“I thought you were leaving.” Pitt scowled. “What’s your problem today?”
“I want out.”
“What do you mean, out?” Pitt said in an icy tone.
“That’s it. I’m done.”
“Oh, really?” Pitt got up, walked around the desk and sat on the edge of it, folding his arms across his chest. “Tell me, what is it you plan to do?”
“I don’t know yet.” He thought about the ways he could hurt Pitt. But that would be a bad move.
“Of course you don’t, because you can’t do anything else. You don’t have a degree, you have one knee and you look like a bum.”
He took deep breaths and did a slow mental count to calm down.
Pitt continued. “Remember when I found you? You had nothing. No job. No money. No home. Nobody! I saved you. I was the only one there for you. I saved your ass from the slammer. You owe me.”
“I don’t owe you shit. I paid that debt off long ago.”
“Don’t give me that bullshit. When you had nothing else, I offered you twenty percent of every collection, in cash. More money than you could ever dream of, with the shape you were in. I turned you into the perfect collecting machine, an intimidating giant with a psychopath’s lack of emotion and the capacity to be a madman when the job required that kind of terror. Did you forget that?”
Calvin shook his head. “You came to me.”
“That’s right. I did. I thought that an angry football star was perfect for the job and I was right.”
“I should have listened to my brother when he tried to talk me out of it.”
Pitt grunted. “Your brother. A lousy L.A. detective. I hate cops. I don’t trust ‘em.”
“Josh just made detective first grade—a real job. He tried to warn me, but I was too stubborn to listen. I’m sick of this.”
“Tell me…” Pitt smiled and Calvin would have liked to remove it. “Just how much money has Joshua made over the last three years?”
“Not everything is about money.”
“Maybe so, but I haven’t seen much that money can’t buy.”
“There’s more to life.” Calvin shrugged. “Like being happy.”
Pitt wiped his eyes in mock sympathy. “Ah, gee. The leg breaker isn’t happy. I’m all choked up.”
“I want out now. We’re all square on what you owe me. I’m finished.”
“Well, you can’t just walk out, Calvin. You’ve been torturing people for years and they put people in jail for that. When I wanted deadbeats terrified of you that was one thing. But let’s say that now I decide to get some of the deadbeats to go to the police and press charges against you. At first you were an asset, but maybe now you’ve gotten out of control.”
Calvin lost it. With both hands, he grabbed Pitt by the collar and slammed him against the wall, which cracked behind Pitt’s shoulders.
“Listen to me, you son of a bitch,” he said between gritted teeth. “I’m leaving this business. Understand?”
The Adam’s apple in Pitt’s throat shifted when he swallowed. He raised both hands in surrender. “But what am I going to do? You’re my only collector. Where will I find another one?”
“I don’t care. It’s not my concern.” Calvin loosened his hold, but only a little.
“Okay, okay.”
Calvin let him go.
“But I need you for just one more pickup,” Pitt said. “It’ll be soon. I won’t have time to find a replacement, so you’ll have to do it.”
“I’ve already said I quit. It’s over.”
Pitt sighed. “After this one, you’re done with me. You’ll be a free agent. I promise.”
Calvin thought for a moment. One more pickup—one more payday—and he could take Rachel along with few worries.
“What’s the job?”
“Douglas Grant owes me some money. A lot of money, in fact.”
Calvin’s eyebrows shot up. Grant was one of the richest, most powerful men in Vegas. Why would anyone like Grant have anything to do with Donald Pitt? And why would he borrow, or even have to borrow, money from Pitt when Grant’s estimated net worth was over $300 million dollars? “Why would Grant be doing business with you?”
“None of your business. Are you in or should I have someone else collect the $40,000 commission?”
“It’s $40,000? How much does he owe you?”
“Exactly $200,000. He borrowed $150,000. Now the interest is $50,000.” “And you’ve waited this long to collect? Even at your rates, it takes a long time to get the interest up to fifty grand.”
“I thought lending to Grant would lead to business with his friends. You know how many dealings I’ve had with Sanders? Hoped to start with him, work up to Grant and then move around.”
“How’d that work out for you?” Calvin asked dryly.
“Not good. But it was worth the try. Also you don’t push a man as powerful as Grant. I know he’s good for it, but if I put pressure on him, I’d lose him all the way—and the two hundred grand. So I’ve waited. He called last week. Said he wanted to get this matter settled and he’d have the money in cash sometime this week.”
The job didn’t make any sense, but it wasn’t up to Calvin to figure out all the whys. His job was simple. He was the collector and the only collector who could pull this task off because of Grant’s status and power. In that sense, Pitt did have a point.
And the extra $40,000 would make taking Rachel with him a lot more affordable.
“I’ll do it. But for a job this tough, I want $10,000 cash up front now. And $30,000 more when I bring you Grant’s money.” When he saw Pitt gearing up to protest, he added, “No one else could do this one and you know it.”
“You want my blood too?” Pitt screamed. “I’ve already paid you the $10,000 I owe you and now you want me to pay you $10,000 more before I get paid? That’s crazy.”
“No. Those are my non-negotiable terms for this last job. Take ‘em or leave ‘em. If you don’t give me the $10,000 now, good luck finding another collector who can get that much from Grant.”
Pitt made strange sounds in the back of his throat and his face reddened. It looked as though he was trying to pull his hair out by the roots.
Calvin chuckled. “I think you’re losing it.”
“I am. And it’s your fault.”
“Yes or no. I’ve got better things to do than stand around waiting for you to decide.”
After a couple of shallow breaths, Pitt said, “I’ll get you another $10,000. But never again.”
“I think that’s the one thing we do agree on.”
Pitt mumbled his way to the back offices for the third time and returned with a fat envelope. “Take it and get out of here. I’ll call when it’s time.”
“Good afternoon, Mr. Watters. Right on time as usual.”
“Hey, Chet.” Calvin slung his duffel bag onto the front counter. It landed with a thud.
“What are you using today?” The young man unzipped the bag and rummaged through the contents, pulling out weapons. “SIG P 210-6, Smith & Wesson Model 940, Beretta PX4 Storm, Colt Government and a Browning High-Power. Nice selection.” Chet checked each gun to verify they were unloaded.
Calvin smiled. “Thanks. Just handguns today. Give me two 50-round boxes of nine millimeters.”
“Paper or plastic targets?”
“Paper.”
The man handed Calvin ten pieces of paper of solid black circles with scoring rings on a white background. “Do you have your own eye and ear protection?”
He showed the man his glasses and ear plugs and muffs. He always doubled-up on ear protection to fight the increased noise pressure level inside the shooting range.
“Did you want to renew your annual membership today? Since this is your third year in a row, there’s a discount.”