by Alan Lee
“So?”
“Yeah I don’t understand it either.”
Chapter 19
Tom Garrett didn’t look like a mobster. He looked like he sold insurance. Thin guy, thick head of hair gone white and combed to the side. Maybe fifty-five, easy smile. Dressed in a suit and tie, big gold Auburn University ring. Gold tie clip, gold cufflinks. His loafers had tassels.
Ronnie, Marcus, and I met him in Staunton, an hour north of Roanoke and two hours south of Alexandria, where he lived. He reserved the entirety of a restaurant called The Shack. It was small, it was red, and it looked like a shack. Built on sloping South Coalter, not far from downtown.
Marcus brought Fat Susie and Tom brought his own body guard. They stayed at the cars talking about things enormous and muscular men talk about. Me, probably.
He shook my hand in a friendly manner and said, “I’m trying to be professional tonight, Mr. August, but it’ll be a challenge. I’m a big fan.”
“Call me Mackenzie. And why’s that?”
“I watch the Gabbia Cremisi every year. A pack of us stream it live in my basement and place bets online. You had us glued. We screamed and shouted when the cot’damn lights went like you wouldn’t believe. Lights come back on and pow, there was the Prince, lying on the ground like he was dead. You won me seventy-five grand.”
Marcus Morgan made a grunting noise. “That’s it? I got more.”
Tom Garrett laughed, his face turning a little red and his eyes crinkling. “Thank God for the announcer, declaring you the winner, even as you fought in the crowd. Just a madhouse, am I right?”
“Provision from above,” I said.
He didn’t seem to hear. “I am absolutely attending the fights next year. The wife won’t go and I let that stop me in the past, but to hell with that, right? Was it fun? It looked fun, I bet it was a blast, right?”
I debated kicking Tom between the legs.
Marcus said, “Would be fun ‘sept we trying to save Mackenzie’s ass.”
“Oh he didn’t need any saving. What’d they call you, the Yankee, right? The Yankee had it the whole way. You still got the tattoo?”
Ronnie smiled. “He does and I adore the name.”
He laughed and winked. “I bet you do! Why wouldn’t you?”
“What kinda business are you in, Tom?” I asked.
“Bank fraud! And boy is the business booming. I know I don’t look like most of the other guys but I do my part. Well, I’ll stop acting like a fan now. Or I’ll try. C’mon on in—it doesn’t look much but it’s the finest dining this side of Richmond. Worth the trip.”
I grabbed the door. Marcus went first.
Tom kissed Ronnie on the cheek and said, “Miss Summers, always a treat,” and he followed Marcus.
Ronnie whispered to me, “I never slept with him. He’s a family man. So cool it.”
“Cool it?”
“Your hackles rose when he kissed me.” She smiled. “I liked it.”
“Liked the jealousy or the kiss?”
“I like you, now cool it,” she said and we went in.
The restaurant had rustic charm, decorated as though one ate inside a remarkably clean barn. We sat in the middle of the empty room and two servers brought us pimento cheese with crackers and smoked whitefish dip. Tom and Marcus ordered an Old Fashioned, Ronnie a white wine, and me a beer.
“I took the liberty of ordering everything on the menu, I hope that’s okay,” said Tom. He had taken off his jacket and he rolled up his sleeves. He was so frangible he’d break if I slapped him like I’d slapped Gordon. “Mackenzie, one more question and then I’ll relent, I promise—I gotta know, what happened in the dark with the Prince at the end?”
Ronnie placed her hand on my arm and squeezed. “In the dark, Mackenzie beat him senseless and stabbed him with the knife.”
It was a lie. But she knew I didn’t love the conversation and would soon beat Tom with his chair.
“Have you been paid yet?” he asked.
“In fact I have not. I wouldn’t blame them if they didn’t—we destroyed the hotel.”
Tom frowned and shook his head. “That doesn’t factor. No sir, that doesn’t factor a lick. I’ll look into it. I’ll take care of it immediately, Mackenzie, trust me.”
“Well thanks, Tom. But don’t get yourself into a shouting match with the evil men of the world. I met them and they’re unpleasant. It’s only money.”
He laughed and slapped the table. “It’s only money! Listen to you, still got your sense of humor, I’ll be doggone.”
Marcus, reading my thoughts, grinned. “Tom here, he’s about the money. Good ol’ boy from the south, brings in cash. He’s a big swinging dick with the Kings; not cause he’s a tough guy but because he’s smart.”
“What kind of bank fraud do you handle?” I asked.
He looked pleased at the question. “I only fish the deep end of the pond, right? I go after the credit and identities of billionaires and siphon it away, little by little. Some are so rich they never suspect a thing, the fat bastards. But listen, Mack, if those Camorrista pricks want to keep doing business with the Kings, they’ll pay the Gabbia Cremisi champion what he earned. I’ll look into it, leave that to me.”
Perhaps I’d judged Tom too hastily. Struck me as a real sweetheart.
We ate and more food came—salads and plates of short rib tartare and pork loins and pasta and guinea hen.
Tom ate his fill and brought out some papers. He passed them around for us to look at.
“I’ll try to keep this simple, I know I can be a bore with financial details. The property and assets of Veronica Summers are hard to quantify, but I did my best. Look at the itemized list and alert me if anything is missing. I estimated her expenses from the last three years and came up with an average of $563,500.”
Ronnie’s fork paused on her plate. “You’re kidding.”
“That’s enterprise wide, including things you never see, like…” He tapped his paper, indicating a column of numbers. “For example, fertilizer and taxes and interest and salaries and bribes and…you get the idea. This is based off paperwork submitted by Rueben Collier and Mr. Stokes and various bank records and receipts. Also I estimated revenue from the last three years and averaged it out to $2,480,100. Or at least, the expected revenue.”
Ronnie’s fork remained frozen. “Per year?”
“Yes. Two point four eight a year. Approximately.”
“Where is all of it?”
“The business is a mess, right? Some of it’s in a bank account. One in particular has four hundred thousand collecting dust and interest; Ruben makes deposits and withdrawals but you don’t, probably because you don’t know about it. Your late father was not an organized man, I believe, no offense and may he rest in peace. Some of it was poorly managed, some of it went to the Kings. As I said, that was the expected revenue, but the realized is less.” Tom leaned back in his chair and finished his cocktail. Another was brought. “I was against this sale to begin with. Why mess with a good thing? But after examining the fiscal details the past two days, I’ve changed my mind.”
“Why?” I asked.
“To be frank, the business isn’t run well. Too many players skimming, too much money unaccounted for, not efficient enough, you get the idea. All the parts are there to be a well-oiled machine, right? But the parts don’t connect effectively.”
“All the more reason I should sell,” said Veronica.
“I concur but it’s tricky,” he said.
“Why?”
“Because it’s you,” I said.
Tom nodded politely. “Because it’s her. And because it’s you, Mackenzie. Just about every sum’bitch I work with loves her. And just about all of them know about you. Hell, I’ll say it—you won the tournament and you keep killing our guys. You’re infamous. Kinda scary. I asked around before coming down. Even the Kings who like you, Mackenzie, think they’re better off with you dead.”
I said, “They’re ne
rvous about us getting out of the business entirely. Because once we’re free, they’ll have less control over things.”
Tom nodded. “You hit the nail on the head. You’re hotter than a Laramie parking lot.”
“We’re a loose end. I’m a loose end who is threatening to kill Darren Robbins and Ronnie’s got incriminating evidence on half of them.”
“You can see why the Kings prefer to be in business with you, rather than against you.”
I said, “What if I back down on my promise to kill Darren? Would that ease everyone’s mind?”
“It would help,” he said.
“Would if I killed him tomorrow and then we have this conversation again? Would that ease everyone’s mind?”
Tom looked pained.
“Are you really going to murder Darren?” Ronnie didn’t just look at me, she turned her whole body my direction. “That strikes me as wildly out of character.”
“Unless someone convinces me otherwise. One of us will kill the other soon and I prefer to kick off rather than receive.”
“But you’re no hitman. Nor a common thug.”
“Neither is the man threatening me.”
“Darren cancelled the hit,” said Tom.
“Darren’s a prick and a coward and he can’t exist for long with me roaming around. Could you? If I threatened you?”
“To be frank, Mackenzie, I’d have you aced, as they say. Even though I’m a big big fan.”
“Exactly. And that’s what Darren will do.”
Tom looked even more pained.
Ronnie said, “None of this changes the fact that I want to sell the marijuana operation.”
“Like I said, I’m in favor of the sale now,” said Tom. “But it’s tricky. On your end. Once you’re out, there’s less reason to let you live. That’s the thinking of some of my business associates.”
“The associates on whom she has no dirt,” I said. “Those who are under her threat feel differently, I imagine.”
Ronnie leaned forward. A candle on the table illuminated the underside of her jaw and neck, like a reverse shadow. “I’m done with it. Okay, Tom? I’m out. Let’s do the sale and you can tell those fat old men not to worry. I don’t want to blackmail, I don’t want to leverage my way into more power, I’m through.”
“I’ll pass the message to my cohorts but you know what they’ll say, Miss Summers.”
“They’ll grab their crotches and burp something about, ‘She’s out when we say she’s out.’”
“Ah, well, yes. That’s it.”
She smiled the way lions smile at mice. “It’s a fucking boys club. I know. And I was forced to play their game. But now I’ve got them by the balls. I have pictures and videos and audio and transcripts that’ll get half of them killed or locked away. I’m not here to play, I’m here to take my stuff and go home. They’ve got a week to promise we’re through or I release the incriminating evidence on Jerry Francis.”
Tom’s eyebrows rose. “Jerry Francis? You’ve got—? The Jerry? Wow. I didn’t, I didn’t know.”
Ronnie nodded. Only a little. Although the candle on the table remained static, the fire burning in her eyes took on greater heat. “Jerry the Tranny Francis. Tell him I called him that. My video will ruin him. In one week. And then every month after that, I release another. If I die, they all get released at once to the Washington police, to the FBI, and to the media. Tell them that, Tom.”
I leaned back in my chair and drank beer. Smugly.
Tom stood. Smoothed his tie and cleared his throat. He began sweating, tiny beads along the hairline. “One moment please. If you don’t mind.”
He went to the restroom.
I said, “He calling a cohort?”
Marcus nodded. Finished his Old Fashioned and beckoned for another. “Mmhm. Maybe two. Give them his impression of Summers’s threat.”
“He’s a weak man.” Ronnie’s spine was straight, her shoulders thrown back. “Can’t think for himself.”
Marcus nodded a little. “Tom don’t handle the violence. Just numbers. But he likes associating with those who do. A wimp? Yeah. Weak? Maybe not. More than he looks.”
Tom returned sixteen minutes later. Sat down and scooted his chair forward. “I think the Kings will respect your wishes, Miss Summers, on reflection. Darren Robbins is a bridge we’ll cross another day, am I right?”
“Yeah he is,” I said. “Looking forward to that bridge. It’s gonna be the best bridge.”
“I suggest we continue with transactional details concerning Miss Summers’s operation.” He cleared his throat again and shuffled papers, bringing his mind back to task. “Should we?”
Ronnie and Marcus both assented
“As I said, your operation should be bringing in 2.4 million. It isn’t, but it should. Having Marcus in charge should shore up the leaks. He’s excellent at this, after all. One reason I’m in favor of the sale? Our cut will enlarge.”
Without changing expression, Marcus toasted him with his new cocktail.
Tom continued, “We usually sell in the 2-4 EBIT range, and in this scenario I suggest the upper half because profit margins should increase. You wanted my professional evaluation, here it is. After examining the numbers, I propose a sale price of $8,425,000.”
Marcus nodded without comment.
In my head, I was already shopping for a new pair of sneakers. Mine were two years old.
“That’s too high,” said Veronica. I remained calm. “I’m not doing this for money, I’m doing this to get out. Marcus risked his life to save my husband just because I asked. I came here hoping Mr. Garrett would give me a number close to three million and, considering he exceeded the number, I’ll take three and a half.”
I debated telling her that if she took eight million I could upgrade my Honda Accord, but it didn’t seem the time.
Marcus said, “Summers, you—”
She reached for his hand. Squeezed. Even professional stoics and happily married men like Marcus Morgan get quiet when Veronica Summers touches them. She said, “It’s complex, Marcus. But I’m not interested in maximizing my potential profit and I’m not interested in haggling with you. I want you to have it because you’re responsible and you care about me and my husband and you care about Roanoke. In a perfect society we get rid of the drugs. Until then, it’s better if men like you handle them. Plus I’m putting every penny of it into a woman’s shelter. I’ve already picked out the building downtown. I’m taking care of girls. Prostitutes. I don’t care if they quit the job or not, that’s up to them. But I want to run a safe place they can stay. And three million is plenty.”
Tom looked pained, the poor creature. He did that often.
Marcus said, “Gotta be more than three, Summers.”
With her free hand she tapped the white table cloth, her red fingernail clicking firmly. “I am intentionally and willfully taking less. I am expressing to you and to myself what I think about money. I don’t need wealth. I want to help hurting women like me and this is enough to start.”
“I’ll give you six.”
Ronnie ceased her response even as she drew breath. I saw the conflict in her. Despite her speech, she liked wealth. A lot. She had several hundred grand hanging in her closet. This must be half killing her.
I whispered, “Take the six. Imma buy Nikes.”
“Shut up, August,” said Marcus. “I’ll buy you Nikes.”
“No, I’ll buy him Nikes. For the rest of his life. He married me, not you.”
Either way, I got new shoes. So all was well.
Finally Ronnie said, “I know myself, Marcus. That amount is too much. It’ll kill me.”
Marcus shifted in his chair. Glanced at the three of us. “I’ll give you two now. Cash. And then another million each of the next three years. Final offer.”
She made a cute face, drawing her mouth to one corner. Postulating. “Okay. Deal. And I’ll name the shelter The Marcus Morgan Home For Whores.”
“You do and I’
ll have to move. And take August with me.”
She laughed. He laughed. I laughed.
Tom looked pained.
Marcus dropped us off at my house late that evening. We strolled the sidewalk, her leaning against me. Her heels clicked with each footfall and I enjoyed it.
I stopped her on the front porch.
“You just turned down millions of dollars.”
“I know.” She made a slight groaning sound. “Don’t remind me. I still can’t feel my legs. I’ve wanted to be wealthy my entire life.”
“Do you know why you did?”
“Yes. I’m growing up, I hope. I’ve grown up enough to realize I’m not an adult yet, at least not one that functions well. And if I became rich, I’d spiral into a black hole I’d never get out of. You don’t give an idiot a license to practice law and you don’t give a mess like me millions of dollars. And here’s the best part, Mackenzie. I didn’t do it for you. I did it for me.”
“Wow.”
She pushed some blond hair from her eyes. “Right? How august and pious am I? I’m essentially the Pope.”
I grinned and got the door for her.
“Let’s go in and talk about money and pretend we already have it, because…” She smiled and I nearly tripped. “Because what could be more fun than that? Other than sex with one another. This is why I rejected it, because just the thought makes me tingle. I’ll need some way to launder the money so it looks legal. Two million at once is a lot, after all. Suspicious as all get out.”
Georgina Princess Steinbeck greeted us.
My attention drifted as Ronnie talked.
Laundering money.
Laundering money.
Hmmm.
A few chimes were ringing in my head.
But I had no idea why.
Par for the course.
Chapter 20
Courtney Farmer got on her knees when I entered her animal hospital the next morning, and she threw her hands out. Georgina Princess abandoned all pretense at self-possession and bounded to her, the leash pulling out of my grip. How do dogs intuitively know that vets love them?
