Thriller Box Set One: The Subway-The Debt-Catastrophic

by Dustin Stevens

  “Get somewhere you can talk. Now.”

  The voice was unmistakable, the tone without question. Marc Sarconi slid the phone down and tugged a pasta spattered napkin from his neck. He kept the phone in his right hand and extended the index finger on his left towards his wife, dropping the napkin on his chair as he departed.

  She had seen this scenario play out enough times to know not to question whenever he was pulled away from dinner. At this point, she was past even rolling her eyes.

  Sarconi stepped into his study and closed the door, pausing behind it just long enough to make sure his wife hadn’t followed him.

  “Alright, what’s up?”

  “When I said get somewhere you can talk, I didn’t mean take your sweet ass time doing it.”

  Sarconi closed his eyes and exhaled through his nose, careful not to let a sound escape. He hated this guy with every last fiber of his being, but that didn’t change the fact that he was also scared shitless of him.

  Of every person he’d ever encountered, they all had a breaking point, some shred of conscience that kept them from going too far, except for this guy. He preferred to identify where the boundary lines were before waving as he pissed all over them for the world to see.

  Sarconi had no doubt that in his particular case, that meant his family. For all the pain in the ass they could be, he couldn’t bear the thought of this sadistic son of a bitch going anywhere near them.

  For that reason, and that reason alone, he deferred to him at all costs.

  “Sorry, you caught me during dinner. What’s going on?”

  “Marc Sarconi stuffing his face, why aren’t I surprised?”

  Again Sarconi closed his eyes and breathed out through his nose, but said nothing. He’d already asked twice what was going on, he wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of a third.

  The man waited a full minute before breaking the silence. “You already know why I’m calling, when are the only two times I ever call?”

  Sarconi paused, rolling the question through his head. He’d never thought of it in those terms before, just that he always hated hearing from the guy, regardless of the occasion.

  “I guess whenever there’s an opportunity...”

  “Or whenever shit hits the fan,” the man finished for him.

  “And it’s hitting the fan now,” Sarconi said, his mind trying to piece together what he was being told.

  “Hey, somebody hand the fat man a cigar,” the voice said in a tone that was faux jovial.

  Sarconi swallowed hard, the jowls in his neck bunching and jiggling from the effort. “How bad?”

  “Bentley went out and got himself a lawyer.”

  Sarconi waited for him to continue, but no further explanation came.

  “A lawyer? For what?”

  A loud scoff was his reply. “You took a leg out from under a Heisman Trophy finalist and you have to ask me for what?”

  Heat burned just beneath Sarconi’s face, but he let it pass. In the back of his mind he’d been thinking for a while this moment was coming, he just didn’t think it would arrive so fast. Still, he couldn’t let this guy know he was worried in the slightest.

  “Big damn deal. You know how many two-bit lawyers we’ve come across in this line of work? Call me when you’ve got something real for me.”

  The other end of the line hung silent for several seconds before the man spoke again, his voice no more than a hiss. “You gonna let me finish or not?”

  “I’m sorry, please continue,” Sarconi said. The words came out without even thinking about them, a conditioned response over years of interaction. Very seldom did he apologize to anyone, but rare was the person that demanded respect the way this guy did.

  “He hired Shane Laszlo as his attorney.”

  Sarconi’s eyes squinted, focusing on nothing as he tried to place the name. “Shane Laszlo...Shane Laszlo...Laszlo.”

  Once it clicked in his mind, his jaw dropped slack and his eyebrows rose in unison.

  “As in...?”

  “Very same.”

  “Holy shit, there’s a curveball for you.”

  “Leave it to Marc Sarconi to understate the obvious.”

  Sarconi ignored the insult, working his tongue around the inside of his mouth in an attempt to generate some moisture. It felt like sandpaper scraping against his teeth, his entire body parched.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Orders are to do nothing at the moment, just monitor. The kid’s already filed a complaint, so it would be a little too suspicious if something happened to him now.”

  Sarconi nodded to nobody. “What do you need from me?”

  Again a scoff came back to him, this one louder than the one before. “You think you could do a damn thing to help me? I’m calling to tell you I’ll be in your backyard for a while, so stay the hell out of my way.”

  The line fell silent as Sarconi stared out the window into the night. “I can do that. Thank you for the heads up.”

  There was no reply, the man on the other end had already hung up. Sarconi looked down at the display on his phone a moment longer and shook his head. He hoped he never saw that number come up on his caller ID again, but had a feeling he would be seeing it many more times before everything was done.

  “Shane Laszlo,” Sarconi muttered, his voice far away, borderline stunned. On stilted legs he walked back down the hall and into the dining room, taking his napkin up from the chair and resuming his meal.

  Nobody else at the table even noticed he’d been gone.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Molly stretched the entire length of the pillows lining the top of the bed, somehow extending her feline frame to almost twice its normal length. She held the pose for several seconds before recoiling and staring at Shane with an expression that made it clear what she was thinking.

  He was being ridiculous.

  Shane ignored her gaze as he buzzed about the rented extended stay room that would be his home for the remainder of the case. Equipped with a bed, a desk, an arm chair, a television, and a small kitchenette, it wasn’t how he would have chosen to spend the summer, but in truth it wasn’t that far removed from the place he’d just left behind in Boston.

  At least this place had HBO and the NFL Network.

  The only thing Shane had unpacked was his clothes, at least half of which were sprawled across the bed and armchair. It took him over twenty minutes to decide on the right outfit, another ten wrestling with the cheap hotel iron to get into something halfway presentable.

  Close friends or not, he knew better than to show up in front of Christine wearing rumpled pajamas.

  Shane first met Christine in the spring of his freshman year. The two were neighbors in a co-ed dorm and despite living within twenty feet of one another didn’t say a word beyond the occasional perfunctory hello.

  Their silence wasn’t born of animosity or even indifference, they just weren’t the type of people whose circles crossed.

  The first conversation they ever had occurred on New Year’s Eve. Shane, having nowhere to go and no plans for the night, had already returned to school, the only one in the entire hall. While most of Columbus was out in drunken revelry, he was seated alone in the common room. His feet were propped up beside a half-eaten pizza and unfinished six pack, the latest James Patterson novel in his hands.

  “Ah, spending your New Year’s filling your mind and your body with self-indulgent, overrated crap I see?” a voice said from the doorway, jerking Shane away from his novel with a start. His heart pounding, his face red with embarrassment, he spun around to see Christine standing in the doorway, all dolled up for a night on the town.

  “Hey, I didn’t hear you come in, thought I was alone,” Shane said, leaning forward to close the pizza box and place it off to the side. “And I’m sorry, but did you just quote Bull Durham?”

  Christine stood in the doorway for several long moments, a half-smile on her face, sizing Shane up. After deciding he passed wh
atever mental test she was subjecting him to, she entered and took a spot on the couch beside him.

  “Mind if I join you?”

  The question was rhetorical and she didn’t wait for a response, instead flipping the box back open and going right in for a slice.

  “By all means,” Shane said, watching with mild astonishment. “Would you like a beer to wash that down?”

  “No thanks, more of a wine girl,” Christine said, pretending not to notice the sarcasm in his voice. “Big plans for New Year’s I see?”

  “Hey, you’re here too, and I promise you I’m more comfortable at the moment,” Shane replied, motioning to the sweat pants and t-shirt he was wearing.

  Christine paused mid-bite and looked over at him, a curious smile on her face. “I don’t scare you, do I?”

  “Why the hell would you scare me?”

  A full moment passed, she wearing a look of bemusement, he one of genuine misunderstanding.

  “I’m Christine.”

  “I know, we live across the hall from each other.”

  A chuckle rolled out. “I don’t know why, but I like you, Shane.”

  Just like that, a friendship that was equal parts respect and agitation, challenge and affection, was born.

  The two became good friends through college and had worked hard to maintain it in the time since. Never more than a week passed without some form of correspondence, even if it was just the occasional funny email forward. Christmas cards were mandatory, birthday gifts a must.

  On paper a more unlikely duo never existed. Shane was a local kid that grew up without a father and could care less about the label on his clothes or the car he drove. Christine was from a blue-blood family on the Lake Michigan shores of Chicago. She could trace her lineage back hundreds of years to encompass everything from pioneering businessmen to Civil War heroes.

  Rarely, if ever, was she seen looking anything but pristine.

  In some ways, they were good for each other. In others, it was a train wreck that somehow never came to pass.

  For whatever reason, the two of them just worked.

  Shane arrived to their agreed-upon restaurant three minutes ahead of schedule, half-jogging to the door, knowing already that he was late. The hostess gave him a bemused smile as he approached, expecting him. “Ms. Beldon is waiting for you. Shall I show you to her table?”

  Shane slowed to a stop in front of her, making no effort to keep the smile from his face. His head dropped towards the floor and he shook it from side to side. “No thank you, it’ll only give her more ammo. Just point me in the right direction.”

  The hostess smirked again and extended a bony digit towards the glass embankment lining the far left well. Through the window was the skyline of downtown Columbus, buildings rising against the night sky, a thousand yellow lights shining bright. In the foreground the Olentangy River flowed by, reflecting the scene in a menagerie of color.

  Seated at a table for two, wine glass in her, pretending to study the view, sat Christine.

  Shane knew full well she was staring at the reflection in anticipation of his arrival, but he decided to play the part anyway. He walked straight up to her, put on his most dashing faux smile and approached the table with all the aplomb he could muster. “Excuse me Miss, but it is far too early in the evening for such a pretty lady to be drinking alone.”

  Moving in slow motion, Christine shifted her shoulders to look at him, her face impassive. “I’m aware. I was supposed to meet a young stud here for dinner, but since it doesn’t look like he’s going to show, I guess you’ll have to do.”

  Shane did his best to hide a smile as several patrons seated nearby turned to stare. “That might have been meant as an insult, but I’m taking it as an invitation just the same.”

  Without waiting for a response, he slid into the chair across from her. He lowered his head a bit and whispered, “I can see two gaping jaws and an old biddy still staring.”

  “Three and two by my count,” Christine responded. “You’re getting better at this game, but you’re not quite there yet.”

  “Good to see you learned something of value out at mighty Stanford Business School. Thanks for waiting for me, by the way.”

  Christine smiled and waved a hand at him, taking another sip of wine for effect. “You know the rules. Early is on time and on time is late.”

  “Thanks, Sarge. And don’t give me that, I was three minutes early and you’re already halfway through the glass. How long you been here?”

  She fixed her gaze on him for a moment, a look that would have left most of the men in the place a puddle on the floor. After eight years of their back-and-forth, Shane was almost impervious.

  Almost.

  “Alright, fine, you caught me. My meeting finished ahead of schedule, so I came on over. I keep forgetting I can’t slide things past a lawyer the way I can businessmen.”

  Shane stared at her for a moment and admitted she probably could get away with most anything she wanted. Her thick dark hair was swept back from her face and just enough makeup had been applied to enhance without distracting. A sleeveless black dress adorned her body, contrasted against smooth olive skin.

  For the entirety of dinner, conversation was corralled to catching up, filling in the blanks from the past six months. Over stuffed mushrooms and calamari, Shane told her about life in Boston and the trials and tribulations of firm life. Through pasta primavera and veal parmesan, Christine told him about her new position and the adjustment to being back in Columbus, a town she never dreamed she’d return to. They both joked about the sham that was their respective love lives while sharing an enormous chunk of tiramisu.

  More than once their tales were interrupted by stories from the past, enjoying the inhibition that old friends and good wine tended to bring about.

  Not until the last of the dishes were cleared away did Christine fix her stare on him and ask, “So when are you going to tell me about it?”

  Shane matched the look for several long moments, opting to feign a bit of ignorance. “It being?”

  A heavy eye roll responded to his question. Christine shifted her gaze back out the window, any trace of natural light now gone from the sky.

  “Come on, who do you think you’re dealing with here? Don’t get me wrong, I’m thrilled to see you, but why am I looking at you instead of talking to you on the phone from Boston?”

  Shane shook his head, shifting his attention to the view outside as well. “Nothing gets by you, I’ll give you that,” he mumbled. “Alright, here goes. I’m no longer with the firm. Or to be more apt, I quit my job and told my boss to stick it up his ass on the way out.”

  The revelation spun Christine’s head back around to face him. “Wow. Seriously?”

  “More or less.”

  A look that bordered on admiration spread across her face. “Damn, and here I thought I was the impulsive one.”

  “I was asked to take a civil case here in Columbus. The firm wasn’t willing to let me take leave long enough to do it, so I just left.”

  Christine pursed her lips and twisted her head to the side, considering the information. She weighed it for several long moments, her brow furrowed. “What’s the angle?”

  The question surprised Shane, causing him to lean back in his chair, his eyebrows raised. “The angle?”

  “We both know you didn’t leave your dream job in environmental law in Boston to try a civil case here without a damn good reason. So...out with it.”

  A reflexive smile adorned Shane’s face, the kind that sprang from knowing he was in the company of the only person in the world who could both see through and call him out on his bullshit.

  “There’s a lot of moving parts. The plaintiff is someone I used to know. The case is chock full of fraud, deceit, abuse of system...”

  Christine’s left eyebrow shot up a fraction of an inch. “Go ahead and drop the punch line any time now.”

  “Medical malpractice.”

  Her face we
nt blank for just a moment, her lips moving just enough to repeat the words back to herself. Once she did, a moment of clear realization passed over her features. “Am I to presume?”

  Shane kept his gaze angled outside for a moment before shifting his focus back to her. He kept his mouth pressed tight together and nodded once, a short, unmistakable movement.

  The confirmation hung in the air, the sounds of the restaurant seeming to fade away around them.

  “I will be damned,” Christine whispered.

  Another small nod in agreement. “Any suggestions? Advice?”

  In a rare gesture, Christine slid her hand across the table and grasped his. She kept it there for several moments, the warmth of her palm passing through to him. “I have to assume this is as much about making yourself whole as it is about helping your client.”

  Shane stared back at her unblinking face. “Maybe. Probably.”

  “And the only way you come out a winner in this is if you’re on your game. I mean really on your game.”

  Shane shifted his gaze away from hers. “And maybe not even then.”

  The grip on his hand grew tighter. “And the only way that happens is if you know everything is coming out in the end. It’ll just be a distraction, the oversized, multi-colored elephant in the room, otherwise.”

  Shane rolled the words around in his mind. On some level he’d been thinking the same thing since the moment Tyler mentioned SynTronic, but he hadn’t allowed the notion to coalesce. He could feel Christine’s eyes on him as he thought it out before meeting her gaze and offering a quick smile in response.

  That was all he had to give for the time being.

  “How’s she doing?” Christine asked, her voice much lower, softer. She didn’t have to elaborate any further.

  Shane stared at her a moment before again diverting his attention to the world outside. He shook his head from side-to-side, fighting to push back a well of emotions he knew resided just beneath the surface.

  “I just got back last night.”

  “You haven’t been out there yet?” Christine asked, her eyes a touch wider.