He had driven home to change and switched cars for the third time in two days. He drove out toward Sedakis’ White Plains mansion. His favorite car was the Jag and he often drove the SUV when he was tired and on long journeys, but this car was one he used to show off. The Bugatti Veyron Super Sport was a distinct car, with an even more distinct sound. And this evening, the engine's baritone bellows seemed to fit the mood he was in and the way he wanted to appear to Sedakis; the impression he wanted to make on the man's new wife.
He drove up the driveway, revving the engine as high as he could. By the time he reached the house, Sedakis himself was already opening the door. The big Greek man ran out to admire the car like a little child checking out a new toy in a store.
“My God!” he exclaimed, clapping his hands. “When did you buy this?”
“About two years ago,” Donovan said as he got out. “Not long after it came out. One of the most high-tech cars out there. And fastest, of course.”
Sedakis nodded fervently. “Yes! Delightful! Sat in one, wanted to buy one. Wife made me buy a Bentley instead!” He looked at Donovan with pleading eyes. “Could I have a go?”
Donovan narrowed his eyes. He did not like lending his cars to anyone. “After dinner? Your wife will kill us if we let her food go cold.”
Sedakis looked disappointed, but he nodded in agreement all the same. “Quite so.” He pulled Donovan into a bear hug and kissed him on the cheek. “Come, meet the wife, meet her!” Sedakis let him go and beckoned him into his immodest mansion.
Sedakis pushed him into the dining room and Donovan sat down quickly. There were two other guests. There was Sedakis' right-hand man, Niklas Papadopolis, the CEO of American Stevedore, Inc. and a medium-sized woman with long curly hair and olive skin. She was looking at some of the artwork that clearly belonged to the house long before the Sedakis family purchased it.
“You know my man, Niklas?” Sedakis gestured toward the man.
“We've met before, right Nick?” Donovan offered the man his hand. They shook and then Donovan looked over at the woman, who had turned toward him upon hearing his voice. Donovan smiled broadly as he saw her face. She did the same.
“And this is...” Sedakis began.
Donovan interrupted him. “Hello again, Naomh.”
“Hello again, Donovan.” Naomh Walsh came forward to give him a small kiss on the cheek.
“You know each other?” Sedakis wondered.
“We have met before,” Naomh Walsh answered.
“Yup,” Donovan confirmed.
Sedakis looked from one to the other a few times. “Ms. Walsh helps my wife. Advises her on some matters. Society stuff and the like. Stuff she finds important. I never understood why it's all such a big deal.” He looked around and promptly marched toward the kitchen. He mumbled to himself as he walked away, “I'll just see how far she's gotten with the moussaka.”
Naomh waited a moment until he was out of the room, then she snuck a quick but deep kiss with Donovan. “Nice to see you again, she grinned at him. “By the way, don't say a thing about the wife. And no season remarks.”
Donovan frowned, not understanding. But he didn’t have time to ask her anything because Gregoris Sedakis came back moments later with his wife in tow. Donovan immediately understood what Naomh had meant.
The new Mrs. Sedakis, proudly introduced to him by Gregoris as Maria Sedakis, was still a teenager. Donovan thought she looked like she was sixteen, but understood immediately that she must be at least eighteen. She had a very young face, but was shaped well with a lean, athletic body not as full or as feminine as Naomh Walsh or Frankie Saunders. He reckoned she had probably started to develop later than the average teenage girl and would keep growing a bit into her early twenties.
“How old is she?” He whispered the question to Naomh.
“Nineteen next month.”
“What the fuck?”
“She snuck into a party at his country club two months ago and when he caught her and told her he'd tell on her, she... um...” Naomh tried to find a suitable euphemism.
It was Donovan who provided the words. “Entertained him?”
“Yeah, that's it. Divorced his wife a month later and married her a week after that.”
Donovan shook his head. “Jeesh.” It was more than slightly unscrupulous. He liked Sedakis, but he did not know what to make of this. “So what do you do for her?”
Naomh shrugged. “She was not born into the elite circles of New York’s blue bloods and I have to teach her how to behave so she won't embarrass Gregoris. And get her into the right places. Get her doing PR gigs, parties and stuff that Sedakis himself won't do, or would hesitate to do.”
Sedakis kissed his young wife full on the lips and she kissed him back. Then he slapped her bottom, sending her back to the kitchen. “Marvelous creature, isn't she?” he remarked proudly. He sounded almost like a breeder talking about his prize filly.
“Yeah, she's amazing.” Donovan joined in to sing Maria Sedakis' praises. And if he did not quite mean it at that moment, he did mean it later, after a generous portion of moussaka. The girl did know how to cook, which went a long way to explaining why Gregoris Sedakis had married her.
There was baklava after, which again, was great. The girl, Maria, said little throughout the meal, but Donovan noticed she was keenly observing everything. She seemed eager to learn about everything they discussed at the table, from business to the local gossip. She seemed to know instinctively what she had to learn in order to be a good wife to Sedakis. Whether that would be enough remained to be seen.
After a while, Sedakis brought out the ouzo and they sat down with a few glasses. Papadopolis retired after that, heading home before the evening got out of hand. Donovan himself was determined not to drink too much, as he had to drive home. But as they sat down and got to talking, he concluded that would probably be a vain hope so he prepared himself for a long night.
“So I heard someone killed your janitor?” Sedakis stated at some point. It was a question and a statement rolled in one; not one nor the other. “Same thing as that man in my warehouse.”
Donovan nodded. “Yeah, it wasn't pretty.”
“Know anything yet?”
Donovan wondered for a moment whether he should tell Sedakis and Naomh Walsh about what Frankie Saunders had advised him on. His common sense told him he should be prudent, but as Sedakis poured him another shot his ability to listen to common sense soon passed. “Seems there's something about the siblings of these Lang brothers. But I only ever knew them to have a sister, Mara. She's dead, though. Car accident outside the court building the day her brother was convicted.”
Naomh intuitively felt the question come up. It felt like one of those questions that had to be asked and answered. “Who was driving?”
Donovan looked down. “I was.” He kept looking at his feet, even as Naomh's hand touched his knee. “She was only 17 or so, still in school I think. Her brothers turned to crime, sacrificed, to get her through some expensive boarding school.” He sighed. “Poor Mara Lang. I couldn't do anything about it, I know that. But it still feels like I might have been able to save her.”
“I knew a Mara Lang.” It was the first time Maria Sedakis felt confident involving herself in the evening’s conversation. “She was a few years ahead of me in the boarding school I attended in Québec,” she remarked. “She died in a car accident. But she can’t be the same person. She had a sister in my class; I don’t remember anyone mentioning brothers.”
Donovan looked at her questioningly. “What was her name?” he asked curiously.
“I think Eva. But she disappeared from the school before her sister was killed. Nobody knew where she went.”
Donovan shook his head and drew his silver case of cigars from his inside pocket. He offered one to Sedakis. “Want one?”