The Boy I Grew Up With
Page 18
“What?” He frowned. “No. What are you talking about? I'm here on behalf of Brett Marsch, Senior.”
“You say that like I should give a shit.”
Another tie adjustment and this time, he pulled the sides of his jacket closer together. He fixed the top button. He really looked the Peter now.
“I'm here to offer you and your business associates a job proposal.”
“A proposal? I'm intrigued.” I said it flatly. I wasn't.
I swear his chest puffed up.
“Like I said, I represent Brett Marsch, Senior, from Marsch Industries. He's learned you may have come across his son recently. He'd like to know the basis of that interaction.”
“The basis?” I drawled.
My hand twitched.
“Yes. What was the reason behind your interaction with his son?”
Moose needed to hurry the fuck up.
I tilted my head to the side. “How much does he want to know?”
My meaning was clear.
The guy narrowed his eyes.
He stepped back. “Well, he'd like to know if it was a business interaction or a social outing interaction. Any information you could give my client, he’d be grateful for.”
I laughed, crossing one ankle over the other. “I’d like to know how grateful he’d be.”
The lawyer stared at me.
I stared back.
He frowned. “Are you attempting to extort my client of money?”
I smirked. “Those are big words for this high school fuck-up.” I dropped the smirk, letting him know I was serious. I cooled my tone. “Daddy wants to know where his errant son is. Right? I got that right?”
He swallowed, his Adam’s apple jumping up and down. “Yes. You did.”
“You don’t know where the fuck you are. We ain’t the friendly small-town folk here. You want something, you pay for it. You want information on your client’s adult son, you pay for it. We clear?”
He coughed. “Pay for it?”
I heard a truck approaching. Moose had the best timing.
His truck whipped down the road and slowed before pulling up to where I stood.
He rolled down his window. “Hey, high school dropout fucker.”
I grunted. “Shows you're the idiot. I graduated.”
“What?” His smirk vanished. “Really?”
“You’re the one who didn’t graduate.” I gestured ahead. “This fine Peter is offering money to find out what business we had with Mr. Brett Marsch.”
The lawyer bristled. “My name is Eric McDougall. And I wasn’t offering. We were discussing the option of—”
“What? Really?” Moose was deadly serious.
The lawyer swallowed. “Yes.” He frowned. “That’s my name.”
“Not your name. You’re offering money?”
“Oh. Uh…” He coughed, then his shoulders slumped. “I guess I am.” Peter adjusted his hold on his briefcase, moving it in front of him as if it were a shield. “Mr. Marsch is willing to pay, but before any payment can be discussed, I need to know what type of interaction you had with his son.” He paused, waiting.
I had no doubt this had worked on others.
They would be awed by his slick suit, his combed-back hair, the briefcase that was probably some fucktastically expensive brand, and after waving the promise of money in front of them, their drool would be up to their ankles.
He stared at us.
Moose and I stared right back.
We said nothing. We didn’t blink.
We were content to wait this Peter out. Hell. This was entertainment for us, just seeing him fidget.
One minute. Two. He coughed again, smoothing a hand down his tie, and then again—a third smoothing. He couldn’t make it any flatter. The tie was dead. He’d smothered it.
“Well…” He straightened his cufflinks.
No. Really. He did.
Still no reaction from Moose and me.
“Okay then.” His chest rose and fell. “Can you tell me the reason you interacted with Mr. Marsch, Jr.?”
Moose and I cracked grins.
“What?” The lawyer seemed bewildered now.
Moose gestured to him. “Here’s how we roll. You pay us. Then we tell you.”
The lawyer looked at me.
I leaned against my truck and nodded toward Moose. “He’s the muscle. I’d listen to him.”
Moose flicked his eyes upward, but that was the closest he’d get to an eye roll. His dead-serious face was still on. “Your first mistake was coming here. Your second was mentioning you knew Brett Marsch. Your third was coming dressed like that, and your fourth was letting us know you really want to know what we talked to Marsch about.”
The lawyer’s eyebrows pulled together.
Moose amended, “Marsch, Jr.”
The lawyer swung toward me. I shook my head. “You pay. We talk.”
He scowled and cursed, reaching for his wallet. He pulled out a few bills and flung them to the ground.
Twenty bucks.
Moose and I started laughing.
Two of them blew away.
No one made a move to catch them, and I warned, “You might not want to piss us off.”
Moose didn’t react, but I felt his surprise.
I was close to snapping. I needed to pull back, but she was there. Right under the surface. She was with Heather. Bren too. Three females in my life, and one was already gone.
Shit. I had to let this guy know.
“You insult me one more time, throw money at my feet like I’m a fucking beggar, and your blood will be coating it.” I raised an eyebrow. “We clear?”
He didn’t move. Not for a full ten seconds. His eyes locked on mine, and without a word, he pulled out a hundred from his wallet.
When I still didn’t move for it, he walked it over to Moose.
As soon as Moose took it, I said, “He was here.”
I stopped.
He waited.
I just smiled at him, knowing the threat of violence was in the air and knowing he could feel it.
He muttered under his breath, “Are you kidding me?” But he thrust over another hundred-dollar bill.
The next round of this game started, followed by a few more after that. He learned that we’d talked to him and that he had been inside our warehouse.
I held out until we’d gotten a cool five hundred from him. Then I’d had enough.
“Look, give us another five hundred and we’ll tell you everything. Anything short of that, piss off.”
He drew himself to his fullest height, as if offended. But after glancing between Moose and me again, he gave up.
“Fine,” he muttered, taking his wallet out and emptying it.
Moose took the money, counted it, and nodded to me.
“Marsch was running a scam on the nursing home here,” I told the Peter. “We ran him out of town.”
He looked deflated. “That’s it?”
We’d beaten the shit out of him, but I wasn’t sharing that with a lawyer.
“Why are you looking for him?” I asked. “Father dearest just missing his heir?”
He held his briefcase higher, moving it to rest in front of his stomach. “That’s none of your business.”
Moose and I shared a look. I stepped forward, folding my arms over my chest.
Peter edged back a step, his eyes flicking from me to Moose and back again. His mouth thinned.
“We’re good at finding people,” I told him. “It would be worth your time to pay us to deliver him to you.”
“Deliver?” he echoed.
“You say that like I should give a shit.”
Another tie adjustment and this time, he pulled the sides of his jacket closer together. He fixed the top button. He really looked the Peter now.
“I'm here to offer you and your business associates a job proposal.”
“A proposal? I'm intrigued.” I said it flatly. I wasn't.
I swear his chest puffed up.
“Like I said, I represent Brett Marsch, Senior, from Marsch Industries. He's learned you may have come across his son recently. He'd like to know the basis of that interaction.”
“The basis?” I drawled.
My hand twitched.
“Yes. What was the reason behind your interaction with his son?”
Moose needed to hurry the fuck up.
I tilted my head to the side. “How much does he want to know?”
My meaning was clear.
The guy narrowed his eyes.
He stepped back. “Well, he'd like to know if it was a business interaction or a social outing interaction. Any information you could give my client, he’d be grateful for.”
I laughed, crossing one ankle over the other. “I’d like to know how grateful he’d be.”
The lawyer stared at me.
I stared back.
He frowned. “Are you attempting to extort my client of money?”
I smirked. “Those are big words for this high school fuck-up.” I dropped the smirk, letting him know I was serious. I cooled my tone. “Daddy wants to know where his errant son is. Right? I got that right?”
He swallowed, his Adam’s apple jumping up and down. “Yes. You did.”
“You don’t know where the fuck you are. We ain’t the friendly small-town folk here. You want something, you pay for it. You want information on your client’s adult son, you pay for it. We clear?”
He coughed. “Pay for it?”
I heard a truck approaching. Moose had the best timing.
His truck whipped down the road and slowed before pulling up to where I stood.
He rolled down his window. “Hey, high school dropout fucker.”
I grunted. “Shows you're the idiot. I graduated.”
“What?” His smirk vanished. “Really?”
“You’re the one who didn’t graduate.” I gestured ahead. “This fine Peter is offering money to find out what business we had with Mr. Brett Marsch.”
The lawyer bristled. “My name is Eric McDougall. And I wasn’t offering. We were discussing the option of—”
“What? Really?” Moose was deadly serious.
The lawyer swallowed. “Yes.” He frowned. “That’s my name.”
“Not your name. You’re offering money?”
“Oh. Uh…” He coughed, then his shoulders slumped. “I guess I am.” Peter adjusted his hold on his briefcase, moving it in front of him as if it were a shield. “Mr. Marsch is willing to pay, but before any payment can be discussed, I need to know what type of interaction you had with his son.” He paused, waiting.
I had no doubt this had worked on others.
They would be awed by his slick suit, his combed-back hair, the briefcase that was probably some fucktastically expensive brand, and after waving the promise of money in front of them, their drool would be up to their ankles.
He stared at us.
Moose and I stared right back.
We said nothing. We didn’t blink.
We were content to wait this Peter out. Hell. This was entertainment for us, just seeing him fidget.
One minute. Two. He coughed again, smoothing a hand down his tie, and then again—a third smoothing. He couldn’t make it any flatter. The tie was dead. He’d smothered it.
“Well…” He straightened his cufflinks.
No. Really. He did.
Still no reaction from Moose and me.
“Okay then.” His chest rose and fell. “Can you tell me the reason you interacted with Mr. Marsch, Jr.?”
Moose and I cracked grins.
“What?” The lawyer seemed bewildered now.
Moose gestured to him. “Here’s how we roll. You pay us. Then we tell you.”
The lawyer looked at me.
I leaned against my truck and nodded toward Moose. “He’s the muscle. I’d listen to him.”
Moose flicked his eyes upward, but that was the closest he’d get to an eye roll. His dead-serious face was still on. “Your first mistake was coming here. Your second was mentioning you knew Brett Marsch. Your third was coming dressed like that, and your fourth was letting us know you really want to know what we talked to Marsch about.”
The lawyer’s eyebrows pulled together.
Moose amended, “Marsch, Jr.”
The lawyer swung toward me. I shook my head. “You pay. We talk.”
He scowled and cursed, reaching for his wallet. He pulled out a few bills and flung them to the ground.
Twenty bucks.
Moose and I started laughing.
Two of them blew away.
No one made a move to catch them, and I warned, “You might not want to piss us off.”
Moose didn’t react, but I felt his surprise.
I was close to snapping. I needed to pull back, but she was there. Right under the surface. She was with Heather. Bren too. Three females in my life, and one was already gone.
Shit. I had to let this guy know.
“You insult me one more time, throw money at my feet like I’m a fucking beggar, and your blood will be coating it.” I raised an eyebrow. “We clear?”
He didn’t move. Not for a full ten seconds. His eyes locked on mine, and without a word, he pulled out a hundred from his wallet.
When I still didn’t move for it, he walked it over to Moose.
As soon as Moose took it, I said, “He was here.”
I stopped.
He waited.
I just smiled at him, knowing the threat of violence was in the air and knowing he could feel it.
He muttered under his breath, “Are you kidding me?” But he thrust over another hundred-dollar bill.
The next round of this game started, followed by a few more after that. He learned that we’d talked to him and that he had been inside our warehouse.
I held out until we’d gotten a cool five hundred from him. Then I’d had enough.
“Look, give us another five hundred and we’ll tell you everything. Anything short of that, piss off.”
He drew himself to his fullest height, as if offended. But after glancing between Moose and me again, he gave up.
“Fine,” he muttered, taking his wallet out and emptying it.
Moose took the money, counted it, and nodded to me.
“Marsch was running a scam on the nursing home here,” I told the Peter. “We ran him out of town.”
He looked deflated. “That’s it?”
We’d beaten the shit out of him, but I wasn’t sharing that with a lawyer.
“Why are you looking for him?” I asked. “Father dearest just missing his heir?”
He held his briefcase higher, moving it to rest in front of his stomach. “That’s none of your business.”
Moose and I shared a look. I stepped forward, folding my arms over my chest.
Peter edged back a step, his eyes flicking from me to Moose and back again. His mouth thinned.
“We’re good at finding people,” I told him. “It would be worth your time to pay us to deliver him to you.”
“Deliver?” he echoed.
