Page 63 of Volatile Vice
“If there’s nothing else, Grandfather…”
“There is, actually,” he says. “I need you to go to Colombia.”
I cock my head slowly. “What for?”
His lip twitches. “That will be made clear to you soon enough.”
My instinct is to push him on this. To tell him he’s insane if he thinks I’m going to fly off to Colombia without even knowing what my assignment will be when I get there.
But then I think of that poor little girl. And how the man in front of me might be my only shot at giving her the help she needs.
I nod slowly. “Not a problem. I’ll make arrangements.”
He slides a portfolio across the desk to me. “Arrangements are already made. You leave this evening.”
I pull out the portfolio. Inside is an itinerary and an e-ticket receipt. Everything looks to be in order, except?—
“I’m going to be gone for amonth?” I say.
“That’s what it says, Vincent.”
I shove the portfolio back at him. “No way. I’m not going to be gone that long. Especially if you’re not even telling me what I’m going to be doing there.”
Grandfather folds his hands in front of him. “I’m afraid you don’t have a choice in the matter, Vincent. With Puzo’s demise, there are some loose ends to take care of, and you being out of the country will serve you well while the investigation into his death is going on. You’re going to go to Columbia as a representative of this family. You’re going to take care of the business Giacomo Puzo no longer can.”
I frown. “Puzo didn’t work for our family.”
A small grin cracks across his face. “No, but I want the piece of the pie he was trying to take. Plus…”
I groan. “What?”
“There’s some…cargo I need you to take care of.”
“You can ship your own damned drugs, Grandpa. And your own damned coffee beans for that matter. At least that’s legal.”
“This cargo isn’t drugs. Or coffee.” His expression remains unchanged.
My breath catches in my throat. “No. No way.”
“It’s your job, Vincent.”
I shake my head. “How were you ever talked into this, Grandfather? After nearly a century of this family business. Sure, we’re criminals, but we drew the line at people.”
He narrows his eyes. “So you’re saying it’s moral to bring drugs over the border and get people hooked. Be responsible for overdoses, the deaths of thousands. But it’s not moral to bring people across the border? People who are only looking for a better life?”
“And what better life do you plan to give them? Life in servitude.Sexualservitude, most likely.”
“A life where they’ll be well fed and taken care of,” he says.
“You’re the devil,” I say.
“Don’t even begin to lecture me on morality, Vincent,” he says. “There are no degrees of morality. There’s just simply morality and immorality.”
No.
Just no.
Therearedegrees. I have to believe that or I can’t live with myself and what I’ve done.