“I understand, Mr. Castellino,” Cain Rodgers said into his phone as he oscillated a pen between his finger and thumb, “but I have checked with our source and he knows of no new players entering the trade. Like me, he doesn’t believe that the Bulls can obtain the weapons they claim to have access to and sell them at such low prices.”
“Cain, it’s nothing personal,” Gianni Castellino said, “it’s just business. They said they could deliver and—”
“Mr. Castellino, have you seen the weapons?”
“We saw a sample. My Weapons guy checked it out and said it was legit.”
“But have you seen the entire shipment? Have you selected a few at random and inspected those? I could provide you with one or two M27s and tell you I picked them up at the local gun dealer for a hundred bucks each. But providing two hundred at that price… that’s a different matter.”
“You really think they’re trying to screw us?”
“Mr. Castellino, let me put it to you this way. If you can buy them at that price, do so. It is the deal of the century. But just make sure you know what you are buying. The Blacktop Bulls have been a pain in our ass for years and I think they’re just trying screw up our deals. But they don’t have the resources to do it on the up-and-up, and this whole deal smells of a scam. We have dealt squarely with you for fifteen years, passing along every discount we could negotiate. I’m asking you now, as a favor, before you kick us to the curb, to just make sure you know what you are buying. I don’t want to see you make a mistake.”
Cain sat quietly and let Castellino think over what he had said. “You’re right, Cain. Since you took over our supply chain, you have delivered every single time. You, and the rest of the Hellhounds, have never given me reason to doubt what you are supplying me. If you think we are getting fucked, then we need to dig a little deeper.” Castellino paused and, when he spoke again, Cain could hear the amusement in his voice. “I sometimes forget that not all of you cowboys can be trusted.”
“Playing games with the customer is a great way to ruin a working relationship,” Cain said, putting as much conviction into his voice as possible. “That’s why we don’t do it. We only promise what we can actually deliver.”
“Yes. Yes you do. Thank you for bringing this to my attention. We have our own reputation to think about and I don’t need some swinging-dick cowboy screwing that up.”
“No sir. That’s why I contacted you when I couldn’t verify the Bulls’ supply.”
“Thank you, Cain. You have done me a great favor.”
Cain smiled, flipped the pen into the air, and caught it. Crisis averted, just like he told Thad it would be. “Taking care of the customer is what I do. You know that,” he teased.
Castellino’s laugh echoed from the phone. “Yes you do. Especially the last time I was in Dallas. We’ll be prepared to take our next scheduled shipment like normal until we can verify what the Blacktop Bulls are selling.”
“It will be here. Thank you Mr. Castellino.”
“Thank you, Cain.”
As soon as Cain disconnected, he dialed Thad’s number.
“Thad. Go.”
Cain grinned. Thad always answered his phone like he was mission control for NASA. “President Thaddeus Wilton, the noble and wise, your humble servant has news of great import!” he cried in his most dramatic voice. He was feeling good about himself having once again made chicken salad from chicken shit.
“Cut the shit, Rodgers. What do you want?” Thad growled playfully from the phone.
“I just hung up with New Jersey,” Cain continued in his normal voice.
“And?”
“And…I think it is all straightened out. I told him if he could buy those weapons at the price the Bulls are selling them, he should do so. But I also told him to make damn sure he knew what he was buying.”
“You’re that confident the Bulls’ deal is a scam?”
“I’m that confident. Nicolaus doesn’t know of anyone entering the game, and he would know. In fact, he told me if the deal was on the up and up, we should buy from the Bulls and sell them to him. He could buy them from us and sell them on, and still make a profit. It’s too good of a deal to be real, Thad.”
“Okay. Good to know. One of these days we’re going to have to deal with the Bulls. They never stop pushing.”
“Yeah. It may be time to slap them down again,” Cain suggested.
“Yeah. Or worse. Every time we kick their ass, they come back at us sooner. It’s only been a couple of years since the last time we fucked them up. I’ll send word that if they don’t cut this shit out, the next time we come at them, it will be for keeps.”
“It’s about time,” Cain mumbled into the phone.
“Listen to me, Cain, killing a person, even a Bull, is bad shit. It’s not how we operate.”
“Yeah, I know. But I get so sick of their shit all the time.”
“Yeah. Me, too. But we have you, and they don’t, so let ‘em try.”
Cain grinned at the compliment. “Does that mean I get something extra in my envelope this time?”
“Fuck no! I like you, but I don’t like you that much,” Thad teased. “Seriously, good job, Cain. You pulled our nuts out of the fire again.”
“Thanks, Thad,” Cain said, warming with his praise. “I do it for the club.”
“I know what you mean, brother. We all do. That’s why the Hounds kick ass.”