then business” he said groping her breasts.
Moments later
They arrived at El Castillo’s residence at Bal Harbor around 2pm. It was never El Jeffe’s intention to be late, meeting the greatest drug baron in all of America. The huge mansion spread on hundreds of acres. Luxury cars parked by the eight-car garage from Ferraris to Lamborghinis to G wagons each custom made. Palm tress hung high surrounding the huge mansion with great splendor.
A huge tennis court could be seen from the distant together with a football pitch and a basketball court. Behind the house was a caged humongous white tiger roaring deafening the rest of the men. It went from side to side as if stalking its prey. His neck chained to the ground by a steel shaft at the center of the cage. Beside it was the carcass of what seemed to be zebra meat, its meat all consumed until all was left was pale skeleton bones.
They entered the huge castle and were greeted by a waterfall the size of a small tower at the foyer. A huge chandelier made of shimmering crystals was suspended above their heads like a huge halo. The place was decorated with a pearly white coating that made it seem like they were in heaven.
They were led by one of the men into his office. Guarded by two statues of the Egyptian Gods covered in gold and precious stones. There across the table was El Castillo puffing his Cuban Cigars the room smelling of burnt rich tobacco. Unmoved from his luxurious leather chair he sat watching them as they came in with great scrutiny.
Nobody messed with El Castillo. His reputation preceded him with great immensity. And his temper was short as his personality was cruel. Aside was his berretta that he always kept close and within reach. He was a shark in a fish’s world.
Saludos El Castillos
The Kingpin remained silent.
“What is this I hear about you shipping weapons?” said the drug baron.
“It was merely a set up, we are trying to take over Texas. Michael Woodcreek has become soft we need to show confidence now that the feds are busy with his investigation. We have an opportunity to push more product under the gringos’ noses” said El Jeffe losing his breathe as sweat trickled down his head.
“You betray one of your own to get an advantage?” said El Castillo his voice filled with bass and contempt.
A long pause ensued.
“Very well” agreed El Castillo
“You have my blessing” he said as he puffed his cigar.
El Jeffe with permission stepped out of the meeting room.
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