"What the hell was that?" Edgar asked.
"Smoke alarm?" I suggested.
Edgar eyed the device in Bishop's hand. "Smoke alarm, my ass."
A few minutes later, we were on the road, headed toward Riverside. This time, Edgar stayed sober, and I insisted on driving, having made the trip so many times I could've done it in my sleep.
Where the drive from Florida to Alabama had been filled with long stretches of comfortable silence, the second leg of our journey had plenty of silence, but there was nothing comfortable about it.
In the back seat, Edgar slumped against the side window, his head resting against a king-sized pillow he'd borrowed from my guest room. His conversation was sporadic and limited to two topics, the evils of condo development and his killer hangover.
In the passenger's seat, Bishop sat in a stony silence that grew more oppressive with every mile we traveled. In the driver's seat, I wondered what the hell I was doing, and what I should do next.
We hit the Michigan state line near dinnertime and pulled up to my dad's house at ten o'clock that night. My brothers were waiting, and Steve ushered Edgar into the basement.
"What'd you tell dad?" I asked Anthony.
"That an old buddy was staying with us," he said.
"An old buddy?"
"Dude's old," Anthony said. "Get it?"
"He is not old," I said.
"He's not young neither," Anthony said.
I changed the subject. "Won't dad recognize Edgar?"
"Dad don't come down into the basement," Anthony said. "It just pisses him off."
My brothers weren't the tidiest guys in the world. "Smart guy," I said.
A few minutes later, as I pulled away from my dad's house, Bishop said, "You ready to finish our conversation?"
"I don't think that's a good idea," I said.
"Why not?"
"I'm tired. You're tired. Let's see how things look in the morning."
"What about tonight?" he asked.
"What about it?"
"Where are you staying?"
"At my apartment," I said.
"I'm staying with you."
I rubbed my eyes. "Nah, it's been a long day. Let's just talk tomorrow, alright?"
"You're still mad."
"I'm not mad," I said. "I'm confused."
"No," he said. "You're mad."
"It doesn't matter what we call it," I said. "It's nothing we'll solve tonight."
Bishop digested this, seemed ready to argue, and then grew silent as I drove down the long country roads that would empty into Riverside's modest downtown area.
After a few minutes, he asked, "What time are we seeing Conrad tomorrow?"
I hesitated, wondering if bringing Bishop along would be such a good idea after all. "How about I'll give you a call tomorrow afternoon?" I suggested.
"You're not seeing him alone," Bishop said.
"I didn't say I was."
"I know how you are," he said.
"How's that?"
"You think too much."
"Or maybe," I said, "you don't think enough."
We arrived at the hardware store, and I stopped at the curb. I popped the trunk, and Bishop got out to retrieve his duffel. Bag in-hand, he made his way to the driver's side door.
His lips brushed mine. "I'll be waiting," he said.
Back at my apartment, I considered what I wanted to accomplish by confronting Conrad. I wanted him to leave Edgar alone, admit he was behind our fortune-telling problems, and withdraw his zoning proposal. Even with the tape as leverage, it would be a miracle if he agreed to any one of those things, much less all three.
But would it go any better with Bishop along for the ride? Bishop was tough and competent, but his presence would surely complicate matters.
I crawled between my cold sheets and lay awake, freezing, for the longest time. I was still freezing the next morning when I woke up. I never froze when Bishop was over. But our future, which had seemed so certain the night before, now seemed built on a foundation of illusion and deceit.
With a sickening dread, I mentally added an electric blanket to my shopping list.
Just in case.
Chapter 90
Late the next morning, I found Crystal in the empty coffee shop, reading an astrology book at the front counter. Through the window, I spotted Darren outside, sprinkling road salt in the deserted parking lot.
"Working for his daily mocha?" I asked.
Crystal looked up. "Yup. Yesterday, he mopped the floor." She set aside her book. "You and Bishop have a nice vacation?"
"I guess so." I cleared my throat. "I should tell you though, Conrad's stopping by later this afternoon."
That made her smile. "At least somebody's having a good month."
"Me?" I said. "Hardly."
She returned to her book. "Sure, I believe you."
"You're not going anywhere this morning, are you?" I asked.
She didn't look up. "Why do you ask?"
"Because I need to talk to Conrad alone, but it would be nice if someone were nearby, just in case."
"In case what?" she said.
"In case he gets upset."
"So, you're ditching him for Bishop, huh?" She smiled. "Like that's a surprise."
At the sound of Bishop's name, something clawed at my heart. I still had no idea what I should do. But I did know one thing. It would be dangerous to have both of those men in the same room.
Around three o'clock, Conrad strode into the coffee shop, looking as impeccable as ever. Except for the fading cuts and bruises, he looked back to his old, vibrant self. I swallowed my dread and met him at the door.
"Can I get you a drink?" I asked as I led him to one of the private reading rooms.
He shook his head. "Your phone call was enough. Best pick-me-up I've had in a while."
I felt my face grow warm. On the phone, Conrad had assumed it was a social visit. I'd done nothing to correct his misconception.
Inside the small reading room, I shut the door and took a seat across from him. "I should tell you," I began, "that I invited you here to talk about the thing with City Hall."
"That's alright," he said. "Like I said before, I'm glad to help."
"Well, the thing is," I said, "I've heard you've been technically less than helpful."
His brow wrinkled. "What do you mean?"
"I have it from a pretty good source," I said, "that you were the one who started our troubles with fortune telling."
He gave a small frown. "Why would I do that?"
"To divert attention from your condos," I said. "You know, so we’d 'steal your thunder'?"
Conrad barked a laugh. "You're kidding, right?"
When I didn't respond, he stopped laughing. "Don't tell me you're serious?"
"It's what I heard," I said.
"From who?"
"I can't say."
He studied my face. "That's a pretty bold accusation to make anonymously."
Fearful of losing my nerve, I plunged ahead. "I also heard you tried to bribe Edgar Kreezak."
He didn't even flinch. "Let me guess. From the same anonymous source?" Conrad leaned forward. "Now here's a question for you. You ever study military history?"
"A little," I said.
"Then you know what they're doing?"
"What?"
"Trying to divide and conquer, that's what."
"Who?" I asked.
"Whoever's spreading these stories."
"What if they came from Edgar himself?" I asked. "Let's say he told someone before he died."
Conrad leaned back in his chair and spread his hands. "It wouldn't surprise me."
"It wouldn't?"
"Let me put it this way," he said. "How well did you know the guy?"
"Well enough. He seemed like a nice person."
"I'll grant you that," Conrad said, "But you must’ve noticed he was a little pickled in the brain, right?" Conrad lowered his voice. "You know, the guy had a pretty
serious drinking problem."
"Just because someone likes to drink doesn't mean they have a drinking problem," I said.
"True," Conrad admitted. "But Edgar liked to drink more than most. Also had a bit of a gambling habit, from what I've learned."
"What would that have to do with anything?"
Conrad hesitated, and then said, "Since someone's obviously misleading you, I think there's something else you should know."
"What's that?"
"Edgar needed money," Conrad said. "So bad he offered to sell me his support for some quick cash."
"Suppose this conversation actually took place," I said. "What'd you tell him?"
"That I didn't need to bribe anyone to support the plan," Conrad said. "It stands on its own merit."
"So you're saying you didn't give Edgar any money?"
Conrad hesitated.
"So you did give him money," I said.
"Not money," Conrad said. "A bait store."
"You gave him a bait store?"
"No. I gave him a year's lease on a bait store. At the development. Remember?"
"A free lease?"
"Might as well be free, with what he's paying. Like I told you before, the guy drives a hard bargain."
We were going around in circles, so I laid my cards on the table. "Listen," I said. "I know about the tape."
Conrad gave a slow shake of his head. "What tape?"
"The tape of you bribing Edgar."
Conrad looked perplexed. "You mean with the bait store?"
"No, with cash," I said. "Fifty-thousand dollars."
Conrad didn't hesitate. "Not a chance. Never happened."
I studied his face. He met my gaze head-on. I pulled out the only fact I knew for sure, courtesy of Riley. "I heard you're broke."
That made Conrad flinch, not a big flinch, but enough so I noticed it. His response was long in coming. He steepled his hands. "Broke and overextended aren't the same thing," he said. "I'm a risk-taker. It's part of the business."
I rubbed my temples. The guy had an answer for everything. Worse, I was out of questions. I bit my lower lip and wondered what to say next.
"Look," Conrad said, "it's obvious you think the worst of me. I can't say I blame you, after what happened." He looked away. "Between us."
"That's not what this is about," I said.
He met my gaze. "Isn't it?"
When I didn't answer, he continued. "It's not like I blame you. But I'm telling you, we're on the same side here."
"What side is that?" I asked.
"The side of progress," he said. "Same as you."
He reached for my hand. I pulled it away.
Without skipping a beat, he consulted his watch. "Is this the only reason you asked me here?"
"Yes."
"Well, Rome wasn't built in a day," he said, rising from his seat. "I like to think that someday, you'll give me another shot."
"Look–" I began.
"I know what you're going to say," he said. "That it won't happen. But I deal in impossibilities every day. If I gave up that easily, I wouldn't be doing what I do for a living." He turned and reached for the doorknob.
In a fit of desperation, I blurted out, "I have the tape. And if I need to use it, I will."
He turned around. "The so-called bribery tape?"
I nodded.
"I told you," he said, "It doesn't exist."
"Conrad," I said, touching his sleeve, "I'm trying to do you a favor."
"A favor, huh?" he said, his composure showing signs of cracking. "I know your type. If you got within a mile of something like that, you'd have gone straight to the police."
"The police and I aren't exactly friends right now," I reminded him.
Conrad gripped my arm. "You're up to something. What do you want?"
I kept my voice level. "It's not what I want that matters," I said. "I'm just the messenger."
His grip tightened as he leaned in close, his lips brushing my ear. "Don't you know," he said, "that sometimes, messengers get shot?"
I heard a sharp intake of breath. My own. "Are you threatening me?"
"Why?" he asked with a nasty smile. "Are you scared?"
I yanked my arm from his grip. "No, I am not scared," I said. "But you should be."
His smile remained frozen in place. "Why's that?"
"Because you're not as smart as you think you are."
He looked unimpressed. "Is that so?"
"Oh yeah," I said, working myself into a self-righteous temper that hadn't been in the script. "I'm glad you didn't listen to me," I said. "It would have been too easy. You know what you need? Some nice jailbird boyfriend and an open toilet. And all that good prison food too."
Fists clenched, he took a step toward me.
With both hands, I shoved his chest and pushed him backward. "You think the end of the world is not getting that zoning law passed," I said. "Well, I'm here to tell you, there are a lot worse things in life. And I can't wait for you to experience them."
His smile gone, Conrad took another step backward. A moment later, he reclaimed his public persona. He gave a small shrug. "You've obviously lost your mind," he said, reaching out to open the reading room door. "There's no tape. Never was. Never will be. I don't do business that way."
He strode through the coffee shop with me on his heels. At the main door, he turned to face me. "I don't know what I ever saw in you," he said. "You're a certified nutcase."
After he left, I stood in the empty coffee shop, my breaths coming in short bursts, watching through the window as he got into his car and sped out of the parking lot.
From across the coffee shop, Crystal said, "Talk about a sore loser."
Before she could ask for details, I turned and fled back to my apartment. I’d been there just a few minutes when a series of loud knocks sounded at the door. From the ferocity of the pounding, I didn't need to ask who it was.
I opened the door and came face-to-face with Bishop, his expression as dark as I'd ever seen it.
Chapter 91
From his place in the doorway, Bishop reached for me, gripping my elbows with both hands. "So Conrad just left? What the hell were you thinking?"
I jerked away. "That I could reason with him better alone."
"That guy needs his teeth knocked out," Bishop said, "not to be reasoned with."
"Gee," I said, "Now if there were only some clue as to why I didn't bring you along."
His jaw clenched. "You said you'd call me."
"I was just about to."
"Damn it, Selena," he said. "You know what I mean."
I pulled out that same stupid excuse he'd used on me. "Technically, I never lied to you."
He stalked into my apartment and shut the door behind him. "Is that supposed to be funny?" he said.
"Judging from your face," I said, "I’m guessing it's not?"
He strode past me and sank onto my sofa. "I knew you'd do this." He leaned forward to rub his eyes. "Fuck. I should’ve stopped by earlier." Looking up, he shook his head. "No. What I should've done was stay here whether you wanted me to or not." His voice grew raw. "Don't you ever do that again."
"Do what?" I said. "Talk to some guy in the coffee shop?"
"You wanna be a smartass?" he said. "Be my guest. But don't pretend you don't know exactly what I'm talking about."
"It was fine," I said.
"No," he said, "it was stupid. If anything happened to you–"
"Did you just call me stupid?"
"We both know you're not stupid," he said. "But meeting with that fucker alone? Yeah. It was stupid. And you know it." He looked down. "Shit."
I took a seat across from him. "Do you want to hear how it went or not?"
He looked up, giving me a long, accusing stare. Ignoring his look, I relayed the conversation, omitting any romantic overtones. When I finished, Bishop was still glaring at me.
"So?" I said. "What do you think?"
"I think he's an asshole."
For whatever reason, that made Bishop smile, not a big smile, but enough to take the edge off the glare. "Baby," he said, his voice growing oddly calm. "From now on, I'm gonna handle this. You stay out of it, alright?"
"No way," I said.
"Why not?"
"For one thing, it's over."
"What's over?" His voice lost any semblance of calm. "Us?"
My heart clenched. "No. Not us. The thing with Conrad."
"So we're not over?"
I looked into his eyes and knew I was done for. Who was I kidding? I loved him beyond all reason. The trust thing was a problem, but somehow, we'd work it out. Or at least, I hoped we would. "I don't think we're over," I said. "We just need to talk, alright."
"When?" he asked.
"Later."
"Why not now?"
"Because look at us. We're all worked up. We'll just end up yelling at each other."
"I won't yell. I promise."
"Even if that were true," I said, "I've still got to get that tape."
"No. I'll get the tape."
"Except this isn't your problem."
"I know what you're doing," he said.
"What?"
"Shutting me out. Running away." He swallowed. "Tell me. Is your car already packed?"
"No. Of course not."
"It is," he said. "Isn't it?"
"I already said no." My voice rose. "I just need some time, okay?"
"How much time?" he said. "Five fucking years?"
I stood. "Just leave. Alright?"
"And if I do?" he said. "What are you gonna do?"
"Nothing," I said.
"Nothing?"
"Nothing but get the tape."
"And?"
"And deliver it to the police."
He took a step toward me. "You're not going anywhere alone."
"Oh for God's sake," I said, taking a step backward, "will you stop bossing me around?" With an effort, I lowered my voice. "Please. Just go alright. It'll be fine. We'll talk tomorrow, or maybe tonight. Okay?"
He made a scoffing sound. "Where have I heard that before?"
"If you really trust me," I said, "you'll go."
"And if I don't go?"
I threw up my hands. "Then what is there to talk about?"
He glanced at the door.
"I'll be here tomorrow," I said. "I promise."
Illegal Fortunes Page 37
