“Do you?” Milton waved a hand around the club. “How do you think I found you here? He’s always running his mouth. He said you owned the club.”

López sat up straight, put both elbows on the table, and stared at Milton. He was an imposing man, and Milton could see how he might be frightening. Milton, though, was not scared. He knew that he was getting closer to getting what he wanted.

“I would never be indiscreet or sell you out,” Milton said. “I did eighteen months for Jackson and I never said a word.”

“Even when you say he betrayed you.”

“Even then.” Milton nodded. “Where I come from, you don’t talk to the coppers. Never. No excuses. I’m sure it’s the same where you come from, too. Right?” Milton stopped now and held his tongue.

López raised his empty glass, and, on cue, a waitress came over with a fresh bottle and refilled his flute. López did not suggest that a glass be poured for Milton, and the bottle was deposited in an ice bucket.

“Go on,” López said. “I’m listening.”

5

“The way Jackson runs his business is shoddy,” Milton said. “I can do it better. He cuts your coke until there’s no quality left. I’d step on it, but not as much. I’d sell a better product so that customers would come back more often than they do with him. And I’d sell it at a higher price. That’s more product shipped and more money for you.”

The music thumped, the bass rattling the champagne flute. Milton glanced down onto the dance floor and saw Chase making his way through the crowd to the bar. He finished his orange juice and put the glass down.

“Is that why you are here? To make me an offer?”

“It is. I know you have the best product, the best network, the best distribution. I’m not interested in working with second-rate players. I’m ambitious. I only want to work with the best.”

“And I’m not interested in flattery.”

“I have a lot of money to invest.”

“Is that right?”

“I’d like to start with half a million dollars.”

López raised an eyebrow. “Half a million to start? That’s quite an offer.”

“Like I said—I’m ambitious.”