by R. R. Banks
I sigh and shake my head. “I'm sorry,” I say. “Are you okay, Dad?”
“I'm fine,” he replies gruffly. “I just don't understand why you're always so hostile to me.”
“I'm not being hostile, Dad,” I say. “I'm having brunch with Gabby and I'd really rather not have this conversation right now. Now, what can I do for you?”
He's silent on the other end of the line for a moment and I can tell he's building up steam. His silence is usually the proverbial calm before the storm. And if there's one thing my father knows how to do, it's throw a damn fit. He can be incredibly scary when he's angry, and although he's never laid so much as a finger on me, there have been plenty of times in my life when he was so livid, I feared he might.
I'm expecting him to burst into some tirade about me being an ungrateful child and how he's worked hard his whole life to provide me with the advantages he never had – the usual script when he reads me the riot act. He surprises me though, and somehow manages to remain calm. However, I can tell by the sound of his breathing that it's a Herculean effort for him.
“I need you to come to the house tonight,” he says, through obviously gritted teeth. “For dinner.”
“Dinner?”
“Is it so surprising that I want to spend time with my daughter?” he says, forcing out a laugh that sounds hollow to my ears.
There's something in his voice – something behind his words – that is setting off warning bells in my head. Having dinner with my father isn't all that unusual. We don't do it often, but it's not an unprecedented request. What's got the warning bells going off in my skull though, is his tone – that unquantifiable thing I hear in his voice.
“No, of course not,” I say slowly.
“So, dinner tonight then?” he asks, forcing some artificial cheer into his voice. “Stop by the house around six?”
I look at Gabby, who looks back at me with wide eyes. I give her a shrug and a shake of the head; not entirely sure I understand what's going on.
“Holly?”
“Yeah,” I reply into the phone. “Six. Got it.”
“Great,” he says. “See you then.”
I disconnect the call and drop my phone onto the table and stare at it for a moment.
“What was that all about?” Gabby asks.
“I have no idea,” I say. “But, I guess I'm having dinner with my father tonight.”
“Oh, that should be fun.”
“Yeah, about as fun as a pap smear,” I say and roll my eyes.
Gabby laughs and tosses a crumpled-up paper napkin at me. “You're awful.”
I shrug. “What can I say? You've taught me well.”
I take a sip of my mimosa and let my mind wander, wondering what my father could possibly want. And judging by the tone of his voice – and that indescribable thing I heard behind it – he wants something. Gabby looks at me, a rueful smile touching her lips as she can see me trying to figure it out in my head.
“Well, this has certainly cast a pall over the afternoon,” she says.
“Yeah, I'm sorry,” I say. “My dad tends to have that effect.”
Gabby laughs and drains the last of her glass. “Fear not,” she says. “I'm not going to let him ruin the rest of our day. After all, we have an appointment at the best spa in the city.”
“Oh, we do?”
Gabby nods. “Indeed, we do, my dear.”
“Excellent,” I say. “I can use a nice spa day.”
“Well then, let us press forth.”
I pay the bill and follow Gabby out to her car, doing my very best to not let the interaction with my father ruin my day. Thankfully, she doesn't push the issue of taking a little road trip. Given how I was feeling at that moment, there's a good chance I might have taken her up on it.
As we head out to the parking lot, I try to push all the thoughts out of my head and focus on the here and now. No matter how hard I try though, a feeling of worry wraps itself around my heart and squeezes me tight. I feel the weight of uncertainty and anxiety pressing down on me.
No matter how hard I try, I can't break free from the thoughts and concerns flashing through my mind. And I know that no matter how hard I try to keep it from happening, my day is already ruined. All I can do is what I usually do when I'm in this kind of state – put on a happy face and pretend that everything is A-OK.
Yeah, my dad really has a shitty effect like that.
Chapter Four
Michael
It's been a couple of weeks since I watched Trujillo blow that guy's brains out and every day has been sheer hell. I can't sleep at night. Whenever I close my eyes - all I can see is that guy's head exploding in a spray of red meat. I feel the blood splashing onto me. See myself dragging the corpse out from the rest area and pushing it down the embankment. I hear the way it crashed through the undergrowth before finally coming to rest a long way down.
I know it's going to be a long time before anybody finds it - if the body is ever found. It's not a highly traveled path to begin with but sitting on the side of a steep hill thick with trees and choked with weeds and grass means that poor sap is probably going to lay there until he turns into nothing but bones. Probably even longer than that.
Despite that fact though, I scan the news every single day, looking for a story on the discovery of the body. I watch out the windows constantly, waiting for the cops to come storming in through the front door. Every time I see a cop car, my whole body tenses up and I feel physically nauseous, waiting for them to slap the cuffs on and haul me away. I've never been more stressed out and terrified than since Trujillo shot that guy in front of me.
Yeah. The last couple of weeks has sucked a whole bag of dicks.
When I'm stressed out and on edge, I tend to do the only thing I can do – throw myself into my work. It helps keep my head focused and clear. And, when I'm feeling as antsy and wound up as I do right now, it's about the only thing that calms me down.
This morning, we're breaking ground on a new strip mall project in downtown Denver. The morning is cool, but warmer than it usually is this time of year. Instead of sitting in the trailer and doing the administrative bullshit that normally drives me crazy, I decide to work with the crew today. As nervous and on edge as I am, I can't sit behind the desk. No, this morning, I need the physical exertion.
With a cup of coffee in hand, I walk out of the trailer, putting a hard hat on my head and take a deep breath, allowing the fresh morning air to fill my lungs. Yeah, this is what I need. I need a good, hard, eight-hour day in the sun, working. Grinding. Sweating. I need to go home completely exhausted, wanting nothing more than food, a hot shower, and my bed.
Yes sir, that's exactly what the doctor ordered.
“Gettin' your hands dirty today, huh, boss?” Jake, one of my foremen, calls to me.
“Somebody needs to teach you slackers how to work.”
I step over to the backhoe, climb into the cab, and fire it up. I give it a minute to warm up and then drive over to the excavation site. With the building having already been demolished, now we just need to get the new center built. With any luck, we'll get it done on time and under budget, as that means I'll get a significant bonus.
And if there's one thing I need right now - it's money.
I work for about an hour and a half, digging the trenches and helping to clear the section where we're going to lay the groundwork for the beginning of the center. I notice that my mood is clearing, my thoughts are becoming more focused, and I'm starting to feel better about things. A good, hard day's work always does that for me.
Shutting down the backhoe, I climb out of the cab and walk over to the foreman's tent. Jake is there, looking over the plans and discussing the next steps forward with a couple of the guys on our crew. I listen in for a few minutes and provide a few more details for the crew.
Jake sends them off and I grab a soda out of the cooler and pop the top, taking a long drink, relishing the feel of the cool liquid sliding down my parched throat. It's been a
while since I've worked with the crew out on the site, and I have to say, I'm enjoying it.
“So, what's up with the guest appearance today?” Jake asks and takes a sip from his own soda.
I shrug. “Just needed fresh air and physical exertion today, I guess.”
He nods and looks at me for a long moment. “Everything okay, boss?”
I turn to him doing my best to keep my expression neutral. “Yeah, fine,” I say. “Why do you ask?”
“I dunno,” he says. “You just haven't been yourself the last couple of weeks. You seem kind of – tense – or something.”
Yeah, maybe because I spent an hour in a scalding hot shower, washing the blood and bits of brain from some poor schmuck out of my hair a couple of weeks ago. That's enough to make anybody tense. But of course, I can't say that to him.
“Nothing to worry about,” I say. “It's all good.”
He nods, but I can see the doubt on his face plain as day. Nothing I can do about that though. He's my foreman, not my confidant, so I don't feel compelled to unburden myself to him. I don't owe him answers to anything.
“Who's this?” Jake says, looking at something beyond my shoulder.
I turn and follow his eyes, my heart sinking straight into my gut when I see a familiar black SUV rolling into the parking lot. Trujillo. Shit. I don't owe Jake any answers, but I do need to keep him from poking around and finding out who Trujillo is. Which means I need to keep him away from Trujillo completely. Jake is a sharp, perceptive guy – it's why I made him one of my foremen. But, the last thing I need is him turning that sharp, perceptive brain onto a guy like Trujillo.
“Potential investor,” I say. “Forgot I told him he could come down and look at the site and discuss some preliminary parameters on his project with me.”
“New project?” Jake asks. “You didn't mention it to me.”
I shrug. “Forgot,” I say. “I just met the guy, so nothing is even in the planning stages yet. This is just a courtesy. I'll fill you in if it starts getting more concrete.”
Without waiting for a reply, I walk over to the parking lot just as Trujillo is getting out of the SUV. His man – the man who'd pulled the trigger that night – looks me up and down, a predatory grin touching the corners of his mouth. And I can tell he'd like nothing more than to put a bullet in my head right then and there.
“Mr. Trujillo,” I say, doing my best to keep my voice from shaking. “This is an unexpected visit.”
He nods and looks around, surveying the construction site, not speaking for a long moment. And the longer the silence goes on, the more nervous I get. The calm clarity I'd had before is gone. Like a puff of smoke on the wind, it's fucking gone and I'm back to the same jittery, nervous as fuck wreck I've been the last couple of weeks.
“Walk with me,” Trujillo finally says.
I cast a nervous glance at Trujillo's driver and nod. The big man stays with the car as I walk across the site with Trujillo. His dark suit is pristine, and I'm afraid he's going to get mud on his overcoat – more worried that he'll blame me for it and then shoot me, really.
He stops on a small bluff that overlooks the construction site and seems to be taking it all in. Like he's trying to understand how it works or something. I stand beside him in silence, my gut churning, adrenaline coursing through my veins. The last thing I want to do is start babbling nervously out of a need to fill the ominous silence between us.
“Big project,” he finally says.
I nod. “Very big project,” I reply. “Very profitable. Once I get this done, I should be able to give you a big chunk of what I owe you.”
“But, not all of it,” he says, a statement, not a question.
I clear my throat and shake my head. “No, not all of it. Unfortunately,” I say. “But, I've got some more projects lined up behind this one and –”
“Family is important,” Trujillo says. “Maybe, the most important thing in life. Wouldn't you agree?”
I'm so taken aback by the abrupt change in the direction of the conversation, I nearly give myself whiplash trying to keep up with it. I stare at him blankly for a moment, not sure of what to say. Trujillo turns to me, an amicable expression on his face.
“All of this,” he says, gesturing to the construction site, “is to make money, of course. But more importantly, I feel that you are doing this, building this company, to leave as a legacy to your children. Would I be wrong in that assumption?”
I shake my head slowly. “No, not at all,” I say. “My son, Ian, I've been grooming him to take over for me when I retire.”
Trujillo nods knowingly. “And you do this because you are leaving him a legacy,” he says. “Because family – our children, and what we leave behind for them – are the most important thing in life.”
I'm still not sure where he's going, and frankly, I’m starting to get creeped out by his almost nostalgic tone. But, so long as he's not having his man wave a gun in my face, I'm happy to agree with him.
“Yeah, sure,” I say. “Exactly. Legacy. Family and all that.”
Truth be told, I haven't given much of a thought to legacy at all. I built this company from the ground up for one simple reason – to make a pile of money. My plan all along has been to make a ton of cash, retire early, and live the good life. Handing off the baton to my son when I'm ready to retire just seems like the normal, natural thing to do. But hey, if Trujillo wants to wax nostalgic about it, more power to him, I guess.
“I've been thinking a lot about family and legacy lately,” Trujillo says. “And about what I'm leaving behind for my own son.”
Oh, you mean aside from a blood-soaked, murderous drug empire? It's a thought I keep to myself though. I just nod thoughtfully as I wait for him to get to his point – and I'm sure he's trying to make a point here somewhere. About something. I just don't know what.
“I didn't know you had a son,” I say lamely, because it's the only thing I can think of to say.
Trujillo nods. “Armando,” he says. “He's a good boy. Smart. Handsome.”
If the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, then I'm not sure somebody who is as violent and bloodthirsty as I imagine Trujillo's kid has to be, should be described as a “good boy,” but okay. I'm not going to argue the point with him. Mostly, because it would likely earn me a bullet in the head.
“I'm sure he is,” I say evenly.
“I want him to give me many grandbabies,” he says. “Grandsons who can take over the family business when he is gone, just as I'm leaving it to Armando.”
The family business. How quaint. The way he talks, almost fondly, he makes it sound like he'll be passing on a hand-crafted soap business or something equally as innocuous. The way he talks, you wouldn't think the family business is one that traffics guns, drugs, women, and death.
I clear my throat and run a hand through my hair. The longer this chat goes on, with Trujillo acting like we're long-time friends having a little kvetch over coffee or something, the more uncomfortable I'm growing. I couldn't give a shit less about his legacy or his goddamn grandbabies.
“Listen,” I say, “I have a lot of work –”
“You're probably wondering what I'm doing here,” he cuts me off.
I sigh. “The thought has crossed my mind.”
Trujillo turns to me, his expression serious. “I have a proposition for you.”
A chill slithers its way down my spine as I look at him. Getting into bed with Trujillo was a mistake in the first place. I didn't know what I was signing up for at the time, but there's nothing I can do about it now. But, getting deeper into bed with him now seems like utter madness to me.
And yet, I have no choice but to hear him out. Hear him out and pretend to give his proposal serious consideration. This is what I get for making a deal with the devil in the first place.
“What kind of a proposition?” I ask.
Trujillo flashes me a dangerous smile, knowing the hook is set. “I'm proud of the empire I'm building,”
he says. “An empire you're playing a very big part in.”
I groan inwardly. If I knew what sort of role I'd be playing in building this man's empire, I would have burned my company to the ground way back when.
“But, an empire needs heirs to continue its forward progress, right?” he asks. “Just as your company needs your son to continue forward.”
“Yeah, sure,” I say and glance at my watch. “Listen, I don't mean to rush you, but –”
“The rate of repayment on your loan is slow. Too slow,” he says. “I'm a patient man, but even my patience has its limits, Michael.”
“I understand, Mr. Trujillo, I just need –”
“I had expected to be earning more by laundering money through your various projects by now.”
“I did too, but with the slowdown in –”
Trujillo spoke over me, cutting me off like I'm not even speaking. So, I just close my mouth and let him continue speaking, since he obviously doesn't want to hear from me.
“But, being a forward thinking and benevolent man at heart, I've found a solution to both of our dilemmas,” he says.
Trujillo looks at me as if he's expecting me to answer, to ask the obvious follow up question. Christ, I hate these stupid games. I hate even more when I'm forced to play them because of the barrel he has me over.
“And what is the solution, Mr. Trujillo?”
“My son needs a wife,” he says. “And you have a single daughter, yes?”
The blood in my veins turns instantly into ice. I've never spoken to him about my family, outside of my son, and I know it shouldn't surprise me that he knows about my daughter, but it does. It catches me completely off guard and it feels like he just delivered a sucker punch to my gut. Like he knocked the wind out of me, and knowing now where he's going with this, I feel a greasy wave of nausea rising in my throat.
“Michael?”
I look up and see that he's staring at me, clearly expecting me to answer him. Which seems pretty stupid to me, since he already knows the answer.
“Yeah,” I reply slowly. “I have one daughter.”
