La Grandia Part 1
Matthew Ryan Fischer
Gideon moved into the penthouse suite. 66 was in the room to the
left, 47 in the room on the right. There both had live camera feeds from
throughout the hotel. They took sixteen-hour shifts, making sure they
overlapped at the beginning and ending of each other’s turn. Von had fifty men
on the floor and another fifty that traveled around the building. There were
Agents and bodyguards from each of the other families. 66 was pretty sure the
only people in the hotel besides staff were criminals and their men.
Seven wasn’t supposed to be on guard here, but he found ways to
check in several times a day. He still didn’t want to talk to 66, which was fine.
66 was had one job to do and he didn’t feel like being micromanaged.
Gideon took too many visitors for 66’s preference – the old woman’s
family, Seven’s family, members of the Japanese. You could search and search
for weapons, but anyone motivated to the job didn’t necessarily need a weapon. Any
object in the room would do. Hands and feet if given the time. Everyone was
searched and followed and surrounded, but sometimes all it took was a second of
distraction. 66 knew that too well. The Grandia brought back memories of a
woman who was allowed to die because he got sloppy. 66 didn’t care for Gideon
anywhere close to how he cared for her, but he didn’t want to add another body
to the count.
“Could you give us some space?” asked Gideon.
“I’m afraid I can’t.”
“A few feet. This is one of my oldest friends in the world.”
66 looked at Seven’s father. Maybe he was fifty. Perhaps a few
years older. But he was in shape. If he wanted, he could be at Gideon’s throat
in seconds. But the man wanted space, so 66 gave him an extra couple of feet.
The men spoke in whispered tones, but anyone in the living room
with sharp hearing would know some of what they were discussing. And the
microphones would pick it all up anyway. But if it made the client feel better,
the client got what the client wanted.
66 could hear them mention the old woman and her nieces. Gideon
thought they were old enough and that Seven’s father had trained them well. The
other man disagreed and thought the meetings should be delayed. They both
agreed the streets were getting more dangerous and their rivals needed to be
reminded who ran the town.
Talk like that scared 66. It was hard enough to protect a man with
a target on his back, but in a warzone, it became nearly impossible. 66 hadn’t
seen the fake 22 since their first meeting. He wondered where he was hiding. A
man like Gideon would have all his pieces in play. He was here in the building somewhere,
or very close nearby.
66 was surprised he saw so little of Agent Nine. From what he
gathered the Agents were supposed to protect every family boss, and settle
disputes, but Seven found his way here several times and he wasn’t a blood
relative. Nine was in the family yet Gideon kept him at arm’s length. Maybe it
was a situation like with 22. Gideon could easily have secrets he wasn’t sharing
with Von or the rest of his men.
When it was time to move to the conference room for a meeting of
family bosses, 66 was at the front of Gideon’s entourage along with Agent Nine.
47 and Von’s best were in the back of the group. They had to move travel one
hallway and eleven floors in an elevator, but it felt like a million.
The table was round, so no one could feel slighted or sit in the
main seat, but all eyes were on Gideon. If he wasn’t the most powerful boss he
sure seemed like the most dominant. It seemed like it this was his meeting, his
rules, with the others playing already written parts. The momentum was his,
until the conference room doors opened and The Queen was wheeled in in a
wheelchair, IV drips still attached. The room was surprised. Gideon was annoyed,
but no one looked angrier than the grandniece who had been invited to sit in
her stead.
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