“What a fox,” the newcomer said, under his breath.
“I know what you mean,” Morgan said. “She never just comes into a room. She always makes an entrance. I always feel grubby next to her.” Felicity chuckled at that, since he had on black denims, new black running shoes he had picked up someplace and a charcoal wool blazer over a gray, Italian cut dress shirt. It was a sharp contrast to her jeans and sweatshirt. He had clearly been shopping, but the only clothing stores open at dawn were parked at the curb of certain city streets.
“Good thing I wasn’t walking around starkers,” she said, stepping forward to offer her hand. “Who’s your friend?” She was surprised to find Morgan bringing a guest to the apartment, but figured he must have a good reason. Besides, the man was handsome in a Middle Eastern way, dressed very nicely in a conservative blue suit of obviously steep price tag.
“Felicity, this is Aaron Goldsmith. I met him in Brussels during an arms deal. Now he sells insurance.”
“A very pleasant surprise,” she said, smiling at Aaron.
Your boyfriend here was ringing my doorbell before the sun was up,” Aaron said. “Believe me, I’m not a morning person.”
“Maybe,” Felicity said with a smile, “but as I’ve learned, Morgan can be a very persuasive person. Now, Morgan, what else did you bring me?”
“Assorted pastries for you to pop into the microwave,” Morgan said, lifting a package from the top of the shopping bag.
“Well, there goes my diet,” she said, accepting the little bundle. “What else?”
“Stuff.”
“What kind of stuff?” she called from the kitchen.
“Stuff for tonight.”
“Great,” she said. “Find out what Mr. Goldsmith wants in his coffee.”
“Aaron, please,” Goldsmith called. “And I’ll take a little cream and one sugar.”
Felicity’s coffee maker had automatically ground beans and brewed a fresh pot just minutes before. She reveled in the tangy aroma of her own personal blend of Costa Rican and Columbian beans while pouring three cups, Aaron’s she prepared as he requested. For herself she added two sugars, a little cream, a stick of cinnamon, a drop of vanilla and a little chocolate powder. Morgan, she knew, took his straight.
She placed a tray on the oak cube in front of the sofa, next to Morgan’s shopping bag. With Morgan and Aaron on the couch and Felicity in one of the overstuffed chairs, they ate warm pastries and drank hot coffee and listened serenely to the African rhythms. The cherry and cheese-filled Danish in her mouth was as sweet and relaxing as the music.
“You know, this is good stuff.” She nodded toward the stereo.
“Yeah. Miles Davis,” Morgan said, moving his head with the sound. “The CD is `Bitches Brew’. The state of the art of jazz in the early seventies, and one of the best albums ever cut.”
She let the music rule the room, waiting for Morgan to tell her the new scenario. After a couple of minutes, he glanced at Aaron, who nodded.
“Aaron wasn’t that anxious to come over until I filled him in on the week we’ve had,” Morgan said. “And I didn’t drag his ass out this morning to sell me an insurance policy. He’s also kind of an information broker, too.”
Felicity’s brows knit accusingly, and Aaron quickly added, “I don’t deal in blackmail, miss.”
“No, he just makes it a point to know things, and shares that information with interested parties,” Morgan said. “For a price.”
“I see,” she said. “And he knows things we want to know, I take it. That’s why he’s here. He knows you, but he wanted to meet me to make sure I was okay. Well, do I pass?”
“That’s not it at all,” Aaron said around a mouthful of pastry. “I know you too, at least by reputation. I just wanted a chance to meet you in person.”
“Okay,” Felicity said, turning to Morgan. “I assume that you didn’t bring Aaron here for a social call. What is it we’re wanting to know from him?”
“I thought a little more background about Seagrave was in order.”
“I checked him out,” she said, sipping her coffee. “He’s a ruthless businessman, made a lot of enemies, but seems to know how to handle his money. What else is there to know?”
“You checked society sources,” Aaron said, leaning back. “Maybe you got his business background but nothing of the real man. That’s what Morgan wanted me to give you.” She sat forward as Aaron spoke. She really had seen the man from a single point of view, and realized the possible advantage of a different perspective.
“Adrian Seagrave was born forty-two years ago to a pretty well-to-do family in Bridgeport, Connecticut,” Aaron began. “His father’s health was poor, and at twenty Adrian was running the family car dealership. He moved from that into the import export business. My contacts tell me he was handling contraband by the time he was thirty, but nothing’s been proven and no charges filed, at least so far. He went into partnership with a Greek shipping man to increase his cash flow. Two years later the partner disappeared. There was no will and no family. His half of the business went to Seagrave.”
“Gee, things just seem to go this guy’s way, huh?” she commented.
“It gets better. I know he’s smuggling, but he’s never been hassled by the police. He set up in New York about six years ago, same time he married a woman ten years his junior.”
“I’ve seen this guy,” Felicity said. “She must have done it for the money.”
“Right, and he for the status,” Aaron said. “She was beautiful at the time, a trophy wife.”
“Sounds like he might have some heavy connections,” Morgan said. “What’s he into now? Anything that’ll bring heavy heat if he meets with some bad luck?”
Aaron gave a short, sharp laugh. “Just the opposite. The man’s got no friends. His latest gig is the commodities market. He likes to influence the market through political maneuvering. This, I believe, is how you got involved with him. He sent you after a guy in Belize, right? He wanted that man you went after taken out of office so somebody he liked could get in. I think he’s losing what little respect he ever had for the law. He’s branched out into outright extortion.”
“Got a personality profile on this guy?” Morgan asked.
“He’s a sadistic, ruthless, manipulative man overcome by greed,” Aaron said, leaning forward for emphasis. “He’s trying to set himself up as a private Mafia. Some scattered bits of intel lead me believe he’s looking for a foreign base of operations. I think he indulges his wife in the hopes of starting a dynasty for himself. I don’t know all of why you’re having a run in with him, and I’ve no idea how the lady got involved, but I hope you’ve got it in for him bad.”
“Why?” she asked.
Aaron leaned back in his seat and locked eyes with Morgan. “I’ve heard this Seagrave put a price on your head. Well, that kind of thing works both ways. It’s worth twenty-five thousand dollars to me to see this man dead.” Felicity stared at him, trying not to look like she was staring. When she turned her eyes to Morgan’s face she saw a cold stare there that she recognized.
“Aaron you’ve known me for years,” Morgan said in a low, guttural voice. “You know I’m not a hired gun.”
“Nonsense,” Aaron replied with a lopsided smile. “In fact, that’s exactly what you are.”
“You know what I mean,” Morgan said, looking uneasy. “I’ll shoot in a war situation, but I’m no hit man. When I fight with a team, there’s a reason besides money. Generally politics.”
“What is it this time?” Aaron asked. “Besides money.”
“This time I want to help Felicity get what’s owed her,” Morgan said, his baritone dropping to a deeper register. “And there’s also a debt involving a few friends of mine. He’s responsible for their deaths.” Then, Morgan surprised Felicity by suddenly standing and heading for the door. “Well, we’ve got some things to take care of, Aaron.”
Aaron nodded to Felicity, mumbled that it was nice to meet her, and followed Morgan to the door. Once there he turned to face Morgan, his face twisted with shame.