And besides, tonight was a night for many endings.
Earlier, he pulled the glass out of his feet. The vase was too thick to cause any real damage-if it had been more delicate, then he really would have been in trouble as the glass would have cut more deeply into him. It hurt to walk, but he’d bandaged his feet the best he could. Like the pain in his split lip, he could handle it.
He went to his dressing room and changed into something casual-khaki pants, blue polo, comfortable sneakers. Perfect for running if running is what he had to do, though given the condition of his feet, he hoped that wasn’t the case.
He stepped into the bathroom, combed his hair and removed a small bottle of makeup from the silver tray to his left. He dabbed some beneath his eyes so he looked younger and less tired, and then stood back and appraised himself. He hated what he saw and reached over to dim the lights. It was magic. Ten years fell from his face. Already, the stubble was starting to show in spite of having shaved earlier, but it was tolerable.
For the past several hours, Carra had held him captive in this suite of rooms. They’d fought earlier-certainly one of their uglier fights, but nothing like the one they’d had years ago in Paris, when he’d beat her so hard with a belt at the Ritz, there was a moment when he thought he killed her. Now, he tried to remember what they fought about then but it escaped him. Like so many things in his life, his memory had nearly given up on him. He had difficulty recalling elements of the past, which probably was for the best given their smothering weight. But it didn’t matter.
Right now, for Wolfhagen, it was all about the present.
He moved out of the room and into the bedroom, where the door across from him was bolted shut. Before she left, Carra called her security team and now four men with outsized bodies and brains the size and consistency of rabbit shit were making sure he didn’t leave.
When she left earlier, he knew where she was going because Carra made sure he heard her on the phone, just to rub it in. She was out on the town with Ira Lasker, a man Wolfhagen once had trusted everything to, just as he had with Peter Schwartz, Hayes and the rest. At some point over the past year, Carra and Ira had started dating.
Fucking, he thought. They started fucking.
Along with everyone else, he’d seen their photographs in Vanity Fair, on Page Six, in the Times, all over the tabs. Usually, their heads were held back and they were laughing in that way that the rich laughed when their only security was money and power, which could slip away from them at any moment. And so they laughed on camera to sustain the illusion of lives others craved to have, but didn’t.
He’d read articles about her philanthropy work, which actually was quite cunning on Carra’s part because the grotesque amount of cash she threw around lifted her profile in ways that distanced her from him. She was the largest pink ribbon breast cancer awareness ever had seen sweep through its doors. She was PETA’s go-to person for the past five years, going so far as to pose nearly nude because God knows, when it came to saving animals, Carra would rather be naked than wear a piece of fur. How she had rebuilt her image was ingenious. She found the correct, high-profile ways to give back. Have an obscure disease that needs funding and attention? Just call Carra!
Lately, in each article that was written about her, she always managed to mention Ira, who betrayed Wolfhagen as so many others had along with him-including Carra-when he took the stand and testified against him. Those people now were being slaughtered and Wolfhagen felt nothing for them.
He smoothed his hand down the back of his hair and thought again of Wood’s severed head. He still could see her dead eyes frozen in sightlessness, her blue face crisp with death’s rotten imprint and her bloody lips curling up from him as if they’d been dipped in week-old ketchup. The image delighted him. She was one of the biggest hypocrites he’d ever met. She’d locked him away for three years even though she’d been one of the more enthusiastic members of his club. Karma had caught up with her. Karma grabbed her by the throat and took her down. He couldn’t help a smile.
Maybe she still has a shot, he thought. Maybe she won’t burn in hell. Maybe God will show her mercy and she’ll become one of his little angels.
With a giggle, he went to the door and knocked on it. There were footsteps, groans and then the door swung open to reveal the four goons. “What?” one of them said.
Wolfhagen sized him up. Years ago, when he was at the very top of his game and the world bended to its knees to service him, often literally, he occasionally used to sleep with men to spice things up. He liked sex and he was nothing if not sexual. To him, a body was a body, and this was exactly the type of body he used to hire to fuck the hell out of him.
The man was tall, thirtyish, masculine, built. Like the rest of them, he also was wearing a black suit because that’s how Carra rolled. In this case, he agreed with her. He loved a man in a suit. He loved it when he used to wear one. Wear the right clothes by the right designer and, if you could pull them off, doors opened for you.
“I’m going out for the night,” Wolfhagen said.
“No, you’re not.”
He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out four checks he’d retrieved earlier from the checkbook buried deep in one of his bags. The goons drew closer. “Yes, I am.”
The hot one looked down at the checks. “You can’t bribe us, Mr. Wolfhagen.”
Wolfhagen knew better. “But I have $1 million for each of you.”
The hot one cocked an eyebrow at him. “Mrs. Wolfhagen pays us well. She offers nice, steady employment. Why don’t we just take the checks and shut the fuckin’ door in your face?”
“Because that would be cheating yourselves out of more,” Wolfhagen said. “And everyone wants more. It’s what the world is made of-craving more. Dying for more. Wanting to be more. And besides, I just want to go out for two hours. That’s all. Carra won’t know. I’ll be quick. When I return, each of you will receive another million for your trouble. And the secret stays with us.”
“Why do you need to go out?”
“Can’t say. Sorry. Lot’s of secrets, some going to my grave. But time is running out. Carra is a late night kind of gal, but let’s face it, she’s putting on the years and I doubt she can go as deeply into the night as she used to. So, to minimize risk, I need to leave now so I’m back here before she returns.”
He held out his hands and, as he did so, each man glanced down at the unsigned checks. Then, they looked at him. “All I need is one of your cars, a cell phone and two hours. That’s it. If you agree, I sign these checks alone in the car, give them to you and then I’m off.”
They all looked at each other.
And Wolfhagen’s shoulders sagged in frustration. “Oh, stop looking so tense, you big lugs-you’ll see me again. It’s all part of the goddamn plan.”
The car they offered was surprisingly sweet-a black Audi TT. He felt a little rush as he slipped into it. Snug yet comfortable. Beautifully appointed and made specifically for one’s lost youth. He couldn’t be sure yet, but he bet it was fast, which was perfect for his needs.
“Do you have a pen?” he asked.
The goons were waiting outside the car. The hot one reached into his jacket to retrieve a pen and, when he did, Wolfhagen saw his gun resting inside its holster beneath the folds of fabric.
“Can I borrow that?”
“Borrow what?”
“Your gun.”
“You’re not borrowing my gun.”
Wolfhagen started signing the checks on the steering wheel. “What are your names?”
They told him.
“Make sure they’re your real names.”
“They are.”
He signed each name with a flourish, then stopped at the last check. He looked at the hot one and wished he could reach out a hand to see if he was really packing. But that wouldn’t be good form. “$500,000 for the gun. That’s $250,000 per hour, plus the million I’m giving you now. Good money, if you ask me. It’ll put your kids through college.”