Free Blank Slate (A Kyle Jackle Thriller) by Zack Hamric Page A

two Ukrainian girls from an outlying village were doing their best to provide him an unforgettable evening of pleasure. “Girls, you’re so lovely,” he said as he stroked the lush blonde hair of the one who had momentarily disappeared between his thighs. “I should take you to Europe and introduce you to my friend who owns the biggest modeling agency on the continent. You will be famous!”
    That was how it started, eight years and several thousand girls ago. His business had spread like wildfire through Italy and now the US. The demand for beautiful, long legged Russian girls to work the massage parlors, strip clubs, and brothels seemed to be limitless. Popov looked around his luxurious penthouse on Fisher Island and took a self-satisfied puff on one of his hand-rolled Cuban cigars. Just one additional benefit of working with his Columbian partners.
    He met the Columbians a couple of years before under somewhat unfortunate circumstances when they tried to muscle in on his action at the strip clubs in South Florida. After he left a couple of their representatives chopped into small pieces and scattered all over town, he called Escobado, the cartel’s top man in Florida. What came from that meeting was a working arrangement that benefited both parties-the Columbians were able to move drugs and launder their cash through the strip clubs and Popov got a cut of everything.
    Things had gone very smoothly until the past two months when the killings started. He had already lost three men in South Florida, Escabado two. He would have suspected Escabado of having a hand in it, but there was no percentage in that action. He couldn’t think of any other organization that would try to challenge him on his own turf. And where the deaths of the clients fit in was a complete mystery. Someone was definitely trying to send a message-he saw with his own eyes what was done to the corpse of his top enforcer and had immediately tightened his own security measures. In general, life was good-except for another annoying problem that had come up in Miami this week.
    His reverie was interrupted as he saw a golf cart, the primary mode of transportation on the island, arrive from the direction of the ferry. He took a moment and poured another Scotch while he waited for Dimitri to come in from the garage. Popov could hear the hum of the elevator and the hiss of the doors as they opened onto the main floor of the penthouse.
    “Dimitri, my friend! How are you this evening,” Popov said robustly clapping him on both shoulders as he emerged from the elevator.
    “General,” Dimitri began speaking with the downcast eyes of a condemned man. “ I am very sorry to disturb you, but we need to speak about what has occurred this evening.”
    “Dimitri, why so gloomy? I have already heard reports of what transpired this evening. A minor setback, nothing more,” Popov said with a dismissive wave.
    “This Kyle Jackle is at most a minor annoyance to us. When he first was introduced by our friend in Italy as someone who could help us with our overabundance of cash in Florida, we had no way to know that our Camorra friend had been turned by the CIA. That problem has already been resolved. Would you care for a cigar?” Popov said extending the box.
    Dimitri’s hand shook as he removed a fragrant cigar from the richly carved humidor. He remembered well how Popov had solved a similar problem a few months before in Naples. “We are looking everywhere for him. He is like a cat with nine lives-we will find him and kill him.” Dimitri said earnestly leaning forward toward Popov.
    “I’m sure you will,” said Popov. “In the meantime, there have been serious errors and someone has to pay for them. Wouldn’t you agree?”
    Dimitri warily nodded his head as Popov smiled a wolfish grin and slid the cigar cutter toward him. “ I just need this much,” he indicated holding his thumb and forefinger apart. “To help keep you focused on the task at