Bad Blood

by Hugh Dutton

  Brady bit back a groan. Lexy, Lexy, why, girl? He felt the two middle fingers of his right hand flicking his palm and covered it with his left. “Does this sound like something I would make up?”

  “Immaterial, Mr. Spain,” Burgess said, waving the question away. “Memories are quirky and unpredictable things. If the two of you remember it differently, then I have no choice but to believe one or the other. I choose to accept Alexandra’s version of events. You can understand that, can’t you, Mr. Spain?” The amusement came out of hiding now, a hard-edged grin splitting the heavy jowls. “For example, you have suffered a recent memory loss of another incident, have you not?”

  Brady could only stare in response, feeling his pulse jumping in his neck. How about the pair on this guy? Guess that was it for the misunderstanding gambit.

  Burgess chuckled. “Surprised I wish to discuss our differences so openly? Why not? I have learned, over many years of business negotiations, that little is gained by talking around a subject. You should agree, I hear you have quite a promising career in the making.” He waggled a finger. “Something you do not want to jeopardize. Now, are you prepared to redeem your fraudulent check?”

  “No, I’m not.” Brady sat up on the edge of his seat, leaning forward for emphasis. “You know I’m not and you know why. And you know it’s not fraudulent.” To hell with this guy, his millions and his bigger than a damn mountain self. To hell with him.

  “Actually, it is.” Burgess rose, moving back to the bar. “I am in contact with my attorney, who advises me that you have committed a fraud if you cannot satisfy the debt. I can swear out a warrant if I wish, and you will be arrested. Then you will be facing a fine and probation, certainly, perhaps a prison term.” He returned to his chair with the new drink, sat back, and crossed his legs in the opposite direction of before. “What you and I have to decide is if I am to swear out that warrant.”

  Brady sprang up and went to the window, squelching the impulse to run screaming from the house and away from the craziness. He couldn’t, not until he knew more. Fraud? Prison? Had to be a bluff, he could explain everything. But what if no one would listen? “What do you want from me?”

  “Me?” Burgess chuckled again. “It’s not a question of what I want. You wished to rent a home and thus entered into a contract with specific requirements. I am merely asking that you fulfill those requirements or I will take the appropriate legal action. However, I can assure you that if your memory were to improve, Alexandra’s would as well.”

  Brady whipped around to face him, feeling his every muscle stiffen from the anger crawling up his back. “You mean testify that I saw Nick with Lexy.”

  “See? You do like plain speaking. Good for you.” Burgess set his drink down and held up his hand, palm out. “I doubt testifying will be necessary. Merely confirming the fact if you are asked should be sufficient.”

  “Why are y’all so fired up about this? Why do you need me? Did he do it?” Brady asked, anxious to know just how deep this quicksand was.

  “No, he did not,” snapped Burgess. The blue eyes glittered like an icy lake, and Brady realized this man would ruin him with about the same compunction he’d feel crushing a cockroach. “Why we need your corroboration is not your concern. Your concern is deciding what is best for Brady Spain.”

  “And if I don’t change my story?”

  “Then you will be arrested for passing bad checks. It will mean the end of your career and a permanent criminal record. To say nothing about prison, which I understand is not the healthiest place for a young man such as yourself. Have we reached an agreement?”

  Brady took a deep breath and held it. Scared as he was that Burgess might not be bluffing, it was too late to turn back. Okay Mom, here goes. Looks like I’m not one of Lexy’s “right kind of people” after all.

  “This is your agreement,” he said. “I’ll have your money in a week, just like I told Lexy. What I saw, or didn’t see, on that day, is the same. No Nick.”

  “One week, eh?” Burgess smiled at him, not genial at all now. More like an alligator in a meat locker. “Frankly, that is unacceptable. If you are of the opinion that you can prevent your imminent arrest, I believe I can proceed if the warrant predates attempted restitution.” He paused and cocked his head to the side, locking the frozen blue eyes onto Brady’s. “And if you are planning to leave the city, please know that my attorney assures me such action will guarantee your being convicted of the charges. I think you will find you have no options except improving your recall.”

  Brady stood, the lower half of his face numb with disbelief, but he’d said his piece and there was nothing else to learn here. He could forget about talking this thing out, the man was dead-set.

  Burgess stood too, and waggled a forefinger the size of a salami in Brady’s face. “Furthermore, you may as well forget this notion of filing a police report that implicates anyone in my family or employ in the assault on you. No, do not look surprised that I anticipate such an obvious countermeasure. I would like to point out that anyone who has a habit of writing bad checks should expect to have problems with unsavory creditors. Especially if there is a witness who heard your assailants mention such a debt. See how memories work?”

  He strode to the door and pulled it wide. “I don’t particularly care whether or not you are convicted. The damage to your life is sufficient to satisfy my pique, and your refusal to corroborate Alexandra will be readily accepted as a petty attempt at revenge by a disgruntled felon. Have a good day, Mr. Spain.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Ellie Macken was on her way to meet her lover again. Except she couldn’t seem to get out of the house and on the road today. All J.D.’s fault, what else?

  “I’m telling you, it’s not here,” she shouted at her phone where it lay atop the counter on the far end of the kitchen, on speaker mode.

  “Look again, babe, it has to be there somewhere,” J.D.’s voice echoed across the room. She could hear the exasperation even through the tiny speaker and it made her want to tell him to go screw himself. Seems he’d lost his precious iPad and now Ellie had to take the house apart in search of it. If she gave in to her temper and told him off, he might come home to look, and that would not do.

  “I have looked and looked. Did you try your car?” And please just hang up so I won’t be late, she thought. Her date was the third this week, a first. A tantalizing taste of heaven that just made her want more. Today’s rendezvous was extra special because she intended to bring up that very subject. When could they be together? When could she leave J.D.? Could they move in together? She wanted everyone else to see how lucky she was.

  She felt sure her timing was right; getting this much of her lover’s busy schedule simply could not be a coincidence. And Mom was home from the hospital and feeling better, lifting the big worry off Ellie’s mind that her shocking news might endanger Mom’s health. Though Ellie was peeved with J.D. for acting so irritable when she tried to share the news of Mom’s recovery, that too was just another sign. Time for him to get told what’s what, go somewhere and be crabby by himself. Fate was sending all the messages that this was it: the most important day of her life was here.

  “Are you sure you didn’t borrow it and misplace it somewhere?”

  She strode across the kitchen, snatched the phone up, and banged it against the wall, hoping it broke his eardrum. “I’m not your child, J.D., don’t speak to me like that.”

  “Damn it, Ell, this is important,” he yelled.

  Ellie shoved her fist in her teeth and bit it hard enough to make her wince. Calm down, she cautioned herself, because he’s wrong. You need to keep your eye on what really is important. “All right, I’ll keep digging around, and I’ll text you if I have any luck, okay?” she said once she’d lassoed her temper.

  She punched off, and with one last glance in the mirror banged out the door. And stopped and stared at J.D.’s iPad lying on the patio table. So that’s where the stupid thing’s been hiding. She
wrinkled her nose at it. Well, too damn bad. Can’t have him coming home to get it, and no way she was taking it to him. She jumped into her Accord and flew down the driveway.

  Her excitement burned so hot that she was bringing two gifts to mark the special occasion. Gift number one was a fabulous new cologne she had found quite by accident while shopping, a rich spicy scent that had instantly reminded her of her sweetheart. The second present was a bit more daring. The hot, steamy fantasizing she’d done while waxing her bikini line emboldened her to go much further than normal, shaping hers into a little Mohawk like she’d heard lingerie models did. Painful process, but erotic, too. Now she felt shy about it, hoping it would be a real turn-on, maybe even a little kinky.

  She turned right onto Shoreline and jammed down on the gas, prompting a satisfying squeal of rubber. Almost there, she thought, feeling her stomach begin fluttering. Sex with her lover was so much better than she’d ever imagined possible—simple, with no poses or roles to play, just tenderness and discovery. They shared an intimacy that J.D. wasn’t capable of; they could talk about things he wouldn’t even begin to understand. She’d been such a moron, settling for J.D. all these years. Ellie laughed out loud at how wonderful it was to feel like a teenager again. Funny to think she used to believe she knew what love was.

  The overdue sleep came at last, once his exhausted body rebelled and cut off the adrenalin supply to Brady’s racing brain. He woke after just four hours of it, however, with his thoughts back to running laps around his head at light-speed. So he spent the rest of the wee hours like any good computer jock would—googling for answers. What he found wasn’t pretty.

  Burgess had not been bluffing. The amount of the bounced check classified the offense as a third degree felony, for which he could be sentenced to no more than five years. The phrasing annoyed him. What, was the “no more than” supposed to make him feel better?

  The only gray area the law provided as a possible out required him to prove the payee had reason to know or suspect the check was bad. And he could forget that ever happening if Lexy and Dad presented a unified front denying any such knowledge. Nor had Burgess bluffed about the restitution thing. Even if Brady made the check good, the felony charges could proceed. It seemed preposterous that any court of law actually would, but how could he take the chance? Surely there was some defense available to a guy telling the truth, wasn’t there? He needed a lawyer. And how was he going to pay for that? Great, just friggin’ great.

  He still wanted to believe Lexy’s conscience would not allow her to shaft him if he was really headed to prison, but talk about your classic case of wishful thinking. After meeting Leo Burgess, he guessed she would have to toe the line or get crushed too, daughter or not.

  That thought made him thank God for Johnny Torres. The all-night drunken karaoke parties were the closest things to poor parenting Brady could remember from his father, and those seemed like all good fun back then. The divorce had been painful, losing his fun-loving playmate Dad. Brady was only six at the time. Not that he ever second-guessed living with Mom, knowing with a child’s inner survival instinct that Johnny was incapable of single parenthood. But he couldn’t help every once in a while wondering if Johnny would be proud of his success.

  His crash course in the ruthless nature of the real Lexy Burgess also provoked an uncomfortable yet unavoidable comparison to Peggy. Just as Lexy was everything Peggy wasn’t, Peggy had everything Lexy didn’t. And it sure would help right now if Lexy had some of those unwavering down-home morals.

  Served him right, didn’t it? He was the one who just had to escape the confines of small-town life on Tobacco Road, get a taste of the highlife and the beautiful people. Well, he was getting it, all right. The whole Norman Rockwell image of two hayseeds hitching up and never leaving the farm had suffocated him. And he’d pulled away from Peggy simply because she was part of that picture, not because of one single damn thing wrong with her. Didn’t that rationale feel embarrassingly shallow now? She looked pretty wonderful compared to this bunch here in paradise. Not that any of it mattered, his next romance would be with some giant convict named Bubba unless he figured a way out of this mess, and soon.

  The spiraling effect of all the negative thoughts feeding on each other began to remind Brady of a toilet flushing, swirling around until they dragged him out of sight. Going on in to work was the only therapy he could come up with that might keep him from jumping out a window or something, and he did owe the job a couple of hours after yesterday.

  Good decision, too, because driving through the gorgeous sunrise did wonders for his funk. It was a new experience for him, as he’d never timed his drive in just right before. The kaleidoscope of changing colors as the sun broke the horizon had a clear, almost painful beauty that would boost a dead man’s morale. He opened the Jeep’s windows to let the cool overnight air rush through, fresh and clean and smelling like the promise of everything good. Just dodge the doorbell and screen his calls for a week, and then send Burgess a certified check with a letter giving the thirty days’ notice required to break his lease. He would take his chances on Burgess being able to put him in the slammer after that.

  He soon felt even more pleased with himself for going in early, since he had an e-mail from Ed Schlatt: See me as soon as convenient. He took the steps two at a time up a floor to Schlatt’s office, his heart jumping like a wild thing. Forget the Burgess hysteria, this could be it, the opportunity he was waiting for.

  “Ah, Brady,” Schlatt said, looking up from a file spread open on his desk. “Come in, have a seat.”

  Brady did, trying to keep his face ho-hum, not expectant. Schlatt leaned his elbows against the desk and formed a globe shape with his hands by matching up the fingertips. Brady recognized it as Ed’s “important company business” posture.

  “Brady, I have the unpleasant task of informing you that we have decided to go in a different direction with our sales and reservations.” Schlatt cleared his throat. “Effective immediately, the company will no longer require your services.”

  Brady sat frozen for a moment, replaying the words for something he had missed, searching Schlatt’s face for signs of humor. No way, just no damn way. “Excuse me, did you just fire me?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t call it firing, but yes, we are terminating your employment,” said Schlatt, and cleared his throat again. “As you know, you are still in the probationary period of your contract, when we may choose to terminate our agreement at any time with no notice. I am sorry it has to be this way, and we wish you the best of luck.”

  What, did he practice this pompous garbage in front of the mirror or something? Brady felt his blood racing with adrenalin, his hands shaking, even his lips numb and quivery. Just no damn way. “I don’t get it. Didn’t you tell me just the other day how great it was going, how enthusiastic you were about building and expanding on what we’ve done?”

  “Yes, I did, and I won’t retract that statement. In fact, no one at Beach Haven has found your work to be anything but exemplary.” Schlatt paused and squirmed around in his chair. His eyes showed a glint of apology, guilty conscience maybe, the first sign of the Ed Schlatt he had worked with for nearly two months. “Sometimes financial considerations and the long-term future of a company take precedence over individuals. That’s where we find ourselves.”

  “Financial considerations? What, you suddenly can’t afford me?” And then bang, he got it. Burgess. Had to be. The fattest wallet always wins in business. But how? The man certainly did not own Beach Haven Resorts; Brady knew all of the principals. “Okay, then, whose idea was it, Ed, if my performance is so exemplary?”

  “Now, Brady,” he said, tapping his fingertips together in unison. “You know I cannot discuss that. As I said, I’m sorry.”

  Then the rest of the equation hit Brady. Burgess and money. No job, no money. No money, no chance of escaping Burgess. He did the math, staring blindly at Ed’s bogus sympathetic expression. One week, eh? Burgess had asked hi
m, laughing. Without a full paycheck, Brady could not make his check good and pay the rent. Burgess totally had him by the gonads. Unless . . . “What about severance pay, Ed? Surely I’m due something.”

  “I’m afraid not. There is no such provision in your contract for probationary employees.” Schlatt winked and showed him a chummy smile. “However, I will see to it that you get paid for a full half-day today so you will have time to clean out your desk.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Digger Carrero kept the door cracked until the crazy fuck disappeared from sight, then slipped out without even bothering to pack a bag. He needed to vacate his crib, get gone before old cop came back. Needed to stay gone for a while too, hook up with somebody who would let him domicile at their crib. Dude claimed he wasn’t Law, but damn sure acted like it, looked like it, smelled like it.

  Maybe not, though, ’cause the man asked some weird-ass questions about his car, offering a reward if Digger could prove if he was a witness to some shit. All smiling and friendly-like too, talking through the door chain like they were old buddies. Not the way any Law Digger had ever met acted, but dude had to be some kind of cop. Said his name was Gerry Terry or some such bullshit. Well, Digger wasn’t waiting for him to come back. He could be Vice, they was all crazy anyway, and Digger was carrying a nice supply of meth he had just cooked up.

  The real worry was if old fat-ass, cheap-suit-wearing freak had come by because he knew about Digger’s last ponytail girl. Shouldn’t be, she never scratched him or pulled his hair, nothing for the DNA man. And he had worn a sock on his junk, so nothing there either. It was just the car thing had him going off. Maybe he would dump the Olds on somebody else, hook himself up with a new ride.