The Tucson Prophecy: a prequel novella to the Paranormal Gift series
Page 7
“Yeah, the drug.”
“Cocaine.”
They had used cocaine recreationally at parties in the past, but they had never been regular users. Now, apparently, cocaine had become Susan’s go-to entertainment and emotional pain killer.
“You know,” he said rhetorically, “she says my job is my second wife. I guess I should have seen this coming.”
The detective remained silent.
When he’d hired a private investigator to find out just how bad her drug habit really was, he hadn’t expected to find that another man was sleeping with his wife. His original plan was for a sort of intervention. He would confront her with the evidence, and give her an ultimatum to clean up. But that was before. Now this other man had to be dealt with first.
“How much do I owe you?”
“Twenty-five hundred.”
He paid the private investigator for his services and waited for him to leave, and then he took out his cell phone and speed-dialed the man who would help him handle this little situation.
Samuel J. Pendleton had not risen to his present height of power by sheer business acumen. One of his early risks had been to tap in to the lucrative world of money laundering. In the process of building up his list of clientele for these services he had become acquainted with numerous influential members of the criminal community. None of these was more influential than Martin “the Hammer” Scalini. He waited as the phone rang for the third time. The man who answered the call spoke in a crisp, high-pitched voice and reminded Samuel of the florist he frequently spoke to when he wanted to send flowers to his mistress.
“Mr. Scalini’s office, how can I help you?”
“Bobby, this is Samuel Pendleton. I need to speak to Martin.”
“One moment please.”
Samuel waited on hold for about thirty seconds before hearing Martin’s deep voice come on the line.
“Sammy! How’s the world of high finance treating you these days? No problems with any of my interests, I hope.”
“No, everything is fine, Martin. This is actually a personal call. I have a delicate situation that needs handling and I was wondering if you might recommend someone who could help me out….”
After Samuel hung up the phone a few minutes later, he smiled and sat back in his chair. It was nice to have such influential and discreet business associates. He contemplated this fact with satisfaction for a few moments before leaning forward and beginning to gather the pertinent information. The photographs showing Susan and her lover must, unfortunately, be included. It would be less embarrassing if there were some pictures with the man by himself. It wounded his pride a little to let someone else see them like that. He selected the documents listing the home address where he and Susan lived, the home address of her lover, and the details concerning the times of their meetings. Adding these to the photographs, he slid the items into a manila envelope.
He stood up and moved his chair out of the way as he turned to face a picture on the wall behind his desk. Pulling on one side of the picture frame revealed a safe mounted in the wall, as the picture swung open like a door. He typed in the combination on the illuminated keypad and turned the lever to open the safe’s door.
In his line of work it was prudent to keep a large amount of cash on hand in order to take care of the frequently fluid cash flow needs of his more unconventional clients. Having this cash in his office meant he could be more responsive to those needs, and therefore, charge a premium for prompt service. He hadn’t counted on being the next one to need the cash so readily available, but then again, luck favored the prepared. He counted out fifty thousand dollars and added it to the contents of the envelope, returning the remaining funds to the safe.
As he waited for Martin’s courier to come by and pick up the envelope, he went about his day’s work. Between the conference calls and emails, he frequently wondered what his wife’s lover was doing at the moment. Martin had said not to worry, that the situation would be taken care of, and the less he knew, the better. Samuel did know better than to press the point, and contented himself with the thought that he needn’t worry about the interloper again.
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Acknowledgements
Thanks to Jennifer Collins, my editor, whose work and comments helped to make this a better book. Thanks to my wife and son for their input on the cover design. Thanks to the members of the South Carolina Writer’s Group and the LILA writers group for their helpful comments, suggestions, and input.
About the Author
C.L. Wells lives in South Carolina with his beautiful wife and their wonderful children. His hobbies include writing paranormal thriller and crime/adventure thriller fiction, kayaking, paddle boarding, hiking, and bicycling.
For up to date information on the latest releases and upcoming books, visit www.fictionwithamission.com.
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