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    An Albanian cartel based in Paris would meet them at a runway outside the city later that night. They’d agreed to an asking price of six million US dollars for the coke which was two better than Juarez. And Faris had also contacted Dominick, Henry’s imbecilic excuse of a nephew. They would retrieve the boy tonight from the UK before the British police could get hold of him.
    Apparently, he was eager to see his uncle face-to-face and finally explain himself after what he’d done.
    Standing in the sunshine by the jet, Henry grinned. Not only would he finally get rid of this crappy batch of coke for one and half times the original asking price, he would also have his idiot nephew brought before him, begging for his life. Business and pleasure, his two favourite things, killing two birds with one stone. Literally , he thought with a smile.
    So right there and then, he’d broken a lifetime of routine for the second time that morning and cancelled his trip to Juarez, opting to go to Paris instead. He knew he’d be pissing off a lot of guys in Mexico. These weren’t appointments that you just missed, but Henry knew how much power he wielded and figured he could ride the wave.
    Standing by the plane, he watched as his two enforcers loaded the last few bricks of cocaine into the jet. Once they’d stowed the powder the two giants reappeared, plodding down the steps and standing on the runway, awaiting further instruction.
    Ignoring them, the drug lord walked forward and grabbed the rail, clambering up the stairs himself. It took him ten seconds; after all, he was carrying over three hundred pounds of fatty adipose and bulk. Eventually he made it inside and collapsed in a seat that had been specially widened to accommodate him, sweating and breathing hard from the exertion.
    The two enforcers followed, taking their own seats. It was pleasantly cool, the air conditioning blasting out of the fans, cold, crisp and refreshing. Wiping sweat from his sunburnt scalp, Henry looked at the two giants sitting across the aisle as Faris secured the door.
    They were morons, both of them, more biceps than brain cells, but necessary muscle, considering the enemies Henry had. He’d been planning to get rid of them for a while; he liked to cycle his security, needing to keep them sharp and on their toes, eager to please and scared to fail. He'd noticed recently that these two were getting way too comfortable. And like the shitty coke, today seemed a good as time as any to ditch them. He decided there and then that neither of them would make it back from Paris.
    He glanced over at Faris who was finishing locking the hatch, his back turned. Truth be told, the man had proven to be a surprisingly worthy investment. Henry had taken him on just over a year ago from a recommendation after his predecessor had been shot and killed by a rival cartel. It had been a wise decision; Faris was good at his job and the business’s profits had increased impressively with him on board.
    But he asked too many questions and he was too intelligent for his own good. Henry knew there would come a day where Faris would challenge his position. It was inevitable, like two animals in the wild, the old leader and the young buck fighting for the right to head the pack. But he was ready for it. He’d waste the two meatheads in Paris then save Faris as a treat for when they arrived back in Riyadh.
    He smiled to himself, feeling that tickle of excitement in his gut whenever murder was an imminent prospect, and heard a whining noise as the engine of the jet started to fully warm up.
    The plane edged forwards to its starting position on the end of the runway, the long tarmac path stretching out ahead of them.
    Faris walked into the cabin and took a seat opposite Henry. He noticed a broad smile on the drug lord’s face.
    ‘We’ll be in Paris in five hours,’ he said, watching his boss.
    Without a response, Henry ignored him and closed his eyes.
    Thinking of cement