“Fuck,” he said to himself, closing his eyes.
Trent tapped both his enforcers on their shoulders and nodded, signaling them to pull Blunt up — which they did with ease. They heaved him up and over the edge of the balcony, standing him between them facing Trent. Bennett was standing on the right, holding Blunt in place with one large hand wrapped around his neck.
Trent was in front of them, his arms folded across his barrel chest, with a look of impatience on his face. He was wearing a three-thousand dollar, tailored, navy-blue Valentino suit with a white shirt, blood-red silk tie, and shiny, black shoes.
“Tommy,” he began. “Either you’re lying to me, or you’re just plain fucking stupid. Which is it?”
Blunt knew there was no correct answer to that. “I… er…” he stammered, before giving up trying to say the right thing.
“It ain’t a difficult question, Tommy. Have you been stealing from me yourself? Or has someone on your payroll been stealing from the both of us, and you were just too fucking dumb to notice?”
“I swear, it wasn’t me,” said Blunt, who was almost in tears, he was that terrified.
“So, you’re a fucking idiot — is that what you’re telling me?” said Trent.
Blunt hung his head in shame. “I guess so, Mr. Trent.”
“I guess so… I fucking guess so…? Tommy, do you have any fucking idea how much goes on in this city that I don’t know about?”
Blunt shakes his head.
“Nothing. Nothing goes on in this city that I don’t know about, Tommy. I’m behind nearly every drug deal, I own nearly every hooker — and the ones that aren’t mine pay me a percentage out of respect. I’ve got cops and politicians who will do whatever I say, and do you know what that means, Tommy?”
He shakes his head again.
“It means that, if someone steals from me or lies to me, not only will I find out, I can do whatever the fuck I want to them afterward.”
Trent paced away and sighed heavily, staring for a moment at the view of the skyline off to his left. The sun hid behind low, gray cloud that threatened a downpour. It wasn’t particularly cold, but there was a breeze coming in over the river that occasionally picked up and caused a slight shiver.
Without any warning, he lunged at Blunt with a speed not befitting a man of his size and build, and grabbed him by the throat with a strong right hand. Duncan and Bennett stepped to the side as Trent pushed him backward until he reached the balcony edge. Then, with very little effort whatsoever, he heaved him over, and watched as Tommy Blunt plunged the fourteen stories down to the ground, screaming all the way. The sound of the dull, wet thud as he hit the parking lot at the back of the apartment block was barely audible.
Trent turned and regarded each of the two men, before addressing Duncan, who was standing on his right.
“Search this asshole’s apartment, top to bottom, see if he was hiding anything.” He turned to Bennett. “You — go pay a visit to his office, look through the books, everything. Find out which greedy little bastard has been skimming from me and bring his fucking head to me in a gift-wrapped box. Understood?”
Both men nodded, without fear but in complete respect.
Trent looked back down over the balcony at the remains of Blunt’s broken body, which had attracted a small crowd of people. He spat over the edge, more as a gesture of disgust than a genuine attempt to hit him.
“Fucker.”
4
After leaving South Dakota, we continued east, making good time to Illinois. The weather had brightened briefly along the way, but the sky has darkened now we’re passing through Chicago. We’ve decided to stay here for the night and get some food and drink. It’s been another long day on the road, and we could do with the break.
Josh fiddled with his SatNav to find us a motel for the night, which is just outside the center of the city. We drop off our things in our rooms and head back out. The first order of business is food. We’re both starving, having not really stopped for anything since leaving Vermillion. We quickly find a nice place that served steak, so we treat ourselves to a nice sirloin before looking for a bar.
We’ve been walking for five minutes and haven’t found any place we like. The night sky’s rumbling with menace and as we’re walking down the sidewalk, I glance up at the clouds. There’s a storm coming, that’s for sure. There’s a place up ahead on the right that looks okay. There are a few motorcycles parked out front, with a couple of bikers wearing their leathers standing outside having a cigarette. As we approach, the low bass from inside becomes clearer and I recognize the song.
“This place will do nicely,” I say, tapping Josh on the arm and gesturing to it.
He looks over and smiles. “Yeah, this’ll do the trick,” he agrees.
We walk in and make our way through the small crowd to the bar, resting on it while we wait for the bartender to serve us. It’s pretty busy and very loud. The whole place has a hazy neon blue glow to it, and the patrons are a mixed blend of bikers like the ones outside and trendy, young people. We both glance around, getting a feel for the place. Aside from the main area, there are two big rooms at the back as well. There’s a large screen in one of them, with a small group of people sitting in front of it, loudly cheering at the football game that’s on. I can’t tell which teams are playing, but given sports don’t particularly interest me, it wouldn’t mean much to me even if I did know. Josh follows my gaze and scoffs when he sees the screen.
“I don’t know why you people insist on calling that football,” he says, nodding toward the game. “You hardly touch it with your feet, and it’s not a ball — it’s not even round!”
“Josh, while I completely understand your one-dimensional, British point of view, I honestly couldn’t give any less of a shit right now if I tried,” I reply, casualty.
He laughs.
“Fair enough,” he shrugs.
The bartender comes our way, so we quickly order two beers and head over to the main area, where we find a couple of empty seats near the pool table. There’s a low light hanging above it and old movie posters on the walls nearby. There’s a large group of men and women congregated around it. Well, I say men and women, but I’d be surprised if any of them are over twenty-one.
“How far ‘til we reach Pennsylvania?” I ask.
“Not sure,” Josh replies, shrugging. “We’ve made good time so far, so in theory we could make it by this time tomorrow. But personally, I’d rather we take our time and get there the day after, mid-morning. That way we have time to find our feet and get a plan together. We’ve waited eight years — another couple of days isn’t gonna make any difference, right?”
I raise my bottle of beer slightly in the air, tipping the neck toward him in silent cheers. “Sounds like a plan,” I agree.
We fall silent, sipping our drinks gratefully and allowing our bodies and minds to switch off and take a well-deserved rest. We’ve known each other long enough that silence is never awkward. I look over at him as he looks around absently, relaxing. It’s good to have the company for a change. Before San Francisco, I saw Josh maybe once every couple of months, if that — and even then, it was usually just for an hour or two. Then I was back out on the road, alone. We’ve not been in the field together for a long time.
“How are you feeling about all this?” I ask him.
“How d’you mean?” he replies.
“Well, you’re usually tucked safely behind all your computers and gadgets — it’s a big change being out in the line of fire with me.”