Bounty Hunters: 03 Stay Hungry (15 page)

Mario would love picking the man's brain. He didn't want, or need, a mentor. Very soon Mario would be close to one of the wealthiest men on earth. Money was power, and ensured control. Mario wouldn't be one of those
idioti
who lost his fortune because his government didn't know how to maintain a budget. Thinking globally was the right move. Angela's father was a smart man to do the same and knowing his secrets would be advantageous as Mario worked his way to the top.

If Angela had lied to him, she'd dishonored him. No
puttana
anywhere would ever believe she was smarter than Mario Mandela.

If Angela was lying and her father was Huxtable, Mario would have to give her credit for being one smart bitch. Fabricating a lie that would grab Mario's attention and appeal to him to the point where he dwelt on the lie more than trying to verify it was fucking impressive. He would learn the truth, though, and soon.

Mario headed out the side door of the garage and followed a brick path to one of his outbuildings. Right now, there were other matters to deal with. Marco chased after him as if he were the family dog, eager to stay close to his master in case he might get a treat.

"Where is Bobby?" Mario stopped and did an about-face fast enough that Marco almost tripped over his own feet.

"I'm not sure." Marco took the necessary steps backward to get out of Mario's space but stuttered and wrung his hands like an old woman as he searched Mario's face. Marco looked worried. "He might be in the kitchen or he could be in the stables. Am I in charge of him, too?" Marco brightened with his last question, looking hopeful.

"Find him." Mario ignored Marco's question. He needed to plot out the next couple days, and wanted someone with half a brain to take instructions. "Send him to me." Mario left Marco standing on the walk and headed to the outbuilding.

Bobby Anderson was a bum. Over a year ago Mario had run into the man scrounging through a Dumpster. Mario wouldn't have believed a human being could stink so bad until he met Bobby. The moment he saw Mario's limo, Bobby had started pestering Mario for a job. He had promised to do anything, no chore would be beneath him, if Mario would give him a hot meal and a place to sleep. Mario had agreed to Bobby's terms. The man had proven to be a damn good employee.

Mario pressed the buttons on the security pad outside the metal door to the large outbuilding, then let himself inside. Reaching for the light switch on the wall, he flooded the large room with fluorescent light.

"Army, stand at attention!" he barked, his voice echoing off the high ceiling as he gave the order.

Ten men and women leapt to their feet and stared straight ahead. Mario would have to hand it to Evelyn, her slave juice was impressive. His army had come to attention when he'd ordered them to do so before, but they had glared at him with hatred. Now they stood tall and proud. There was no hatred, no resentment. None of them cared that they were in cages. They had no concerns at all. He was the only one doing the thinking in this unit.

"Our first battle starts tomorrow," he informed them, not bothering to raise his voice this time. It didn't matter whether they heard him or not. Tomorrow morning they would fly out, their first attack being here in America. The game was the most thrilling venture Mario had ever embarked upon. The stakes were high, but winning would give him absolute power and control. Every leader on this planet would answer to him. And all it would take was strategically planting his army and training them to kill without hesitation. He smiled at the men and women standing in their cages. There was no way Mario could lose.

"Mr. Mandela."

Mario couldn't help smiling. He'd told Bobby in the past to call him Mario. He turned, facing the man, who was probably close in age to Mario. He knew everything there was to know about Bobby. The man had worked at a plastic factory straight out of high school, held on to the job for ten years, and lost it when the factory laid off almost all their workers. Bobby had tried to find another job. When Mario met him that night a year ago, Bobby had lost his car, his apartment, and his girlfriend. To this day Bobby would solemnly tell Mario he didn't have the rank to call Mario by his first name. Bobby was old-school. His loyalty and admiration held more weight with Mario than all the blood his family could offer.

"Bobby, how are you doing tonight?" Mario used the same soft voice he'd used on his army a moment ago.

"Very good, sir. How are you?" Bobby didn't look at Mario's army. He didn't suggest he knew anything about Uncle Petrie's death. The man stared directly at Mario, appearing calm and without a care in the world, and his question sounding sincere.

"I can't complain." Mario continued smiling. It was a line his father always had used and when he'd been alone with Mario had explained that complaining never got a man anywhere, but action did.

"I can't complain, either." Bobby moved his hands behind his back, his blue eyes sparkling and his tousled sandy blond hair making him almost attractive. Recently, Bobby had taken to shaving every day, which impressed Mario even more. Before, with the unkempt whiskers, Bobby had looked like a bum. Now, give the man a suit and he'd probably pass as a businessman. "What can I do for you, sir?"

Bobby never waited to be told what to do. If he wasn't doing something, he asked for a task. Again, another admirable trait.

"Our army looks good." Mario had a good feeling about including Bobby in planning his attack.

"Thank you, sir. They are shipping out to Kansas City in the morning, correct?"

"Yes, they are." It was a small attack, and one easily won. The bombing of the building in the midwestern city wouldn't garnish much attention. The winner of the attack, the one who succeeded in getting their army to perform the attack first, and successfully, would move on to the next battle in St. Louis, then Minneapolis and after that, Dallas. The final American battle was in D.C. Once all twelve buildings, each in a different city, were blown up, the federal government would pay heed and listen. It was rather ironic the game was set up to conquer the United States first. Mario would have chosen the Middle East or several European countries. He didn't mind owning the U.S., though. It was a gluttonous nation but powerful nonetheless.

As if reading Mario's thoughts, Bobby also smiled. "They will be petty attacks at first. But your army is top-of-the-line. I'm very confident, sir, that you'll win this country within a week of playing."

"I am, too." Mario laughed along with Bobby. "I need you to take care of some things for me tonight, though," he added, shifting gears and turning from Bobby.

"Anything you say, Boss," Bobby offered, the smile still in his tone.

"I know."

Mario walked between the cages where each of his men and women still stood perfectly straight and at attention. They would remain that way all night if Mario didn't tell them to lie down and sleep, which they would need to do soon. The slave juice rewired their brains. Mario wasn't sure how the drug worked, and honestly he didn't care. He had tested it to his satisfaction while in California. As perfect as the drug was, humans were very flawed. Run them into the ground and they would collapse. Several of the game members had tried using slave juice on their army and had made that mistake, which inevitably had wiped out their army and forced their elimination from the game. Mario had stepped up and was now a player on the board game. He would go to any means to win.

Mario wrapped his fingers around one of the bars to his hot little
puttana
's cage. She stood motionless, staring straight ahead with large, dark brown eyes. Her thick, black hair was as long as Angela's although his
puttana
was much younger, barely legal. She was the tenth member of his army, and definitely the youngest.

"My pretty little
puttana
" he sung under his breath as he wagged his fingers in between her cage bars. His dark-skinned
buena
simply stared at him. "Do you remember committing murder, my pet?" he whispered, leaning closer to the cage bars.

"What?" Bobby asked.

Mario shook his head. "Nothing. Just having a conversation with one of my soldiers."

Bobby chuckled. "She's hot as hell."

"Yes, she is. Maybe after you take care of a matter for me, you can spend some time with her. We can order the rest of our army to all watch," he suggested, and caught Bobby grinning. "It's always work before play, though."

"Of course." Bobby nodded at the young woman standing at attention in the middle of her cage. "But shouldn't you enjoy the
signorina
first?" he asked.

It was strong proof of loyalty when a man understood his lower rank and assumed his boss should enjoy the spoils of war instead of him.

"She's a bit too young for me," Mario said, looking at Bobby. "Now a younger man like you--"

It was probably the first time Bobby had ever interrupted Mario, although he did it with laughter. "You know as well as I do we're about the same age," Bobby said, still chuckling.

"We might be at that." Mario left his
puttana
and patted Bobby's arm as he started toward the outside doors. "I want you to go up to Uncle Petrie's room. Box up all of his things. Maybe we'll donate them to charity. Let me know if you find anything valuable, though."

"Yes, sir."

"While you're up there, the computer is opened to an article about a local detective. I want you to take a good look at the teenage girl in the picture on that page and tell me what you think."

"Is there something wrong with her?" Another quality about Bobby: he admitted when he was confused. Not once had he made a mistake while working for Mario. It was because Bobby didn't take on an assignment without completely understanding all parameters.

"Not at all. Just tell me what you think after looking at the picture."

"Yes, sir."

"That's all."

Bobby nodded and left Mario alone with his army. Mario walked over to the cage where a young police officer he had abducted from right here in Chicago stood with her hands relaxed at her sides. "Are you ready to help me conquer the world,
mi amore
?"

"Yes," she said, her tone breathy.

Mario laughed. She would have agreed if he'd asked her to take off all her clothes and do cartwheels.

"Which one do you think is hotter?" Mario asked the
giovane
, who was in the cage between the cop and the young
puttana
.

Each cage was six by eight feet and six feet in height. He had them built into the outbuilding; his intention at the time was to make it impossible to break out of them. The slave juice took away that worry. Mario probably could leave all the cages unlocked and none of his army would go anywhere. As effective as Van Cooper's drug appeared to be, Mario didn't take chances.

The
giovane
glanced at the cop, since Mario had gestured to her. He looked at Mario and said nothing.

"Does not compute?" Mario sneered, then laughed. "
Idioti
."

Slave juice didn't allow whoever was under its influence to reason. Instructions had to be kept as simple commands. Mario had taken the time to work with his army while they were on slave juice. He had experimented with many different forms of commands. And although it was likely his competition on the board game would assume slave juice would make their army into obedient slaves, and they wouldn't take the time to confirm just how it worked, Mario was prepared for anything the other players might bring on.

"At least you're a sexy
piccolo cogna
when you stare blankly at me with those large, pretty eyes of yours," Mario said as he walked over to stand in front of his young
puttana
. Her eyes weren't too large for her oval-shaped face. She blinked once, flashing long thick black lashes at him. Mario thought he had detected a bit of a fiery nature the day he'd given her a big, friendly hug at the airport before injecting her with slave juice.

It had been as easy as he'd been told it would be. The syringe and needle were smaller and more slender than a pen. Coming up behind the
signorina
as she waited for her luggage, Mario had wrapped his arms around her. He'd hugged her and slid the needle into her pulsing vein at the side of her neck. He had told her to hush and she hadn't cried out, or even uttered a word. The slave juice was one hell of a fast-acting drug. He hadn't wasted any time escorting her out of the airport and had intentionally kept his head lowered or his back to all security cameras he had noticed.

"How much of your brain is still working?" Instead of telling her to move toward him, Mario reached into the cage, took her arm, and pulled her up against the bars.

The young
signorina
hadn't been the
donna
Mario had been told he would receive, and that he'd paid dearly for. There were those who were very skilled at finding men and women who were young, healthy, in good shape, and wouldn't have anyone looking for them if they suddenly disappeared. It was unbelievable how many traveled, having told no one they'd left their homes, and had no one waiting for them at their new destination.

Mario paid $500 on the delivery of an acceptable man or woman. The people he contracted to handle supplying his army worked hard for their money. With this particular purchase for a woman arriving at the Los Angeles airport, his contact had found a newly divorced lady flying out of Mexico City into L.A. At the last minute she was a no-show. His contact was on a different flight, intentionally arriving at a different part of the very large airport.

It wasn't until after his contact landed, and had a signal on his cell phone, did he learn of the no-show and was able to call Mario. The
donna
had fallen through but would a young
signorina
, a college student traveling all the way from Buenos Aires, do instead?

The young
signorina
spoke and understood English and was very conversational with the stewardess, explaining that she would have to find another flight after landing in Los Angeles. Her half-sister had a very busy job and hadn't yet confirmed when she would be able to meet. Since the last time the
signorina
had checked, her half-sister hadn't yet read her e-mail telling her that she was coming to visit. All that told Mario was that his little
puttana
wasn't shy and was able to strike up a conversation with a stranger. She had spoken openly enough that his contact had overheard and discovered she was a perfect candidate for the game.