When the Man Comes Around

by Bradley Wright

  Lawson walked around the fountain, and the line at the check-in counter looked like the serpentine body of a never-ending snake. There was no way he could wait in that line. There was no way he could stay in this space, people rushing all around him, bumping into him, shouting, laughing, bells ringing from the casino, forks and knives hitting plates at the adjacent restaurant, the water rushing in the fountain, the—

  “Mr. Raines?”

  Hearing someone say his name jarred him from his growing state of panic. When he turned around to find a young man in a suit extending his hand, he realized that his breathing was labored, and though it was very cool inside, he was sweating through his T-shirt.

  “Lawson Raines? I’m Johnny De Luca. My father sent me to welcome you. Are you all right?”

  The young man’s deep brown eyes seemed genuinely concerned. He had all the markings of an Italian mobster’s son. The nice suit, the gaudy watch, the expensive shoes. Even though Lawson was in an altered mind state, his old FBI-detective profiling skills kicked in as instinctively as taking a breath. What didn’t add up was the soft demeanor Johnny displayed, and thankfully he didn’t have a pound of grease in his hair.

  Lawson took a deep breath, swallowing the feeling of being overwhelmed, as he shook his hand.

  “Yeah, I’m Lawson. Get me out of this jungle, would you?”

  Johnny winced a bit when Lawson shook his hand.

  “No problem. Wow, that’s quite a grip you’ve got.”

  Lawson nodded. Had he really digressed so much that he forgot how to shake a man’s hand?

  “Follow me, you’re going to love the suite. Dad spared no expense for you.”

  Again, Lawson nodded and followed the young man to the elevators. He couldn’t wait to get himself inside that confined and mostly private space. He realized in that moment that nearly everything about him was different than his old self. Different than nearly everyone on the planet.

  A few minutes and a calming elevator ride later, Johnny was opening the door to Lawson’s new temporary home. He could instantly see that Johnny was right. Nero De Luca had indeed spared no expense. The suite was opulent, and sprawling. As big as an entire row of jail cells. Lawson couldn’t help but feel as if he were being wooed. Though all of this would be free of charge to him, he knew it was going to have a large price tag when it was all said and done.

  “Can I show you around?” Johnny asked.

  Lawson could tell he was proud of the room.

  Lawson walked into the large formal reception room. It was all open and included a step-up bar on one end, an oversized dining room table on the other, and couches and other seating in the middle, enough for a lot more people than Lawson would ever have inside.

  “Actually no. I’m good.”

  Johnny looked disappointed. Then he pointed to a door past the dining room table.

  “No problem. Your bedroom is right through there. In the closet you will find plenty of clothes and there’s some money in the envelope on the nightstand to get you started.”

  “Great. So what’s the catch?”

  Johnny looked confused.

  “Catch?”

  “What does your dad want? Though I’m sure he is a splendid human being, he isn’t doing this out of the kindness of his heart.”

  “That will have to be between you and him. You have a dinner meeting with him tonight at STK in the Cosmopolitan Hotel.”

  “STK?”

  “As in steak. The place is dope, Mr. Raines. And the food is fantastic. You’re going to love it.”

  The thought of a crowded dinner at a swanky steak house made his skin crawl. But the thought of a big, fat, buttery steak was enough to push that other feeling right out of the way.

  “There is a cell phone on the nightstand as well. Anyone you will need to contact is in that phone. But if you need anything, just tap Johnny in the contact list. I can arrange anything you will need . . . or want.”

  Johnny followed that last bit with a wink. Lawson knew he meant women. Lawson gave no response, he just looked back toward the door. Johnny got the hint.

  “Right. Okay, enjoy the suite. I have a masseuse coming to set up for you in about an hour. I’ll text you dinner information in just a bit.”

  “Cancel the masseuse. And anything else you might be planning.”

  Johnny looked for a minute like he might protest, then decided against it.

  “Not a problem. Enjoy your day, Mr. Raines.”

  Johnny left the room, and finally Lawson could relax.

  7

  Lawson woke up to a dinging sound. He couldn’t place the noise in his mind, and before he opened his eyes, he expected one of the prison guards to be playing some sort of trick on him. But something was off. The smell around him wasn’t . . . dank. There were no scents of body odor wafting his way. What he did smell was, well, clean.

  Lawson shot straight up and opened his eyes, searching for the bars that had greeted him every morning for the last ten years. Instead, he was on a carpeted floor, surrounded by men’s clothes. The odd dinging sound that woke him was lit up next to him. A cell phone. Lawson vaguely remembered being uncomfortable on the ultrasoft bed. And he could just barely piece together the memory of feeling like there had been way too much space around him and how it had made him uncomfortable. So he had shut himself inside the small walk-in closet and finished his nap on the floor. The small confines made him feel at home. His first day out was getting awfully strange.

  The text message that had awoken him had been from Johnny. He was instructing Lawson to be out front at Caesar’s for the Mercedes that would drop him off down the street at STK. For a moment Lawson thought if it was down the street he would just walk. Then he remembered that in Las Vegas, across the street could be as far as a mile.

  He walked out of the closet, and though he knew that night had fallen, he could hardly tell with all the light coming in from the massive window at the end of the bedroom. He walked over and admired all the flashing lights of the Strip. Just below him on the street, thousands of people were enjoying a vacation—laughing, drinking, gambling, taking in all the fun that Las Vegas could be. But Lawson only felt pain as he looked over the grandeur. The only thing he saw were memories with Lauren. And that only brought sadness. He took a deep breath as he stared at his own shadowy reflection in the window. He thought it to be a fitting metaphor.

  He walked away from the window and directly toward the minibar. He took out a miniature bottle of Buffalo Trace bourbon, twisted the hunter-green cap, and downed the entire thing. The familiar burn flowed down his throat and flamed all the way to his stomach. He let out a hot exhale, enjoying the fond spirit. Since he had never had a problem with alcohol, it had always been used for fun and celebration in the past. The bourbon reminded him of home since it was made just a few miles down I-75 from where he grew up in Lexington, Kentucky. But now, thoughts of home, just like all other thoughts, it seemed, only caused heartache. Lexington was where he met Lauren, and according to Cassie, that is where his daughter was right now.

  Without him.

  Lawson turned and fired the small glass bottle against the wall. It shattered. Another metaphor. This time for his broken heart. Time hadn’t healed any of his wounds. They were still as open as the day he climbed back up on that boat and walked through that river of blood to find Lauren. Anger pulsed through his veins. Heartbreak poured gasoline on the fire. His chest was heaving, and his eyes were wet with tears. There were a lot of question marks in his life. He was walking back into a world that he could hardly remember how to live in. People, bad people, wanting him for the work he had done to survive in prison. Some of them wanted him dead, some of them needed his strangely acquired set of skills, but either way, none of it was anything Lawson cared about. The biggest question hanging in his mind was revenge. Who killed his wife? Who framed him for the murder, and why?

  Who destroyed his life?

  The why in the equation, as far as feelings, was inc
onsequential to Lawson. The only reason the why mattered was because it might lead him to who. And all he knew was when he did find out who was responsible, he would be bringing the wrath of God with him to their doorstep. They took everything from him. And they were going to pay. Somewhere, right then, his daughter was living her life without her mother, or her father. There would be no barrier high enough to keep him from righting that wrong.

  There was nothing he could do for his daughter right then. And that further split his already broken heart. He couldn’t go to her until he figured out who he was going to be. They wouldn’t let him near her even if he tried. He had been around law enforcement long enough to know that until he had his life together, no one was going to let him in hers. Because for all they still believed, he was a murderer. No pardon, whether it be from a governor or the FBI, was ever going to change that.

  The FBI.

  Now there was a curveball he hadn’t seen coming. Especially with Cassie leading the way. They must have been pretty hard up for good help if they were trying to pluck has-beens from the prison slush pile. Sure, before going to jail he was doing a great job for the FBI. It had always been one of his goals to become a special agent and then maybe one day move over to the CIA. And ironically, spending so much time in prison had only made him more qualified. Now he knew life from the other perspective. The criminal mind. If he was good at reading people before prison, he was a certifiable expert at it now. Couple that with the fighting skills he had acquired on the inside, and there may not be a better person for the job. But he didn’t see how that figured into his life either.

  The next steps he knew he was about to take would only throw him further into that criminal mindset. He was going to have to break every law in the book to make things right. And there wasn’t a trickle of hesitation in his body when he thought about it.

  Maybe that is the sort of man the FBI or the CIA would want.

  Maybe Cassie springing this on him really was a blessing. An entire world of backup would be there for him if he needed information. If he worked it right, he might get everything he wanted out of this situation.

  That, or the FBI would have a front-row seat to one of the most devastating personal wars ever waged. At the end of the day, Lawson didn’t really care.

  With or without the FBI, someone was going to pay. Probably a lot more than one. And after he was finished bringing the house down on the parties responsible for Lauren’s death, he didn’t care whether they gave him a medal or locked him up for good.

  The phone dinged again, his car was waiting downstairs. He quickly checked the safe to make sure his notebook was secure.

  Step one had to be taken: infiltrate the underworld of crime to find out who knows what. Nero De Luca was the perfect place to start.

  Lawson tossed his phone on the bed and walked back into the closet. He sifted through the gaudy-colored clothing until he found a black suit at the end of the rack. He plucked a black button-up shirt, a black belt, and some black dress shoes, and put on his new life.

  He stared at himself in the full-length mirror attached to the back of the closet door. De Luca’s tailor had nailed the fit. And though Lawson didn’t recognize the man staring back at him, at least he was dressed the part.

  The funeral attire would be fitting seeing as how he was prepared to send any man who stood in his way to their grave.

  8

  The hostess led Lawson through a maze of tables. STK was an odd steak house to him. Most of the steak houses he’d been in, with stuffy white tablecloths, were geared for the old-white-man-with-money demographic in mind. This restaurant couldn’t be more opposite. The lights were low, and there was a DJ in the back corner—yes, a DJ in a steak house—and more beautiful young people along the bar than Lawson had ever seen in a place like that. Something must be going okay in America if all these young people have this much disposable income.

  The hostess walked him past a wall of white horns and into a room adjacent to the main dining area. Where you could still be in the mix but also enjoy some privacy. When she walked him in, the cast of Goodfellas, The Godfather, and Casino were all waiting there for him. Everyone stood except for the man in the middle of the table, which was against the back wall at the middle of the room.

  “Lawson Raines.” The man set down his glass of red wine and spread his arms wide.

  “Don Corleone,” Lawson quipped.

  All the men standing on either side of De Luca turned their attention to Nero, apparently waiting to see how their boss was going to take this strange man making a joke at their intimidating boss’s expense.

  De Luca smiled. “The big, bad Lawson Raines has a sense of humor.” He gave a sweeping glance to all his merry men. “Don Corleone.” He laughed. They all broke their trance and began to laugh with him. “I like it. I only hope I don’t look like him too.”

  He didn’t. Nero De Luca more closely favored Al Pacino from the movie Any Given Sunday. Not very tall, fit for a man in his late fifties, short salt-and-pepper hair, and an arrogant scowl permanently etched in the lines of his leathered face. Lawson didn’t answer. He just stood in front of De Luca and waited.

  “Have a seat. How do you take your steak?”

  “Rare.”

  “Ah, see, boys, I told you this was a real man.”

  Lawson took a seat opposite De Luca. A woman in what was hardly enough material to be called a dress poured a glass of red wine, and his men finally returned to their seats.

  “That was a real bang-up job you did on Sokolov’s men. I must apologize for not being better prepared. I believe I underestimated the amount of people you pissed off when you did favors for their enemies.” De Luca gestured to himself.

  “It was nothing.”

  “Nothing?” De Luca’s smile widened. “You see, fellas, that’s how it’s done. You handle things like it was all part of the job.” He glared back at Lawson. “But those weren’t any ordinary men, from what I’m told. Some of the meanest of Sokolov’s bunch.”

  “If that’s true, you don’t have much to worry about.”

  De Luca laughed.

  “You say that, Mr. Raines, but they have been giving my men plenty to worry about over the last few months.”

  “Sounds like you need some new men.”

  Lawson didn’t mince words.

  Another scantily clad woman set a New York strip down in front of Lawson. A dab of garlic butter was melting on top of it, the juices from the steak still sizzling on the heated white plate. His stomach growled at the sight of it. His mouth watered for a bite of it.

  “That is why I brought you here, Lawson. Because I can’t say that I disagree with you.”

  That brought some unrest amongst the men. De Luca wasn’t doing Lawson any favors by speaking about them like that in front of him.

  “I need more men like you. Men who can take care of business and then go about their day. Smart men like you who can help me figure out who is stealing from me. Keep my assets safe my investments making money.”

  Lawson didn’t touch his food.

  “What makes you think I want to work for you?”

  De Luca’s charming tone changed at Lawson’s insubordination.

  “What makes you think you have a choice?”

  Lawson stood from the table. Several of the men stood and drew their weapons.

  “Every man has a choice, De Luca.”

  De Luca didn’t wave his men off.

  “That is true, Mr. Raines. And it is also true that every choice has consequences. The question is, are you willing to live with them?”

  Lawson eyed the table in front of him. He would be able to get the steak knife to De Luca’s throat before the men could shoot him. He was faster than he looked. But that wouldn’t do him any good. He’d be dead. And now if he didn’t indulge his urge to kill him, it really wouldn’t do him any good going forward to be on the bad side of De Luca, even though every fiber of his being wanted to tell this sleazeball to blow him.
So Lawson took a deep breath . . . and waited.

  After a few more contentious seconds, De Luca waved his hand for the men to put away their guns.

  “I can’t help but feel disrespected, Mr. Raines. I put you up in a nice hotel, I put some cash in your pocket, I treat you to a wonderful dinner and offer you a high-paying job to do what you are good at. I’m going to do you yet another favor and chalk this up to you not being used to how things work out here in the real world.”

  De Luca took a sip of his wine, then rose to his feet.

  “You see, out here you aren’t the man anymore. I am. And when the man offers you a job, it isn’t an offer at all. Do we understand each other?”

  Lawson didn’t look away from De Luca, but he didn’t offer an answer either.

  “Let me make this easier for you, Lawson. You help me out, and I’ll help you out. I am generous enough to make this more of a partnership.”

  Lawson broke his silence.

  “I know what I bring to the table, De Luca. But what can you offer me? I can make money in other ways.”

  De Luca raised his eyebrow.

  “Well, I’m not sure you can, Lawson, but okay, how about we start with me letting you live?”

  Lawson went quiet again. From the sound of it, De Luca needed him. So Lawson wasn’t going to make it easy for him.

  De Luca picked up a cigar, lit it, and blew a puff of smoke into the room as he comfortably waited through Lawson’s silence. Then he smiled. A dark and sinister smile.

  “Oh, and there is this business of your wife.”

  Lawson’s temperature rose. His muscles tightened, coiled inside like a cobra ready to strike.

  Careful, De Luca.