Deception

by Aleatha Romig

  While Davis waxed eloquently, the committee seemed enthralled with his answers. Step by step, he shared figure after figure, effectively painting a completely inaccurate picture. I pulled my phone from my pocket and quickly took notes.

  This was why I needed to be here—to hear exactly what was being said, the lies our side needed to combat.

  As Senator Higgins finished his questions, the committee called an end to today’s testimony.

  Severus stood and turned toward the galley. When he did, his head moved back and forth in rapid succession. As he did a double take, our eyes met.

  I nodded, standing with the others in the crowd.

  “He looks surprised to see you,” Isaac whispered from behind me.

  I agreed. Perhaps I’d assumed wrongly earlier. Perhaps the instigator of the hit was standing at the front of the room. Perhaps Davis had anticipated my being in a morgue in New York City, instead of at the hearing.

  “I’m going to speak with him,” I replied, unwilling to walk away. Rule number twenty-seven of Oren Demetri’s decrees to live by—never back down from a challenge. The statute had been good to me during my MMA years.

  “Mr. Davis,” I said, standing tall and addressing him as soon as he stepped from the well. “I couldn’t help but notice that you were looking my direction.”

  “Mr. Demetri.” He nodded. “I suppose I didn’t spot you earlier. I thought you might not make it.”

  I shrugged. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world. I found your testimony… what is the right word? Entertaining.”

  “I don’t think that’s the right word. Enlightening would be more appropriate.”

  “To-may-toes, to-mah-toes.”

  “Hardly.”

  He sounded less than amused with my assessment. “My father said that the two of you had a nice meeting a month ago. I’m sorry I missed it.”

  Davis’s brows rose. “I’m surprised Oren bothered to mention it. The exchange was rather uninformative. Perhaps the two of us could make more progress?”

  With my lips pressed together I nodded. “I’ll need to check my schedule. I’m always interested in hearing the plights of others.”

  “Plights, Mr. Demetri? My clients are hardly enduring plights. As you may have heard during my testimony, the bill will benefit everyone.”

  “Everyone? I suppose that’s a matter of opinion.”

  “As long as it’s the opinion of the committee, that’s all that matters.”

  “Thankfully, today was only the first day of testimony.”

  He nodded. “And you plan to stay in DC for the remaining testimony?”

  “I do.”

  “Then we should talk…” He looked around the emptying room. “…perhaps in a more private location?”

  “I look forward to it,” I said as I stepped back, allowing him to pass.

  Isaac remained near the back of the room, now closer to the door. As I followed Davis, Isaac waited and exited behind me. Once we were in the hall, he whispered, “Shall I get the car?”

  “I’m not in a hurry. I’d like to talk to Carroll.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  MY COSTLY SUITE was filled with all the amenities: a bar, a living room, a scenic view of the Washington Monument, currently lit up against the night sky. Though I couldn’t see it from my room high in the sky, I knew that just west of the bright white-illuminated monument, beyond the reflecting pool, sat our sixteenth president. Abraham Lincoln presided over the district in the throne-like chair, day after day, overlooking the ramifications of his decisions.

  Over a hundred and fifty years later.

  “What do you think, Abe? Are you happy with what you see?” I sneered at my own negativity.

  He’d made historic decisions that changed our country forever. Without his insight, America would be a different place. A simple man from the Midwest, born in Kentucky and raised in Indiana, he grew to adulthood in Illinois. It wasn’t the résumé of a great leader, yet history said otherwise. And yet after everything President Lincoln accomplished, he’d succumbed to the fate that had tried to take me out just this morning.

  He’d been assassinated.

  The idea sent a cold chill down my spine.

  Assassinated.

  Shot.

  Killed.

  The difference, as I saw it, was that Mrs. Lincoln hadn’t been a possible victim.

  I needed to know who the intended recipient of the bullet was.

  Me or Charli?

  After seeing the look on Davis’s face, I believed it was me. But it could have just as easily been Charli. She was now my weak link, the one I’d sacrifice anything for. For that reason she needed protection.

  This wasn’t my first personal brush with death. The grim reaper and I were old friends. Before he took Jo, I had my own near miss with him. The final result of that encounter was much more painful than what Charli and I’d experienced this morning.

  It was the night I found myself staring across the octagon at my cousin Luca Costello.

  Family.

  From the time I was old enough to understand, my parents told me that family was important. Luca was the son of Vincent Costello, my mother’s cousin. She and Vincent were close. My grandfather died young, and she and Vincent had been raised like siblings by his parents, Carmine and Rosa. When Luca and I were children, we’d played in backyards and parking lots all over Brooklyn. Together we were little shits who had one another’s back. After we moved to Rye, I rarely saw Luca. Nevertheless, kick-the-can in some back alley was a far cry from the MMA octagon.

  When that night came, I was “Nox” Demetri, MMA champion. In my short career I was the youngest contender to accumulate so many wins—in points and knock outs—more than anyone else in the Newark area.

  The MMA establishment was on my side. The organizers of the fight club in Jersey had made a fortune on me.

  The thing about MMA was that it was a crapshoot. I never knew who’d step into the octagon with me. I was listed as the headliner—but not in public record. It wasn’t like the fight club had a banner flying behind a plane on the Jersey shore or even a lighted placard outside the gym that was more of a warehouse.

  Word of mouth was the means of broadcast.

  Nox Demetri, undefeated MMA champion. It drew the best opponents.

  Cocksuckers lined up, begging and pleading with the organizers for a chance to take me down. That was what I did—NYU during the day and then I’d cross the bridge to Newark and fight at night. My parents were done raising me. They were done with one another. Oren was busy screwing everything in a skirt and making backroom deals to better the Demetri name. And my mother spent her time in Rye finally coming out of the oppression of twenty years wasted on him. I was happy for her. Him, I didn’t give a shit.

  MMA started as a pastime and grew into my own rebellion. I knew what I was doing. I knew who I was making money for. It was my own version of Oren Demetri’s deals.

  I’d heard my parents’ warnings. I knew about the neighborhoods and my mother’s family name. But I’d never been a part of it. Especially after we moved. That didn’t mean I didn’t know.

  By doing what I was doing, where I was doing it, I was accomplishing two things: I was making the Demetri name known for me, not Oren, and I was screwing Oren’s backroom deals at the same time. The underground world of MMA included families and cartels and all kinds of people who my father would rather me not know.

  Fuck him.

  At twenty I thought I was immune. That was until I saw Luca and Vincent and I knew.

  I’d been making my name known and bringing a fortune to the wrong people.

  I understood…

  Instead of being in college like I was, Luca worked his father’s crews, running some and second-in-command on others. At barely twenty, being the son of the head of the family, Luca had a reputation for following orders. I’d heard the rumors and seen the news. Luca was proficient at eliminating problems. Guns, knives, or his hands were all o
ptions. He’d already beaten one murder charge and had another one pending.

  My cousin had willingly done what I hadn’t wanted to do—follow in his father’s footsteps.

  Vincent, Luca’s father, wanted my involvement in the MMA enterprise to stop. That night he was present, ringside, to be sure it came to an end. I just wasn’t sure if he was there to watch a warning or a hit.

  My father’s admonition came back to me, his anger at my pastime. His insistence that I do something else, that I have more respect for my name and where I came from. I hadn’t listened.

  The moment Luca’s eyes met mine a sense of dread washed over me like I’d never before felt—especially, in the octagon. When I turned back to Vincent, I knew there was going to be a beat-down and that Luca had been sent to teach me a lesson.

  I was good at fighting, the best at mixed martial arts, but death wasn’t my goal.

  The hit they had planned wasn’t a clean shot from a gun.

  What they had planned wouldn’t be fast and painless.

  Instantly I understood that what I’d done as a purposeful disgrace to my father had farther-reaching repercussions. I was a Demetri, but I was also a Costello. I wasn’t sure if Vincent had planned this solely for me, or if it was meant to hurt Oren, too. All I knew with some certainty was that I was about to be bludgeoned to death before hundreds of witnesses.

  Three rounds, five minutes per round.

  Normally the fight was stopped when the injuries got to be too much. Still, I knew in the pit of my stomach as Vincent stared at the organizer that no one would step in. No one would stop what was about to happen.

  Back in my hotel suite, over ten years later, I closed my eyes and pushed away the memory of the blood and gore. The sound of bones crunching beneath my fists, the crumbling as my fist contacted bone and cartilage. The eerie realization that my bones were breaking too.

  In a sadistic way, it was addicting to be the perpetrator.

  Crunch.

  The sound a person made as he expelled the breath he needed to continue his involuntary functions. Somewhere between a ‘whoof’ and a ‘sigh.’ During my time in the octagon, I’d become hooked on the pain and anguish.

  Receiving it in greater measure wasn’t as exhilarating.

  I survived. Luca survived.

  Oren had appeared sometime during the fight. My memory wasn’t clear. But as I recovered, I wisely decided to heed his warnings.

  Vincent gave me a choice: I could continue to do what I’d grown to love, the carnage and destruction, but instead of doing it for my own name, I would do it as Luca did it—for family. Or I could disappear from that world and have my freedom.

  Everything came with a price.

  Though I hated to admit it, I knew that somehow I owed that freedom to my father. I still don’t know the price he paid, but in order to maintain it, my duty was to step away from MMA and never look back, and to do my part to make Demetri Enterprises a success—a reputable success.

  That incident helped me understand that not everything Oren had told me were lies. I never wanted to admit that he’d actually worked hard to get where he was, but he had. My father had worked both sides of the business world and made Demetri as legitimate as he could. As I healed I vowed that I’d be the one to take it further, seeing for the first time how, in many ways, his hands had been tied.

  I pushed the thoughts of my young adulthood away as I made my way back to my computer in my hotel suite. The pristine furnishings in the suite were all part of the life I’d helped to create, the life Oren had begun but I’d continued.

  Was today’s incident in the park another warning? Or was it intended as more?

  Questions still loomed. Could I blame today’s incident on Davis and the hearing at hand, or were there old ghosts from past dealings who still believed I should pay?

  Was that freedom that I’d been granted years ago still mine to enjoy?

  A voice in my head told me to do what I’d done last time and heed the warning. I knew what happened when I didn’t listen. The consequences were devastating.

  The transcript from today’s earlier proceedings sat before me as I tried to concentrate. The dinner that Isaac had brought me sat untouched. I needed to learn what I’d missed while dodging bullets and getting lost in Charli.

  Today the hearing had been mostly dominated by testimony from those in favor of the bill’s current wording. To listen to the so-called experts, this bill would do everything from saving baby seals to curing childhood cancer—literally. The revenue they claimed would come from the increase in tax was already appropriated to specific destinations, yet the testimony made it sound as if it would be sitting in the form of a great big check, waiting for appropriation into everyone’s favorite pork-barrel project.

  I dialed Senator Carroll’s private cell phone.

  “Doyle,” I said after he answered. “I’m very concerned about the whales.”

  “Whales?”

  “Seals will benefit from this bill but who’s looking out for the whales?”

  “Lennox, I’m more concerned about you and that pretty little girlfriend of yours. I’ve been completely distraught over what you told me following today’s testimony.”

  “We’re both safe,” I answered, bristling at Senator Carroll’s description of Charli.

  She was beyond pretty, and hearing the words from his lips made them sound inadequate. I fought the urge to tell him that Charli wasn’t just pretty. She was ravishing, a spitfire with a mind of her own, who could tear him and any other condescending man to shreds. I’d warn him to approach with caution, because though she may appear tame, in reality she was almost too hot to handle. In her eyes she held her essence. They glistened with joy and love even when danger and pain surrounded her. Her beauty went further than her gorgeous exterior. She was enthralling and alluring.

  Pretty was a disservice to my girlfriend. She was way beyond that, and most importantly, she was mine.

  “Should you be here?” Doyle Carroll asked.

  “Yes. I don’t have proof that the attempted shooting had any connection to this hearing. I’m scheduled to testify tomorrow. Davis not only acted like he was surprised to see me, but also surprised I’d be returning for the next few days.”

  “He’s baiting you. That man knows the schedule backwards and forwards.”

  “Well, I didn’t bite, but I admit he’s on my list of suspects.”

  “He’s on many people’s lists, and I don’t think any of them have him listed as ‘good.’”

  “I’m reading today’s testimony. Tell me what I’m not reading.”

  “What you’re not reading?” Doyle Carroll asked.

  “Tell me what I missed that didn’t make the transcripts,” I clarified.

  “Higgins seemed pretty confident. It’s as if he knows he has the votes, but that isn’t possible by my count. I’m not confident we have them either. It’s close, very close.”

  “Who’s on the line?”

  “Two minority, Hatchett from Oregon and Kelley from Tennessee and three majority, New York, Michigan, and Wisconsin.”

  “New York? I thought she was on our side?” I asked.

  “She was. Now she’s not sure.”

  “It was the seals, wasn’t it?”

  “Lennox, I’d like to think the committee is smarter than that, but to the extent possible, you need to emphasize that the appropriations have already been earmarked, that it won’t be a pork-barrel smörgåsbord, and that this will cost jobs. Give specifics. Talk about how the increase in tax will cause companies not only to cut employees but quite possibly take business elsewhere.”

  I sighed. “I have that all planned. I was just wondering if I should mention the obvious whale omission?”

  Doyle laughed. “I do appreciate your sense of humor. I’m glad you’re here, and I’m glad that son-of-a-bitch missed.”

  “Thanks. I’m happy about that, too.”

  A call beeped into my phone and I looked
at the screen.

  “Doyle,” I said, “I have a call. I don’t recognize the number, but with the way my day’s gone, I’d better answer.”

  “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Yes, I’ll be there.”

  I swiped the screen, hanging up one call and connecting to the next. “Hello.”

  “Demetri, it’s Severus Davis.”

  “Severus, nice to hear from you.”

  “Join me for a drink?”

  I looked around my suite and down at my comfortable jeans. I would rather stay where I was, but this was the shit that got things done. This was what I did, what Oren had done. “Where?”

  “The bar in your hotel.”

  “My hotel?” He knew where I was staying?

  “Yes. I’ll be there in fifteen.”

  “See you there.”

  I hung up and called Deloris.

  “THE PARTY FOR my granddaughter, it was nice?” Carmine Costello asked as he settled against the large chair in his office.

  I was back in his home, back in Brooklyn. It didn’t matter that I had businesses to run and a wife constantly complaining that I wasn’t around. I was replying to a summons that had me trekking from Westchester to New York City, and from the city to Brooklyn. I needed a fucking helicopter to cut down on travel time, or maybe a clone. Then I could be in two places at once.

  “Yes, sir,” I answered. My face set in its customary expression of full attention and respect, as if saying anything negative about his granddaughter’s first communion celebration was an option. “It was lovely, but not as lovely as Luisa. She beamed.”

  Carmine smiled, his full cheeks lifting in approval, just before he looked about the room at his men and his features changed. “Enough. Tell us about the jewelry stores.”

  I leaned back casually, attempting to show both my wife’s uncle and his minions that I wasn’t intimidated. After all, I was family. “There are three,” I explained. “I’ve done my research. They have potential. Their current inventory is valued at nearly as much as the asking price. That doesn’t include the property, which as you know is invaluable. Acquiring a storefront on the island is like striking oil.”