Johnny Mackenzie or "JohnnyMack" as he was known to his friends, parked his rental car in the lot of Joe's Restaurant and climbed from the less then cool interior into the even hotter midday August heat. The salty odor of the Pacific breezes stung his nostrils. JohnnyMack pulled the sunglasses from his face and rubbed his eyes. He still felt the aftereffects of jet lag. Shortly after his return from a personal mission in New York, Skinny Vinny had called and begged him to come to California.
"What's up?" JohnnyMack asked the Don's Right Hand Man.
"We don't have all the facts quite yet, but it was enough to draw the Don's attention."
Mention of the Don got JohnnyMack's interest. "Let's back it up a little. Tell me what you know."
Skinny Vinny told JohnnyMack about the drug raid at Joe's. Police had seized almost two hundred kilos of pure-grade opium. "And there were seven bodies," Skinny Vinny added.
"Any make on them?"
"Three were Asian, but local law enforcement is having one hell of a time putting names to faces."
"The other four?"
"Three Hollywood celebrities and Senator Simon Lipinski's daughter."
"Lipinski..." JohnnyMack murmured. "From California?"
"Yes, the same Lipinski who's been making such a big stink over human rights on cheap, exported labor. He also happens to be a close personal friend of the Don's family. Their kids went to high school together."
"That explains why the Don's involved."
"It gives us a possible reason for why someone might want to kill the girl, too," Skinny Vinny said. He paused and his tone softened. "She was just a college freshman, Johnny. Barely out of high school with her whole life ahead of her, and just like that it's snuffed out."
JohnnyMack could sense his friend's pain, even empathize with him, but he'd learned long ago he couldn't take those things personally. Vengeance, even exercised with righteous might, wasn't the sort of baggage a professional soldier could afford to carry--not that Johnny hadn't been tempted himself a time or three. He'd started his war against the other syndicates for the sake of vengeance but quickly converted it to a much higher call: duty.
"Lipinski may not be popular, but I doubt professionals would risk indiscriminate murder," JohnnyMack replied. "If the killers wanted to send him a message, there are easier and more effective ways."
"We considered that possibility," Skinny Vinny said. "Truth be told, it's the drugs that concern us the most."
"Yeah, that's the angle I think we should play. Myanmar's the place I think of for that volume of pure opium."
"And they have the distribution network to back it up." Skinny Vinny's tone became matter-of-fact. "If anyone could move it without drawing attention, the heavies in the Golden Triangle would be my first choice."
"Practice makes perfect. There are two main transshipment points in that area. China, via the Thai route, or straight out of Myanmar. Myanmar still runs the major action, near as I recall. I'd say we start there," JohnnyMack said.
"I'll make some calls to our DEA contacts, see what I can come up with as far as the current atmosphere. We'll make the travel arrangements here. You can expect Jack there within the hour."
"So soon?" JohnnyMack asked.
Skinny Vinny chuckled. "I already knew you'd say yes."
So four hours later JohnnyMack stood before the Don's villa in a cool summer suit with no tie. A fedora perched on his head, and the Colt .45 rode in a canvas shoulder rig beneath his left arm.
JohnnyMack entered the cool villa, and a maid greeted him. She sported an enviable California tan, and her blond hair was short. Her clear blue eyes immediately locked on JohnnyMack's pistol. He buttoned his jacket and the maid relaxed some.
"Johnny Mackenzie. I'm looking for the Don."
"Do you have an appointment?" the young lady asked him in a brisk, judicious tone.
"Not exactly, but I'm sure he's expecting me," JohnnyMack replied. It didn't exactly constitute a direct answer to the maid's question, but it wasn't entirely untrue, either. JohnnyMack's experience in role camouflage had taught him middle-of-the-road tales always sounded the most believable.
"Maybe not, but just a moment," she replied, and reached for a telephone.
JohnnyMack turned to look out the glass doors and tuned out the maid's conversation with whoever picked up at the other end. He couldn't have cared less about their internal bureaucracy. JohnnyMack had come to find out about the death of an innocent college girl, and partly because his friend had asked for his help.
"The Don will be with you in a moment, sir. Would you like something to drink while you wait?" the maid asked. Her voice had lost much of its edge; someone had obviously instructed her to show him the first-class treatment.
JohnnyMack requested a mineral water. The maid smiled and inclined her head, mumbled something, then turned to a compact refrigerator. She produced the glass of water on a tray a moment later and presented it to him. He took a sip and nodded his thanks.
The Don came around the corner of the hallway to JohnnyMack's left. He strode with confidence, but the suit didn't quite hide the curves of his large, lean form. He wore his coal-black hair brushed back at the sides, but the oval face looked mature. He projected the air of a man in charge, and JohnnyMack immediately pegged him as a pro through and through. This wouldn't be easy.
"JohnnyMack, I have need of your services," he said, extending his hand.