David gritted his teeth. Not again. He couldn’t have this conversation again. “There’s nothing wrong with doing for others.”
“There is when it keeps you from facing yourself. You’ve been running from yourself so long, all you see is your own ass. Eventually, that’s all anybody else will see.”
David started to get up. “Good night, Glenn.”
“Sit your ass down, boy,” Glenn snapped, and, rolling his eyes, David obeyed. “Do you care about her?”
David crossed his arms over his chest. “Who?”
Glenn huffed his displeasure. “Your pretty blond cop.”
David pictured the hurt in Olivia’s eyes and his anger abruptly fizzled. “Yes.”
“Why?”
David drew a breath, letting the scent of roses calm him as he considered his answer. “I felt like I’d known her forever the first night I met her. There was something there. I can’t explain it, but it was like… home.”
“Yet, knowing you shouldn’t, you drank too much and said something that hurt her. You wanna know what I think?”
David stole a glance at Glenn’s craggy face. The old guy was staring at him with a mixture of pity and wisdom that he missed so much since his father passed. “Why not?”
“I think you recognized something special and you got scared. You’d been pining for this other woman for so long that being alone had become comfortable.”
“But I don’t like being alone.”
“Didn’t say you liked it. Said you were comfortable. Big difference there. One thing I learned in all the years I was married is that good relationships take time. They take heart. And they take trust. Maybe you didn’t want to give her that.”
David swallowed hard. “How long were you married, Glenn?”
“Almost forty years. Miss her every day. She made my life… good. And a man can’t ask for more than that.” He started for his apartment, but looked back. “Heard buzz on the scanner before I came out. Warehouse fire. Might be arson. Definitely homicide. And they found another glass ball.”
David came to his feet. “They mentioned that glass ball on the scanner?”
“Nah. Your captain’s there, at the scene. He tried to call your cell, but it went to voice mail, so he called me. Asked me to tell you to call him.”
He shoved his hand in his pocket, looking for his cell. Then remembered it was inside his apartment, charging. “Why didn’t you tell me that first thing?”
Glenn shrugged. “Your mama is worried about you, so I wanted to say my piece. Your pretty blond cop will be at the fire scene. Be careful.”
David waited until Glenn had his hand on the back door. “Thank you, old man.”
Glenn looked over his shoulder. “You’re welcome. Don’t fuck it up again.”
Monday, September 20, 11:59 p.m.
Sitting in his easy chair, he reached for the cell he used with Eric when it beeped. There was no message with Eric’s text, only an attachment. It was grainy, but he could see the flames consuming Tomlinson’s warehouse. They’d taken a while before sending it to him, as close to a “fuck you” as they dared. Part of him had to admire their pluck.
you almost missed your deadline. wait for your next assignment.
He closed the phone and went back to his nightly task of combing through his customers’ e-mails, working through potential clients who were ready for first contact. Ah, here was one who was almost ready for the plucking.
An office flirtation he’d been following seemed to have taken the next step, the man sending the woman a link to a quaint bed-and-breakfast off the beaten path. There was no invitation, no details, yet. But there would be, he was quite certain.
At the beginning the two had come in for lunch, talking about nothing but their office project. But the moment he’d seen them together, he’d known. He could always pick the couples who’d end up together. Sure enough, after a few weeks they were sharing personal details. A few weeks later, she told the guy she was unhappy with her husband, and then the guy was covering her hand with his. Whether they’d started out intending to have an office affair or not, it didn’t matter. That’s where they were headed.
And once they did the nasty, he’d be in business. Ka-ching.
He could always spot the philanderers and the ones who were up to something more. Doers of the naughty often realized it was better to conduct their illegal business in plain sight, rather than to skulk in the shadows, drawing attention to themselves. Sometimes they got away with being naughty in plain sight, but not if I’m listening.
He logged into his offshore account and smiled. Right on schedule. He studied each line of his statement and nodded. Most of his clients paid regularly and on time. Except one. Dorian Blunt had missed a second payment. He’d been patient last month when Dorian had complained of mounting medical bills for his child and his out-of-work wife. He’d begged for more time.
And I gave him more time. Once. Grabbing a new disposable phone from the box next to his easy chair, he texted Dorian Blunt’s personal cell phone.
you’re late. While he waited, he checked Dorian’s checking account. The man did have a lot of bills. His balance was disturbingly low. Still, a deal was a deal. After a few minutes, he got a response.
I’m broke. 100K will have to be enough. No more.
He sucked in both cheeks, annoyed. Broke? Hardly. Dorian simply hadn’t dipped into his illegally gotten gains for fear of getting caught. If the man didn’t want to play by his rules, he shouldn’t have embezzled company funds. And he definitely shouldn’t have left a paper trail that I could have found blindfolded. He knew where Dorian kept his stash of embezzled cash. He could take it at any time. But that would be stealing.
He looked at blackmail as a kind of poetic justice with a twist of irony. That makes me rich. If people didn’t want to get blackmailed, they shouldn’t do bad things. Or they should be smarter about it. Calmly, he texted back.
i would reconsider. you have 12 hours. watch the news and be “plumb” afraid.
That should do it. If Dorian didn’t pay, the College Three would have their next assignment. Then, he’d go in and clean out Dorian’s stash of cash, leaving Dorian’s life insurance for his grieving widow. Whenever possible, he always left something for the widow, grieving or no. It was the right thing to do.
Tuesday, September 21, 12:20 a.m.
Olivia was one of the last ones to the warehouse, having gone home to change her clothes first. No way she was arriving on a scene dressed like she’d been for David.
And? Sonofabitch. The fact he’d screamed another woman’s name when she’d been giving him… Well, he was an ass. She slammed her car door then stopped abruptly, realizing she was at the scene. Her gut had been so churned up over David, she hadn’t had any churn left to worry about the body she was about to view.
Like Wile E. Coyote suddenly realizing he was standing in midair, Olivia’s stomach dropped and she leaned against her car, momentarily weak-kneed. Now she had dead-body churn on top of David churn. And there was a mojito rolling around in there, too, along with some greasy chicken fingers from Sal’s Bar. She swallowed hard.
Throwing up at the scene would not be good.
Move your body. Find Kane. She took a deep breath and immediately regretted doing so. Acrid smoke hung heavy in the air, burning her lungs. Fuck this night.
She made her feet move. At least David wouldn’t be here. He didn’t work again until Wednesday. As always, she found Kane easily in the crowd, his “fire fedora” pushed to the back of his head. He waved her over when he saw her headed his way.
“We have another one,” Kane said. He stood with Barlow and Captain Casey, from the fire department. Casey wore his gear and looked grim.
“Appears they used gasoline this time,” Barlow said. “They left four empty cans inside the building. Entered through a broken window in the back door.”