America's Galactic Foreign Legion - Book 5: Insurgency by Walter Knight Page A

sense?”
    “We both bomb people,” said David Torres. “So
don’t talk to me about morals. Besides, I’ve seen plenty of spiders
down at the Angry Onion Tavern snorting blue powder. Phil Coen says
the illegal drug trade is ten percent of New Colorado’s gross
national product. That is billions of dollars.”
    “What?” asked Desert Claw. “It cannot
possibly be that much.”
    “I’ve seen Saviano Juardo at the Angry
Onion,” said Torres. “The bikers brag that he brings in blue powder
every weekend. I’m going to offer Juardo our protection for the
entire New Gobi Desert.”
    “What if Juardo refuses your offer?” asked
Desert Claw. “He does not need us. What about the Hell’s
Angels?”
    “I’ll make Juardo an offer he cannot refuse,”
said Torres. “Have you seen those Hell’s Angels slobs? They’re fat
and weak. We can do a better job of protection than they can, any
day of the week.”
     
    * * * * *
     
    Torres and Desert Claw stood at the bar in
the Angry Onion Tavern, watching Saviano Juardo strutting about
like a rooster. Hell’s Angels bouncers kept drunks away from
Juardo’s table as he discussed business with several Hell’s Angels
leaders.
    Since Saviano Juardo took over the Family’s
business after his Uncle Rudy’s death, he expanded into the New
Gobi. The potential for growth looked good. Immigrants arrived
every day. Saviano Juardo claimed his La Cosa Nuova – ‘The New
Thing’ – organization was meaner and leaner than the old-fashioned
La Cosa Nostra. He proudly traced his family line back to Camorra,
Italy, and to New Orleans, Louisiana. Juardo boasted he came from a
family of innovators.
    Juardo went to the restroom alone. After all,
he had nothing to fear in this biker bar, among friends and
business associates. However, insurgents were waiting. They tasered
Juardo, bound him, and stuffed him through a window, out to the
parking lot. Torres and Desert Claw drove Juardo in a van to a safe
house on the edge of town for a private conversation.
    “Do you have any idea who you are messing
with?” asked Juardo, angrily. “I am Saviano Juardo, Boss of Bosses.
You had better let me go, or you will draw heat like you have never
imagined.”
    “Do you have any idea how painful it will be
if I cut off your testicles?” asked Desert Claw, drawing a razor
and looming over the wise guy.
    “Okay, I get the picture,” said Juardo. “We
can work something out. What is this all about? Money? I have
plenty of money. Is this just a shakedown?”
    “We are the Fist and Claw,” boasted Torres.
“This is about you selling drugs in our territory without our
permission or the benefit of our protection.”
    “I have an arrangement with the Hell’s Angels
for protection,” said Juardo. “They have always been the local
muscle. Do you really want to mess with the Hell’s Angels?”
    “After you left, we bombed the Angry Onion
Tavern,” said Torres. “The Hell’s Angels have been scattered and
told to leave New Gobi. We are your new business partners. We not
only will handle protection, but we will also assist in
distribution on both sides of the MDL.”
    “Both sides?” asked Juardo. “How can you do
that?”
    “The Fist and Claw travel freely throughout
the entire New Gobi Desert,” said Desert Claw. “Soon we will go
global.”
    “If you have that kind of reach, we can
certainly do business,” said Juardo, greedily. They shook hands –
and claw. “But you had better be able to deliver. Talk is
cheap.”
    David Torres turned to Desert Claw. “We just
became narco-insurgents,” boasted Torres. “Do you know what that
means?”
    “Ka-ching!” answered Desert Claw. “Show me
the money, ka-ching!”
     
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Chapter 12

    David Torres entered Walmart, looking for new
leather gear for dirt-bike riding. As he passed an ATM, a voice
called out, “Hello, David. How are you, this fine morning?”
    Torres stared at the ATM. There was no one
else