Sugar Rush
Page 48
“Of course we’ll get through it,” he says soothingly. “I’m right there by your side.”
“The police may not think my identification of him by that tattoo is strong enough to force him to give DNA,” I tell my dad. “He may stay free.”
“And if that happens, what’s your plan then?” my dad asks hesitantly. And I know what he’s thinking…will I revert back to my original plan for murder?
“Then I’ll have to live my life content to know that while I might not get justice for what happened to me, that I got Beck instead. And trust me…that will be enough.”
I think.
God, I hope.
I really, really hope I can let it go if it comes to that.
I open the door to Michael Mina, an upscale, elegant San Francisco restaurant. Due to the abundant natural light from large windows in both the front and back of the restaurant, I easily spot Dennis sitting in a booth about midway back. He raises a hand in greeting and pointing to him, I tell the hostess, “I’m meeting someone and I see him over there.”
She smiles and gives me a polite nod, murmuring, “Enjoy your meal.”
He doesn’t bother standing in professional acknowledgment of me, and I like that. After watching the fight with him the other night, and hell, after all the personal shit he knows about Sela and me, I much prefer to think of him as just a friend in this moment.
Because that’s exactly what I need right now.
I had called Dennis a few hours ago when I got to my attorney’s office and asked if he had time to meet today. He invited me to lunch, even boasting he’d pay for it, since he’d finally cashed the check I’d given him.
“What’s up?” he says casually as I slide into the seat opposite him.
“Just finished a meeting with my attorney. He’s drafting up a purchase agreement for JT to sign if he takes the five-million-dollar offer. Should be ready in a few hours.”
“Think he will?” Dennis asks. I had called him yesterday evening and told him briefly about JT’s ass kicking. He didn’t seem all that surprised it happened so quickly after the fight, stating that the timing of it was a good way to deliver the message of what a dire situation JT had put himself in and that his bookie was not fucking around on collecting.
Shrugging, I reach out and take a slice of bread from the basket that sits between us. “No clue. Not only was he rattled from the beating, but I caught him off guard by using his situation as leverage to get him out of the company. I figure he’s reeling right now, and it’s hard to make good decisions like that.”
“Well, hopefully the fear of what will happen to him if he doesn’t come up with the money will motivate him to see things your way.”
“Hopefully,” I agree, my mind not really focusing on that. I’ve realized that I have no further control over this situation and our next move depends solely on what JT decides to do.
A waiter approaches our table and sets a glass of ice water in front of me before rattling off the lunch specials. I’ve eaten here several times and it’s always been good, I ask him to just bring me whatever he thinks is best. Dennis orders the Prime Black Angus rib eye rare with a loaded potato. We both stick with water for our drinks.
“I’m flying out tonight to Vegas,” Dennis says after the waiter leaves. “VanZant’s still there and I’m going to deliver the money.”
“Not using the middle man?”
“He’s good and trustworthy,” Dennis says with a dark laugh, “but there’s no one I trust enough when that amount of cash is involved.”
I don’t ask how it’s being delivered or the details. Dennis has warned Sela and me enough that we don’t need the details of how he operates, and we’re safer not knowing. I have to trust he knows what he’s doing and stop worrying about details I have no control over. And frankly, I just don’t want to know how Dennis managed to “launder” the money I gave him into what is now probably five hundred thousand in nonsequential bills filling a sturdy briefcase.
I nod in understanding, but don’t respond. I’m too keyed up over what’s happened in the last two days, too worried about everything that could still be screwed up. I’m trying to make contingency plans, and it’s like playing a game of chess with an opponent who flies by the seat of his pants.
“VanZant’s an interesting character,” Dennis says, and my eyes dart to his.
“How so?” I ask, not really caring, because let’s face it…I’m done with him. But I’ve also learned enough about Dennis to know he always has a point to everything.
“From a small town in Iowa, captain of the wrestling squad. Honors student who dated the homecoming queen. Full scholarship to Purdue. Just a golden boy.”
I break off a piece of bread, pop it into my mouth, and wait for Dennis to make his point.
“Just one of those guys you knew was going to be a success in life,” he says as he leans his forearms on the table. “Got married to his sweetheart after college, produced two cute kids, and found out he had an actual talent for mixed martial arts.”
While I know Dennis is leading me somewhere, I’m antsy with my own worries, so I urge him along. “Sounds like he’s a little slice of Americana, but so what?”
“He didn’t bat an eye at accepting a bribe,” Dennis says. “On paper…just looking at him from the outside…you’d never think that boy would do something like that. Too much straight and narrow in him. But he took it all the same.”
“Meaning?” I prompt.
“Meaning that everyone has a price and everything can be bought if you know the right people, so with that in mind, I’m going to push you right along and ask you to spill it. What do you want from me?”
Perceptive fuck. But then again, that’s why I paid him big bucks so far, and why I’m getting ready to have a conversation that could damn me to hell.
I like Dennis Flaherty a lot. He’s not only a competent professional who came personally and highly recommended, but he’s proven to me that he can get the job done. On top of that, I just think he’s an upstanding guy. He clearly has shady ties, but you can tell that he’s motivated to do good by others.
Most important, he also understands vengeance and how there can be an unquenchable need for it when someone you care for has been hurt.
“The police may not think my identification of him by that tattoo is strong enough to force him to give DNA,” I tell my dad. “He may stay free.”
“And if that happens, what’s your plan then?” my dad asks hesitantly. And I know what he’s thinking…will I revert back to my original plan for murder?
“Then I’ll have to live my life content to know that while I might not get justice for what happened to me, that I got Beck instead. And trust me…that will be enough.”
I think.
God, I hope.
I really, really hope I can let it go if it comes to that.
I open the door to Michael Mina, an upscale, elegant San Francisco restaurant. Due to the abundant natural light from large windows in both the front and back of the restaurant, I easily spot Dennis sitting in a booth about midway back. He raises a hand in greeting and pointing to him, I tell the hostess, “I’m meeting someone and I see him over there.”
She smiles and gives me a polite nod, murmuring, “Enjoy your meal.”
He doesn’t bother standing in professional acknowledgment of me, and I like that. After watching the fight with him the other night, and hell, after all the personal shit he knows about Sela and me, I much prefer to think of him as just a friend in this moment.
Because that’s exactly what I need right now.
I had called Dennis a few hours ago when I got to my attorney’s office and asked if he had time to meet today. He invited me to lunch, even boasting he’d pay for it, since he’d finally cashed the check I’d given him.
“What’s up?” he says casually as I slide into the seat opposite him.
“Just finished a meeting with my attorney. He’s drafting up a purchase agreement for JT to sign if he takes the five-million-dollar offer. Should be ready in a few hours.”
“Think he will?” Dennis asks. I had called him yesterday evening and told him briefly about JT’s ass kicking. He didn’t seem all that surprised it happened so quickly after the fight, stating that the timing of it was a good way to deliver the message of what a dire situation JT had put himself in and that his bookie was not fucking around on collecting.
Shrugging, I reach out and take a slice of bread from the basket that sits between us. “No clue. Not only was he rattled from the beating, but I caught him off guard by using his situation as leverage to get him out of the company. I figure he’s reeling right now, and it’s hard to make good decisions like that.”
“Well, hopefully the fear of what will happen to him if he doesn’t come up with the money will motivate him to see things your way.”
“Hopefully,” I agree, my mind not really focusing on that. I’ve realized that I have no further control over this situation and our next move depends solely on what JT decides to do.
A waiter approaches our table and sets a glass of ice water in front of me before rattling off the lunch specials. I’ve eaten here several times and it’s always been good, I ask him to just bring me whatever he thinks is best. Dennis orders the Prime Black Angus rib eye rare with a loaded potato. We both stick with water for our drinks.
“I’m flying out tonight to Vegas,” Dennis says after the waiter leaves. “VanZant’s still there and I’m going to deliver the money.”
“Not using the middle man?”
“He’s good and trustworthy,” Dennis says with a dark laugh, “but there’s no one I trust enough when that amount of cash is involved.”
I don’t ask how it’s being delivered or the details. Dennis has warned Sela and me enough that we don’t need the details of how he operates, and we’re safer not knowing. I have to trust he knows what he’s doing and stop worrying about details I have no control over. And frankly, I just don’t want to know how Dennis managed to “launder” the money I gave him into what is now probably five hundred thousand in nonsequential bills filling a sturdy briefcase.
I nod in understanding, but don’t respond. I’m too keyed up over what’s happened in the last two days, too worried about everything that could still be screwed up. I’m trying to make contingency plans, and it’s like playing a game of chess with an opponent who flies by the seat of his pants.
“VanZant’s an interesting character,” Dennis says, and my eyes dart to his.
“How so?” I ask, not really caring, because let’s face it…I’m done with him. But I’ve also learned enough about Dennis to know he always has a point to everything.
“From a small town in Iowa, captain of the wrestling squad. Honors student who dated the homecoming queen. Full scholarship to Purdue. Just a golden boy.”
I break off a piece of bread, pop it into my mouth, and wait for Dennis to make his point.
“Just one of those guys you knew was going to be a success in life,” he says as he leans his forearms on the table. “Got married to his sweetheart after college, produced two cute kids, and found out he had an actual talent for mixed martial arts.”
While I know Dennis is leading me somewhere, I’m antsy with my own worries, so I urge him along. “Sounds like he’s a little slice of Americana, but so what?”
“He didn’t bat an eye at accepting a bribe,” Dennis says. “On paper…just looking at him from the outside…you’d never think that boy would do something like that. Too much straight and narrow in him. But he took it all the same.”
“Meaning?” I prompt.
“Meaning that everyone has a price and everything can be bought if you know the right people, so with that in mind, I’m going to push you right along and ask you to spill it. What do you want from me?”
Perceptive fuck. But then again, that’s why I paid him big bucks so far, and why I’m getting ready to have a conversation that could damn me to hell.
I like Dennis Flaherty a lot. He’s not only a competent professional who came personally and highly recommended, but he’s proven to me that he can get the job done. On top of that, I just think he’s an upstanding guy. He clearly has shady ties, but you can tell that he’s motivated to do good by others.
Most important, he also understands vengeance and how there can be an unquenchable need for it when someone you care for has been hurt.
