Saint's Sacrament - Sins of the Father

by Laveen, Tiana

  ~***~

  Payton placed her hand against the cold, smooth oak wood door, then returned to her desk. She cocked her head to the side, stared at her cell phone as if she’d never seen one before. Payton raised her eyes to the clock on the wall. She felt pulled in a million different directions. Double cross Sinclair, lose the one thing she’d thought was worth protecting, her career. Double cross Saint again, possibly lose her life. She knew he wasn’t playing with her, but she wondered, even if she did as she was told, where was the promise that he wouldn’t do her harm? Spare her life. She hated that he was right. She did delight in his suffering, though she’d hoped she would get over the pain he’d inflicted upon her years past. She clearly was not. He was the one that had gotten away. He was the one man she’d loved with ever fiber of her being. She did everything for him, and would have done so much more. She realized though, she didn’t know who Saint was anymore. The man who haunted her dreams was someone altogether different. He looked the same, sounded the same, smelled the same. All enticing and elixir to the strongest of women, but he’d changed. He was a dangerous outlaw, and she’d never pegged him as someone that would annihilate a person. It chilled her to the bone to realize he’d more than likely delight in it.

  She took her seat and stared at the cell phone a bit longer. She knew her life would never be the same once she finished with this phone call. Sinclair had single-handedly ruined her life, dragged her into his web of revenge and made her sacrifice herself, simply so he could get his mitts on Saint’s reputation and ball it up between his greedy little hands then toss it into a fiery pit. Yes…fire. Like the fire in Saint’s eyes—they glowed red as if the man was possessed. Payton had never believed in Hell until now. She ran her index finger down the corner of a folder that sat on her desk as tears streaked her cheeks. The woman who seldom cried was coming undone. She had to get her affairs in order because she’d be going to prison soon. She wasn’t sure which was worse though, being locked up or being dead. She’d seen enough of her clients behind bars, and all that their lives had become, to have a front row seat to witness the face of lost freedom and chronic depression. No more leisurely lunches. No more plays. No more slow walks in the park. Instead, she’d have on a jumpsuit, a number and a loose grip on the handlebars of sanity. She picked up the phone and bit into the role she was destined to play.

  “Hello, uh, Sinclair? This is Payton.”

  “Paaaaaaayton! And what did I do to deserve this honor? Wait, before you tell me, I just want to let you know what a wonderful job you did. Everything went off perfect, without a hitch. You are a jack of all trades. Saint is exactly where I want him to be—drowning.” At that moment, she realized once and for all that Sinclair would never listen to reason or come to his senses. That left only one option.

  “Yes, about Saint. That is the reason for my call. I found out he is really hurting quite badly. The bank he works at may be shut down soon and he really is in deep trouble. I heard it was so bad, he is willing to do almost anything to stop this, to reverse it. I’m calling to let you know this, Sinclair, because you may get what you want as well as extra incentives.”

  “What incentives?”

  “I had almost forgotten, but Saint has several savings accounts overseas. The IRS can’t touch them. If they are still available, you could get a nice pay off. Now, of course I’d want a percentage of the cut.” She sighed. “Though I didn’t appreciate being dragged into this, I must admit, the man is getting what he deserves and I can respect you as a businessman, if nothing else.”

  “Mmmm hmmm,” Sinclair said suspiciously. “And after practically telling me that you hate me and never want to hear from me again, why would you want to cut me in on this?”

  “Because I don’t want to do the dirty work, Sinclair. I want my name out of it! But…you could do it, and we both could win.”

  “Alright, Ms. Bishop!” She heard a noise, as if he were clapping and rubbing his hands together like the evil character in a parody. “I want to hear about these offshore bank accounts of Mr. Aknaten’s. Tell me how much you believe the man has and what cut you are suggesting to take?”

  “When he and I were together, it was well over two million dollars. Now, that is a drop in a bucket compared to his net worth now, but he will need those funds should things continue to spiral out of control. Your plans will have left him with nothing. Saint was never great at investing, but I had gotten him some lucrative leads and his new advisor made a go of it. He told me he’d never touch that money, that it would only be for emergencies. Well, I think this would be an emergency. With interest, by now, it is at least double that. I don’t want much, just a finder’s fee and something to cover my ass, should he try to come after me. Your two hundred thousand was nice, but that won’t be nearly enough to start a new beginning, especially living in Manhattan.”

  “I see…how much of a finder’s fee were you talking?”

  “Mmmm.” Payton pivoted in her chair. “I’m thinking twenty five percent would be fair.”

  Sinclair was silent for a while as he appeared to be mulling it over. “That sounds doable.” He cleared his throat. “He may be surprised when he finds out I was behind this, pulled it off!”

  You didn’t. I did.

  “Either way, I will offer him a way out for a payout, in advance. The money, or his ass behind bars with nothing at all. The choice is his. I want every damned penny of that money in my possession. I may make the man suffer anyway…depends on how forgiving I’m feeling.” He laughed. “So, who was your source before I put in the effort to get this shit underway?”

  “Oh, I know people, you know that. After a while, we had the same circle of friends and some of these people, I still associate with. They don’t know about the charges against me because Saint never brought that to public light, as you are well aware of.” She grinded her teeth, angry that the evil bastard had discovered her indiscretion so it had been used once again, to her undoing.

  “Good, good,” he said sleepily, his mind no doubt whirling half-baked thoughts around. “Let me make some calls, and I will follow up with you. If what you are saying is on the up and up, we’re fine, and you will get your money. If you’re lying to me Payton, you’re S.O.L.” He snickered.

  “Well,” she said with a smirk, “I think you will find everything just as I’ve stated to be factual, if not even better.”

  And with that, she hung up the phone. She turned toward the vast window to peer out at all of the people milling about, shopping, working and taking care of their daily errands on the busy street.

  Just in case, goodbye, Manhattan…

  ~***~

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Saint straightened from his slumped position on the couch in his basement. He’d fallen asleep during a marathon of Kings of Comedy. He needed something to distract him, to ease his mind, and Xenia could no longer be his playmate for the evening. She had a big show the following morning, and needed her rest. Even the boys weren’t interested in him. They’d been offered pizza and games at a local fair that Mama Pam took them to. That only left Isis, yet she was fast asleep after a long day of eating practically every piece of fruit in the house. He yawned and looked around in the dark room until he saw the familiar blue glow from his phone.

  “It’s ringing…that’s what woke me up.” He yawned again and looked down at the number, not recognizing it. “Hello?” he said sleepily as he got to his feet.

  “Oh, did I wake you, Saint?”

  He stopped in his tracks and looked over at his liquor cabinet.

  “Is this Sinclair?” he shoved his hand in his pocket.

  “Yes, it is! I didn’t think you’d remember.”

  “Oh, I remember well enough…”

  “Well, you got me fired from my job, and I never called to tell you ‘thank you’ for that!” he snapped with a contrived roar of laughter.

  “You got yourself fired from your job, Mr. Grayson. You were there under false pretenses, now wh
at the fuck do you want?” Saint grinned, knowing full well what the deal was. The greedy motherfucker had fallen smack dab into his trap.

  The man sighed woefully. “I understand that things haven’t been going so well for you, Mr. Aknaten. My bad, Dr. Aknaten. I keep forgetting you went to school for sex, I mean, boy am I fumbling over my words today…” He laughed. “For sex therapy.”

  “I am a trained psychiatrist in the specific realm of sex therapy, Mr. Grayson. I would appreciate it if you’d move forward with the nature of your call,” Saint snapped in faux disgust.

  “Yes. Well, Saint, it just so happens,” he said, still laughing. “There I go again. Do you mind if I call you by your first name? I feel like we know each other quite well now.”

  “I am going to hang up now…”

  “Okay!” He seemed amused by his little cat and mouse game. “Saint, I can make all of your troubles disappear. For a small fee, I can make the hemorrhaging to your career stop. Now, I understand that the bank has probably frozen your assets due to the terrible mess you are in with the IRS.”

  “How did you know about that?” Saint looked at himself in the mirror as he performed. He only wished he had half the skills of Payton to pull off such a feat.

  “Let’s just say that when you messed with me, I messed with you,” Sinclair said proudly. “The cops, the whole nine, I can get it to stop in the next day or two if you meet my demands.”

  “I don’t have any access to any money, you just said so yourself.”

  “Oh, I have a feeling that you do have access to some and my records show that you have a beautiful nest egg in Luxembourg. Matter of fact, I think I may decide to open an account there myself!”

  “So this is all your fault? You contacted the IRS? You filed false charges against me, Sinclair?”

  “Now, now, Saint. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We can get into that later but first, let’s come to an agreement.”

  “If you wanted money, you could’ve asked for it before doing all of this.”

  “And your answer would’ve been ‘No.’” He cackled. “You see, Saint, unless it pertains to your books and conferences, you seem to be rather secretive. No one really knows what you are doing and how. Now, I’ll admit, you working for a bank is rather odd, and I can’t figure out that angle but I am certain it has aided you in your financial dealings. Now, I am sorry that your American checking accounts and bank cards have been adversely affected. Xenia, I’d imagine, has had to carry the load, and rumor on the street is that that house of your’s, all of those fine furnishings and nannies, and all of those expensive man toys you have in garage cost a pretty penny so it will only be a matter of time before that crib is on the market. Hey, I just may buy it when it comes up for auction! So, if I were you, I’d think long and hard about the proposal I am about to make…”

  “Which is?”

  “Five million dollars, Saint. That leaves you with about $400,000 remaining in this particular account, to get back on your feet until your legal matters are resolved and I will make sure that happens fast. The sooner you accept these terms, the sooner you can get your life back.”

  “You want me to wipe out my entire emergency fund, give it to a man who attempted to use my wife to get back at me for something that occurred over seven years ago and—”

  “No, motherfucker.” Sinclair’s calm, easy voice suddenly snapped and morphed like a chameleon. “You destroyed my life. Don’t minimalize this. You got me locked up, due to messing in business that didn’t concern you, and I had to build myself back up from the floor! You then ruined my name by showing out at the show. You are the reason my life is the way it is, and it is only right that you help rebuild it! Now pay up, or go down fast!”

  “Sinclair, I don’t think you understand. I didn’t cause you to go to prison. I never informed anyone of—”

  “Stop your lies! Do you know what happened to me in there?! Do you understand what happens to guys like me in prison?! Never mind that, you either take the deal and I make this shit stop, or refuse it, and you can keep going down the path you are going right now.”

  Saint sighed. “I suppose you are also responsible for the two brutes who tried to beat my ass?”

  “Affirmative. That was a warning shot. I tried to be kind and let you know there was more to come.” He could hear the man’s glee over the phone. “I was going to keep fucking with you until you ended up in prison, just like I did, but out of the kindness of my heart, I’m offering another solution. So, what do ya say?”

  “I can’t, I mean, I need a little time to get my hands on the money. There are procedures in place.”

  “It takes exactly two full business days to get that money wired to you. I’ve already done my investigation of the Bankquede of Luxembourgh. You also have a small account in Panama, approximately one million dollars. I’m so kind, I will also allow you to keep that but should you try anything slick, I’ll demand that money as well. You just need to understand that I have your entire financial picture now. I know all about your salary, earnings, what you pay your staff at that bank and they are some of the best paid managers and tellers, ever!” He guffawed. “I should work for you! Hey, I guess in a sense I am…”

  “And should I do this, how do I know you won’t come back for more?”

  “I won’t. You will have my word. I stand by my word, Saint. I’m sure Xenia can attest to that.”

  There was a long pause.

  “Okay, I will get the money and meet you somewhere. Now, you promise to call off the IRS and police, right?” Saint asked, doing his best to sound worried.

  “Yes, I will give you three days to get the cash…yes, I want cash, not a check. I will meet you at—”

  “No, I don’t want you picking the place. I don’t trust you enough for that.”

  “And I don’t trust you, either. Now, meet me at the old warehouse on Jefferson Boulevard. You bring the cash, unmarked. Only you, Saint. I don’t want to see any of your friends and if you tip off the police,” Sinclair said, his mouth sounding juicy with spit, as if he was trying to swallow his own dry threats, “I will know about it and I will ensure that not only is the deal off, but so is the rest of your life. Don’t try to cross me, Saint. This is your last chance.” The phone went dead.

  Saint looked at the phone and beamed, then dialed Jagger.

  “Sup,” Jagger answered, sounding upbeat with the distinct hum of the coffee maker in the background and a low roar of his television.

  “Hey man, he ate that shit up. Looks like Payton played her part, at least half of it. Now, he wants to meet at some joint on Jefferson, some abandoned warehouse. We need to case it. I’m sure he knows it inside and out and he gave me three days to get the money. It will only take me a few hours. I already spoke to one of the managers, but this will buy us the additional time to look at this place and figure out how to handle this based on that.”

  Jagger burst out laughing. “He has no damn idea what he just walked into! I can’t wait!”

  He heard Jagger crack his knuckles. The man had been itching for a fight; his breakup with Traci had practically sent him over the edge. It was evident because he pretended to no longer care. Lawrence and Saint knew it was an act, but he was doing what he needed to do to survive the whole ordeal.

  “Oh yes, if things go as planned, this is going to be some awesome fun!” Saint laughed. “So, meet me over there, uh, about one in the morning. I’m going to call Lawrence and fill him in and we can go from there.”

  “Cool. See you then.”

  Saint disconnected the call and smiled fiendishly. He’d dreamt about this moment for such a long time and it finally arrived. Timing was imperative. Lawrence had helped drill that home to him. Lawrence was the king of patience, waiting until the optimum point to strike like a lazy snake in the desert, blending in with the dusky landscape.

  Oh yes, Sinclair. There will be cash exchanged all right, only, it will be you who will be coughing up the currency. You wi
ll finally pay the piper…

  And the piper is named Saint…

  ~***~

  “Daddy, what’s wrong?” Xenia stirred the sugar in his coffee as they sat together on the back patio, the morning breeze blowing through the trees and light wind stirring the pool surface. Henry looked at the children and shook his head.

  “You are so blessed, Xenia.” Dakarai was sitting poolside with a curly straw of milk, a glossy comic book and his bright green swim trunks on. Hassani was doing leisure laps while Isis frolicked in her plastic baby pool nearby, her skin pruning and her smile wide.

  “I am.” She smiled as she put the lid on the sugar bowl. She handed him his cup.

  “Thank you.” He looked down into the hot, brown liquid. “I’m having a bit of a money issue, is all.”

  Xenia paused. “I thought that was all resolved? I thought the loan I gave you last month would take care of it?”

  “Well, I have some old debts, Xenia, from waaaaaay back.” His small eyes twinkled. “I’m not asking you for any more money, I wouldn’t dare do that. It just has me concerned, is all.”

  “What type of old debts?” Xenia set her cup down and crossed her ankles.

  “Oh, some old gambling mess, when I used to be involved in that foolishness. The biggest ones though are the medical bills.”

  “Daddy, you never told me you had outstanding medical bills. What is going on?” She looked him up and down; he seemed in good shape for a man of his age.

  “Oh, you know, diabetes and stuff like that. I was in and out of the hospital.”

  The memories flooded back. Porsche had mentioned several years ago that their father had diabetes. Xenia’s heart sank.

  “Oh, Dad, let me help you with hospital bills at least.” She reached over and caressed his arm.

  He offered a weak smile. “I can’t let you do that, honey. You’ve already helped me enough. I’ll figure out a way…just tired of the harassing collection calls.”