by Bill Eidson
But the night after the bike messenger thing, Kelly had just lost it—and, to be truthful with himself, so had he. It had started with her standing just inside the glass doors while he sat out on the balcony, drinking.
They had just made love, and, unlike previous times, she had been cold and unresponsive. She kept worrying about the bike messenger. Worrying that he might be paralyzed, worrying that someone might have seen them drive away, or captured the license plate.
Geoff was normally too prideful a lover to let her remain unsatisfied. But after the incident, he had been too charged up to wait. The feeling that he was taking her for his pleasure alone added to his appetite. Afterward, he went out on the balcony. She followed him, whispering her fear. He quickly downed two shots of scotch. He became hard again, almost immediately, and figured he would drag her away from that door and take her back to bed again, thaw her out. Geoff couldn’t remember being so pumped up.
Kelly had kept after him, though. “Geoff, are you listening to me?”
“He wanted to play the game,” Geoff said, calmly. For the fortieth time that night. “And he lost.”
“He didn’t want to. He needed the money. You hurt people. You frighten them and bribe them into doing things they don’t want—and for what? You hardly needed that boy’s money!”
Geoff went to her. He put his palm against the small of her back and pulled her close. “I don’t seem to remember bribing you.”
She looked away. When she spoke, her voice was shaking. “I know I played a part.” She waved her hand around, taking in his penthouse apartment, the view. “We’ve got all this. We’ve got money. You’ve got power, and if this vice president thing works out, you’re going to be set for life …” She laughed, tears on her cheek. “Hell, you’re already set for life. Why did you need to hurt that boy?”
He kissed her behind the ear. He wondered how many of her tears represented genuine guilt and how many represented fear of getting caught. His gut reaction was to count heavily on the latter, but he supposed it could have been both. Either way, he had no use for her emotions. Her body, that he could use. He was so full he was almost bursting. He opened her robe and his own and pulled her close. He ran his hands down her back, the curve of her hips, and felt the smoothness of her upper legs. A part of him remained remote, watching.
This time, she looked up at him, a small smile on her face. She pulled him even tighter, trapping his penis between them. “Isn’t this enough?” she asked. “We don’t need to do anything like that again.”
She was damn near perfect.
Even so, he realized he was almost done with her.
He whispered in her ear. “We needed to do it because I’m bored.”
Christ, Geoff. What a dive.” Harrison laid his hand on Geoff’s shoulder and squeezed.
Geoff smiled back lazily. His every instinct was to slap the idiot’s hand away.
Instead, Geoff said, “Tell Geena I owe her for letting you go.”
“Oh, I will. She will, if she sees you any time soon.” Harrison called for a beer, his voice booming loud, his every mannerism saying, I’m-a-hearty-guy-meeting-my-good-friend-isn’t-life- grand.
Fucking pathetic.
Geoff let Harrison prattle along, telling Geoff all sorts of specifics in which he had no interest. Geoff was president of the real estate division of Jansten Enterprises, a multinational conglomerate headquartered in Boston. Geoff had led the hostile takeover of the San Francisco-based real estate firm five years back, then managed to turn the successful independent company into an even more successful division of Jansten’s empire. It had been a major coup, especially considering he had been just twenty-nine at the time. It also made Geoff one of the top-ten officers in the company.
Harrison was Geoff’s age, but apparently he fancied himself some kind of combination adviser-protégé of Geoff’s all at once. Which was a joke, considering the growing gut about Harrison’s waist and the veiled fear in his eyes. But he was a natural politician, so Geoff had assigned him to represent the real estate division on an ongoing basis back at corporate.
In theory, it was just a liaison role to make sure the real estate division got its fair share of whatever corporate was handing out, and to ensure that they weren’t saddled with what they didn’t need. In truth, his job was to make Geoff look good—to the board members and to Jansten.
As such, Harrison had a lot of face-to-face time with Jansten, and Geoff could tell it made the slug feel like he was the man of the house. Patently ridiculous, of course. But Harrison had been efficient in setting up the invitation back to corporate headquarters once Geoff decided San Francisco was no longer good for him—what with the newspapers picking up the story about the bike messenger, and his friends riding around plastering a surprisingly accurate sketch of Geoff’s face all over the place. When Jansten had called with the offer, he hinted rather broadly that Geoff could be in line for the VP job: “Your man tells me you might be willing to come to Boston. I’d like that. You can run your division same as always. I can tell you that you’ll be in the top three or four contenders for helping me run the company into the next decade.”
Top three or four. Neither Barry Lerner nor Phil Rudden were lightweights, but Geoff felt confident he could burn past them. If Steve Dern was now to be a contender, then that was a surprise, but surely one he could manage.
Vice president of a conglomerate with over sixty thousand employees in twenty-two countries, including half-a-dozen consumer brand lines, two high-growth electronics companies, Steve’s boat line, and Geoff’s own real estate division. The VP position would bring in a salary of over a half-million a year, plus stock options and perks, and a clean shot at the presidency when Jansten retired, which would be the genuine pot of gold. Yes, that would be entirely acceptable for a guy who hadn’t yet reached thirty-five.
Geoff tuned back in to Harrison, who was saying, “So I told Voss, ‘Uh-uh, you got the wrong idea. Try again.’ Face went red as a frigging beet, I thought we were going to have to do CPR on him, and then I figured, what the hell? Maybe I should lock the conference room door, come back an hour later with a wreath.” Harrison began to laugh.
Geoff said quietly, “What’s for breakfast tomorrow?”
Harrison cocked his head. “I … breakfast?” He reached absently for his breast pocket and pulled out his phone to check his calendar.
Geoff said, “Jansten’s called me out for breakfast. With Steve Dern. What should I be expecting?”
Harrison looked genuinely confused. “I don’t know anything about it. With Dern?” Harrison’s face was red, and Geoff thought of the story about Voss.
“I’m sorry, man,” Harrison said. “I talked to Jansten just yesterday, and he said his secretary was making all the arrangements to welcome you into town. In fact, I thought the first time we’d see you would be at the executive committee meeting on Monday. There has been a rumor of one of Jansten’s godawful team-building things. Going on a retreat.”
“Tell me about Steve Dern,” Geoff said softly.
Harrison lifted his shoulders. “Don’t know him that well. Wish I could tell you he was a scumsucker, but he’s a good guy. Smart, calm, knows his business.”
Geoff sighed internally as Harrison slid into the background. Most of it was stock company propaganda about Dern’s success with the Blue Water line. Jansten liked to brag about it. Probably figured it was one of the few lines Jansten Enterprises actually earned, rather than bought.
“Boats?” Geoff said, scornfully. “You think Jansten could be taking Dern seriously?”
“You’ve got no argument from me,” Harrison said.
Never do, Geoff thought.
“Sure, boating is strictly a small-potatoes industry. But, if you go to any marina, you’ll see that Dern’s line has rivaled the best of Boston Whaler and Mako—and he’s got a better price.”
“What’s he doing back here?”
Harrison grinned. “Dern’s making us some mon
ey. No doubt about that.”
“How’s our boy doing himself, financially?” Geoff asked this, hoping that somewhere Dern wasn’t asking some toad to pull up the same information on him.
“Got me. Probably stretched somewhat, though. He’s just been in Boston the past two months, you know. Building a house outside of Route 495. He and his wife are living on their sailboat in the meantime.”
“What’s that?” Geoff was genuinely surprised. “He’s building a house?”
“Oh, yeah. He’s here to stay. Jansten pulled him out of Charleston to run his division from here. Same as you.” Harrison winked over his beer. “Now you tell me it’s the two of you for breakfast. Rumor is that Barry Lerner slammed the door so hard after his private session with Jansten that he broke glass. And Phil Rudden hasn’t attended a meeting or made a decision since Monday. So maybe it’s going to be neck and neck between you and Dern. I’m counting on you coming through, buddy.”
Geoff leaned forward and put his hand on Harrison’s shoulder, mimicking Harrison’s earlier gesture. He said with quiet intensity, “Then you better come through with some better information than this. Next time I call you, be ready.”
“Geoff …” Harrison shook his head, and started to sip his beer. Geoff surprised both of them by slapping the mug out of his hand. It crashed on the floor inside the bar, and the bartender yelled, “What the hell?”
Without looking, Geoff took a twenty out of his change and tossed it to the bartender. To Harrison, he spoke in a low whisper, “Why didn’t I know this two weeks ago?”
“None of it had happened two weeks ago!” Harrison kept looking at his smashed mug and back to Geoff, his face blotched with color.
But Geoff was no longer in the listening mode. “That’s what I pay you for, you fat-assed shit. Now get out of here. Next time I call you, bring me something I can use. Or tell Geena to start packing for Des Moines.”
Harrison started to speak—and then looked at Geoff more closely. He shut his mouth and left.
* * *
Geoff sat breathing quietly after Harrison was gone. Feeling his heart beating harder than before. Pumped. Feeling it in his hands, how close he had come to hitting Harrison’s plump face rather than his beer mug. Knowing that his actions were inappropriate. Knowing that, once again, he had gone too far. It was one thing to have a reputation for being a wild man, quite another to be seen as a nut.
But he enjoyed the power in himself anyhow.
He had enjoyed it with Kelly, too.
She had threatened him.
“You’re bored,” she had repeated. “Because you’re bored that boy can’t walk. You think you can’t fall too? You think you can’t land on the street?”
“I don’t worry about it.”
This infuriated her. “You think you can’t get hurt? Maybe I’ll give you a taste of it. Maybe I’ll just go to the police and let them know who ran that boy off the road.”
That pulled Geoff up short. Kelly smiled, thinking she finally had his complete attention.
Geoff reached over for his jump rope on the nightstand and looped it around her neck. He hauled her off the bed kicking and fighting him and he threw the handles over the pull-up bar in his doorway.
Naturally, she tried to yell. But all that came out was a cawing sort of sound, nothing that would make it to the next condo. And within seconds, he had hauled her to her toes.
He spoke into her ear, feeling incredibly alive and excited as she clawed her throat. He said, “Good news and bad news, Kelly. The bad news is that I really do not know if I’m going to let you down. I may just hold you up here until you stop breathing. The good news is that I know you better than you know yourself. You’re weak. Your whole life has been nothing but easy, and it’s all you know. So killing you is simply an option. If I decide to let you live, you will never, ever, carry out that silly threat, because you’ll be looking over your shoulder for me the rest of your life. You understand?”
She tried to nod. He let go of the jump rope, and she dropped to her knees. She was terrified, gasping for air. He knelt down and smoothed back her hair so he could speak into her lovely ear. She flinched.
He said, “As for me landing on the street, I think I just might like it.”
Chapter 4
Geoff was thinking about the hooker when he left the bar. He had never paid for sex in his life, but he was charged up thinking about that time with Kelly. And the money problem kept on intruding into his thoughts, worming its way past the mental barriers he had carefully stacked.
He would have missed her, had the man not raised his voice. “I said what the fuck you been doing?”
Geoff instantly decided the man was a pimp. Very muscular, white, long black ponytail. An angular, cruel face. Geoff started in the other direction. Not his business.
The girl cried out.
Geoff looked back and saw the man cuff her with an open hand.
“I’ve been working, I’ve been—”
The man closed his fist. “Shut your mouth.” He knocked her to the ground.
“Hey!” an older man yelled from across the street, while his wife tugged at his arm. “Leave that girl alone.”
“Shove it, you old fart.”
Geoff saw the hooker touch her mouth and take away blood from her lips. The pimp took his walking stick that he had leaned against a tree and nudged her with it. “Get in the car. We’ll finish this.”
“No.”
The pimp looked surprised.
Across the street, Geoff’s eyes narrowed. This was getting interesting. He hesitated, thinking of his resolve of just a few minutes ago to rein himself in.
But he walked across the street. He had the sense of being a little outside of himself, thinking, What are you doing?
Knowing by now that he wasn’t going to stop, he kept just behind the pimp’s line of vision.
“Get in the car,” the pimp hissed at the girl. He snapped the stick against her head. Geoff winced for her, the noise it made.
“No!” She lashed out with her heel, those sharp heels, and caught the pimp on the thigh. He cursed and drew back his stick fully.
“She really was, you know,” Geoff said.
The pimp looked over his shoulder, surprised. “Keep moving, faggot. I’m doing business.”
“I’m talking business. She just did her job on me. Half an hour ago, just as I was going into that bar.”
The girl looked more frightened. She shoved her bright hair away from her face, streaking her cheek with blood. “Jammer, he means I asked him. I did, that’s doing my thing. But he said no. I didn’t make any money; I would’ve given it to you if I did. Tell him what you mean, mister.”
Jammer looked back at him, confused, and angered by it. “What’s this shit?”
Geoff winked broadly at the girl. “I wouldn’t call it nothing. Gave her five hundred bucks.”
Then he looked directly at the pimp. “That’s why she’s working for me now.”
There. Geoff felt the adrenaline pour into his veins as if he mainlined it with a syringe. Felt the rush, tasted the blood singing through him. Felt himself maintain control even as his heart beat faster, as the sweat trickled down his back. His balance was good, flowing down from him to the pavement through the balls of his feet.
Geoff wondered if the pimp had a gun and reveled in the absolute confidence that even if he did, somehow, Geoff would take it away.
Somehow.
What a great high.
Better than with that bike messenger, much better.
He saw the pimp was still thinking it over, wondering what was going on. So Geoff made it very simple by hitting the man with quick pop, bloodying his nose.
Eyes back on the man’s torso. None of this bullshit about watching his opponent’s eyes, the key was to watch the man’s body, see where he was going with it. Geoff had taken years of martial arts lessons: kung fu, jujitsu, boxing. Mainly for conditioning, he had told himself all those years, but
now that he was into it, he knew it was to be ready for this.
He laughed out loud, thinking of Jansten seeing him here, Jansten seeing one of the top contenders for his executive vice president position kicking ass in the Boston Common.
His laughter surprised the pimp, making him hesitate for a split second before swinging the stick in a whistling arc at Geoff’s face.
Geoff drew his head back, and the tip missed his nose by inches. He stepped into the pimp and landed a right-left-right combination to the kidneys, turning his fist just so. Nice, short punches. Feet firmly anchored to the ground. From what seemed a great distance away, Geoff heard the hooker screaming.
His concentration was wonderful. He saw the pimp’s face crumple in pain, saw the glare of assessment and hatred. Then the pimp jabbed his elbow at Geoff’s face. Geoff moved back quickly, but still the man caught him with a glancing blow on the chin, jarring his vision.
Fair enough.
Geoff kneed the pimp in the groin, then cracked him on the back of the neck with his forearm.
The pimp went down to his knees.
Geoff drew a deep breath. It had been easier than he thought.
The man was crouching low, head just coming up, a murderous look on his face, but it took more than ugly looks …
The girl was screaming at him, yelling something Geoff couldn’t quite understand, saying, Jammer s got a board, Jammer’s going to cut you, watch out, Jammer’s …
Jammer shoved glittering steel at Geoff. It’s a sword cane, he realized, and he slipped aside like a dancer as the metal slid into the left breast of his suit coat. He wound his arm around the light blade and clasped it near the base. Jammer tugged, but Geoff held firm, then pivoted on the ball of his right foot and kicked Jammer in the face.
He split the pimp’s lip. Jammer cried out and covered his face. Geoff picked up the walking stick just as a police siren began to howl in the distance.
The girl was up now. She looked scared and even younger than he had first imagined, a little over twenty. She said, “You better get out of here, mister. And I can’t stay with Jammer. He’ll kill me after this.”
