Under the early afternoon sun that seemed too close, the air in Miami was oppressive.
Over the smell of trash and someone cooking something spicy nearby, the odor of too many people who hadn’t washed in too many days permeated the streets, leaving Chase Carnes hoping he’d have time for a shower before his flight. He stood outside a small, three-story brick building that served as the base of operations for Juan Escobar, one of the American cocaine industry’s heaviest hitters.
Glancing up at the grimy windows, he bent and tied his left shoe, making sure that the only weapon he’d take in with him, a two-foot strand of piano wire, was secure around his left ankle, before he straightened and walked purposefully inside.
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