“Pavel, there’s a big shipment of Asif’s livestock headed your way. Make sure it doesn’t arrive.” He nods, not needing to be told that the cows he’ll be hijacking have up to a hundred pounds each of Asif’s cocaine carefully packed in their intestines. I turn to another member of the circle, an older man with a long beard, crazy eyes, and discolored teeth. His real name is Oleg, but everyone calls him the Cannibal due to his fondness for carving open the chest of every man he kills and taking a bite of his bloody heart. They don’t call him that to his face, of course. No one is that stupid.
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