slamming his hand on the table and shaking their drinks a bit. “How much did we lose?”
“Twenty-five keys,” Teddy replies quickly, taking another swig from his Mai Tai.
“When is Chandler going to stop taking care of baby brother and let him sink or swim in the real world? Like a man!?” Pezzloni demands with a frustration that is clearly shared by Teddy. “That’s over six million dollars and heat from the DEA.”
“I know. I know.” Teddy admits, holding out his right hand with the palm down. “Chandler says that this new deal with the goose will make up for Herb’s mistake, and he promises that if he screws up like this again, he’ll be sent back to the private life.”
“Fuck, I’ve heard that a dozen times,” Pezzloni says with a scowl, shooting down the rest of his Crown Royale.
“Now, about the goose,” Teddy begins, knowing that they could discuss Chandler’s brother all day. “Everyone wants to know if that’s locked up?”
“It’s locked up, Teddy,” Pezzloni says with a sober expression, but the older man raises his eyebrows displaying some doubt. “Jesus Christ, it’s locked up, Teddy; you have my word that this one-hundred and eight million won’t be a waste.”
“That’s Amore`,” Teddy declares that he is somewhat satisfied using some of his old-school code. “I’m going to stay here for a while to help you keep up with New York and Miami on the details.”
“We would be honored to have you, Teddy The Suit,” Pezzloni replies using another old-school code that indicates he knows the other syndicates want an audit of how their money is performing.
Anthony smiles deep in thought, realizing that his partners are already concerned about their thirty-five million dollar investments in Rory, and they put Teddy on a plane from New York to California the moment the deal went into action. Teddy leans back in the comfy seat with a smile, watching the young women play in the pool as a tantalizing tribute in his honor.
A few hours later, Rory is sitting on Anthony’s Italian leather sofa, flicking his fingers anxiously under the cushions as he waits to speak with his captor. He has a severe headache from a long night of drinking and his body aches all over from intense sessions of sex with younger women. Since he did not arrive at the home with any luggage, he had no choice other than to wear the same royal blue dress shirt and tight jeans from the previous day, which despite his best efforts, are beginning to smell of sweat and alcohol. His face has thick stubble and is in need of a good shave. At his core he feels empty, drained of all dignity, hope, and anything familiar. In the past forty-eight hours, his life has transformed so much that he doesn’t even know if it was real.
“I hear you have something to say?” Pezzloni asks in a booming voice, standing just a few feet behind him.
Rory turns around slightly, then stands up and faces Anthony man to man.
“Look I’ve had a great time here,” Rory begins, gazing nervously at Anthony’s face, then over to the piano, and back toward his face again.
“Let me stop you right there,” Pezzloni orders, holding up his right hand with the palm facing Rory. “This is not a resort; you don’t just check in and out whenever you want; I thought we made that clear?”
“I understand that, but this isn’t my life; I had no part in making this deal, it was forced on me.” Rory pleads slightly, trying to tap Anthony’s emotional side.
As these words hit his ears, Anthony doesn’t hear anything about someone being forced or this not being their life. What he hears is a man asking for a reason to enjoy a lifestyle that every other man desires. On some level, his lonely disdain brings Anthony peace, feeling his animal side satisfied by the fact that Rory’s emotional suffering is earning his keep. Within a few seconds, his mind has rebuilt the narrative, and he sees an easy solution to the problem.
“No worries, Rory,” Pezzloni begins with a reassuring grin, genuinely pleased by his misery. “I have an investment in you, and I need to make sure that we recover our investment. At the very least, I need you to stay for two days and sober up so that we can draw your blood and know that it’s clean.”
“I understand,” Rory says looking at the floor, feeling foolish for thinking he could get out of this deal so easily.
“Aw, to hell with it,” Anthony reassures him with a gypsy smile. “Tell you what, I’ll make a few calls and see how fast we might be able to get you back to your old life.”
Rory’s face brightens with excitement exactly the way Anthony expected, and he nods in agreement with every word that follows.
“But before I put my ass on the line for over a hundred million dollars,” Pezzloni warns, holding up his right index finger, “I need you to promise that once you have your old life back, you’ll still hold up your end of the bargain and deliver the blood until I’m paid off. Otherwise… Well, we just won’t talk about otherwise for now.”
“Thank you, Mr. Pezzloni,” Rory says with an exhausted smile, “I will follow through on my end. No problem.”
“Excellent. Just let me make a few calls and I’ll get back to you before we draw your blood. Also, I want to be clear, you do understand that there is a debt between us?”
“Yes, Sir.” Rory agrees with a slight reluctance in his voice.
“You also understand that regardless of whether you were innocent or guilty of this debt being placed on you, it is still your responsibility to pay me back in full with interest?” Pezzloni finishes his sentence with a mistrustful squint, moving his head from side to side as if trying to see if Rory is lying.
“Yeah, that shouldn’t be a problem.” Rory says with a committed nod.
“You agree to pay me back by any means within your power? And I want to be clear, ANY means within your power?”
Rory takes a moment to think about this, and his heart drops suddenly as he feels like the man is talking about Kelly.
“You’re not talking about hurting Kelly, are you?” Rory finally asks, staring at Pezzloni with puppy dog eyes.
“I will not hurt Kelly; nor ever harm a hair on her head, as long as you agree to pay me in full by any means within your power.”
“Yes, no problem,” Rory accepts with enthusiasm, “as long as Kelly doesn’t get hurt, I will pay you back by any means necessary.”
“That sounds fair enough to me,” Pezzloni agrees, reaching out to shake Rory’s hand. “I will hold you to your word,” he says with a smile as he closes the deal with a powerful handshake. “Now get with Dimitri and order some clothes online; we’ll have them delivered here so that you look… respectable. In the meantime, Dimitri will be happy to lend you a few of his older suits.”
“Thanks, Mr. Pezzloni,” Rory says with a relieved smile.
“Likewise,” Pezzloni says in a curt fashion, then steps rapidly out of the room, moving upstairs to the third floor with a stalwart expression.
Later that night, Rory is lying on his back enjoying a lucid dream about his ex-girlfriend when he is awakened by what sounds like a burst of machine gun fire. His eyes open immediately with suspicion, and he stays perfectly still, thinking that remaining motionless will be safer for some reason. The red satin sheets and king size comforter feel soft and inviting on his bare skin, and for a moment, he thinks that the explosive stream of bullets was just part of a dream.
“WHAT THE FUCK!?” Pezzloni’s voice calls out from the hallway.
“I DON’T KNOW!” Dimitri’s voice answers back, “IT LOOKS LIKE SOMEBODY AT THE FRONT GATE.”
“IS IT THE CARTEL? IS IT THE CHINESE?” Pezzloni asks with some urgency in his voice.
“NO- SHIT, IT’S ELI THE WHISPER.” Dimitri responds with an irritated tone.
“THAT LITTLE MOTHERFUCKER! HE’S GOT SOME BALLS.” Pezzloni responds in a raucous voice.
Rory hears another short burst of gunfire, and then rapid footsteps just outside his bedroom door. The door springs open and his light is turned on as Dimitri enters the room wearing black sweat pants, a white muscle shirt, and a bulletproof vest.
“Get dressed.” Dimitri orders, staring at Rory with intense, judgmental eyes. “Mr. Pezzloni wants to see you in his office on the second floor right now!”
A few minutes later, Rory is still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes when he pushes cautiously past the half open door leading into Anthony Pezzloni’s second floor office. He sees all the familiar luxury that the girls had shown him when they finally gave him a tour of the home: a bookcase filled with rare titles, a large oak desk and credenza with glass tops, a three-foot globe in the corner of the room, and several expensive Italian armchairs and end tables.
An older man is seated in Anthony’s black and gold office chair with his hands gripping the neatly polished, custom woodwork of the handles. Pezzloni is leaning over his right shoulder and they are both staring intently at a computer monitor. The older man is wearing expensive custom eyeglasses, a black silk robe, and his gray hair is a bit messy with tufts out of place here and there. Anthony appears to have also dressed in a hurry with a black
The Golden Goose of Los Angeles Extended Edition Page 35
