Read Powder Burn for Free Online Page B

please?”
    “My name is Jones, Morgan Jones.”
    “I’ll connect you now.”
    “Good morning,” he said, “I understand there are problems.”
    “Jesus Christ, it’s about time you called. The whole goddamn thing is unraveling. I don’t know what to do.”
    “Tell me.”
    “The shipments are all cockeyed. One week we can’t find an ounce. The next week I’m up to my ass in the shit. There’s cops and Colombians all over town. We can’t tell who to buy from. We don’t know what stuff is good. People are getting ripped off. Everybody’s nervous, and the customers are getting restless.”
    “It is only a temporary problem. It will be resolved. You may reassure the customers from me that the problems will be resolved.”
    “Reassure them from you? I don’t even know who the hell you are! How long do you expect me to run this kind of operation with a phone call every couple of months from somebody I don’t know?”!
    “As long as I tell you to. That is how we have operated in the past. And that is how we will continue to operate.”
    “No way. Things are very complicated; people are getting killed. We have to meet.”
    “No, my friend, we will not meet. You will do as you are told.”
    “I can’t. I—”
    “Would you rather go back to chasing ambulances? Or perhaps you would like the police to learn about how you are a criminal lawyer in every sense of the word.”
    “Now look, I didn’t mean…”
    “Order will be restored.”
    “How long, for God’s sake?”
    “A month, perhaps a little longer. I count on you to keep peace until then. Supplies may be tight.”
    He hung up and painstakingly lit the fresh cigar. Then he made the second call. It was to Bogotá, Colombia. He dialed direct, station to station, and this time he spoke Spanish.
    “Juan? This is Ignacio.”
    “How can I serve you?” There was sarcasm in the smooth, liquid Spanish that was the only thing about Colombia he admired.
    “Let us not play games. These are serious times.”
    “Of course they are serious. Your animals shoot my people in the streets. They kill gringos. They rob my ships; they kidnap my mules. That is not just serious. That is madness.”
    “I know, I know. But you must understand that it is not my people who do these things. It is what the gringos call the freelancers. They are everywhere; children. Anyone who can drive a boat or fly a plane. They are like swarming ants. I cannot respond for them.”
    “Which is why I put my own people in Miami. I must know who I am dealing with. I will not treat with children.”
    “That is something we can work out. There is plenty of room for both of us—you there, me here.”
    “I am not sure that I need you at all, Ignacio. I have the goods here. We are the factory—without us you cannot live.”
    “And without the distributors you cannot live. Your people come here like farmers, with cowshit between their toes. They do not speak English. They do not understand gringos. They do not even know how to make elevators work. All they know how to do is to steal and shoot.”
    “In time they will learn.”
    “In time the police and the customs and the DEA will be on every street corner with big deals and bad money. It will be impossible to sell anything.”
    From Bogotá came only static.
    “Look,” he continued, “we can work together. If you need a few people here to make sure things go well, that some merchandise is shipped north, that is no problem. It is only Miami that I care about.”
    It was a major concession, and he heard the man in Bogotá expel a long sigh. Relief? He pressed.
    “We need to dry up the freelancers and to arrange territories between us. It should not be hard if we are sensible.”
    “Very well. We can talk at least. Where shall we meet?”
    “I prefer somewhere neutral. Panama. I know someone there you would like. She is very special, very young.”
    “You certainly know how to tempt an old man, don’t you? Let me see…”
    He could