When he finishes charming her, he heads my way and pulls a newspaper from his coat.
“You hear about this?” He slams a copy of The New York Times onto the table. “They’re building some new luxury condos over the place where we used to stay. They’re going to be designed by some egotistical hotshot who wants each unit to cost a minimum of five million.”
“I did hear.”
“The asshole is going to blow up the old buildings and dig trenches twelve feet deep for a moat. A goddamn moat in New York City.” He shakes his head. “Unbelievable.”
“I think it’s quite ambitious,” I say. “Stupid, but ambitious.”
“It’s unfortunate.” He lets out a sigh. “But nothing I can’t look into this week.”
“I take it that you’ll have some of our guys assess the building plans and move some things around before they begin?”
“Already did.” He pours himself a cup of coffee. “Now that that’s settled, how’d you get rid of Thatchwood?”
“I’ve already told you this.”
“I want to hear it again.” He shrugs. “I’m in the mood for a really good story today.”
I set my newspaper down and sigh, signaling the waitress for a second fresh pot of coffee.
“I suffocated her while she slept,” I say, as the waitress walks away. “Wrapped her in a rug and cracked her skull with a sledgehammer. Her body is at the bottom of a ghosted river.”
He nods, takes another sip from his cup. “You know, that’s a really intricate and well-detailed tale.”
“The truth usually is.”
“The lies are always better.” He glares at me. “I had two guys trail you on the day you supposedly got it done.”
I tap my fingers against the table; I know this already and I’d purposely lost them after seventy miles of driving.
“When they lost you, I made them stop and wait at the ghosted river,” he says. “You never showed.”
“You and I both know that it takes far more than two people to watch an entire river.”
“Michael…” he says, looking into my eyes. “Don’t fuck with me. Where is she?”
“Are you asking as my brother or as the client?”
“First, I’m asking as the client.”
“She died a tragic death and she’ll never be found.”
“Now, I’m asking as your brother.”
“She died a tragic death and she’ll never be found.”
He lets out a sigh and leans back in his seat, shaking his head. “Rio said that your wife had a double life in that strip club.”
“He’s just upset that he didn’t get invited to the wedding.”
“I don’t think that’s it.”
“How well do you really know your wife, then?” He narrows his eye at me. “Because this is a perfect example of why I’m not supposed to tell you shit about who and what is behind the jobs we do. There’s always a risk of someone getting too close.”
“I’m not that close to her. I’m just close enough.”
“For your sake, I’m going to hope that’s true,” he said. “I know the past few years have held a few detours on things for us, but now is not the time to lose focus, Michael. We have a plan and we need to stick to it, until it’s one hundred percent complete.”
“How much do I owe you for this lecture? Do you accept cash or credit?”
He rolls his eyes, but he slowly backs down. “Now that I think about it, I’m kind of upset that I didn’t get an invitation to your wedding.”
“Would you have shown up?”
“I would’ve tasted the cake.”
I smile. “I thought it would be best if she doesn’t know about you.”
“Doesn’t or didn’t? Is she currently in past or present tense?”
I sigh and fold my newspaper. “Give me the next job and go get on someone else’s nerves.”
“There aren’t any for the next few weeks, since a certain someone completed them all early,” he says. “You can return to doing the ones on your personal list for a while. I’ll be doing some accounting for a few businesses that owe us some money.”
“Noted.”
“For what it’s worth,” he says, standing to his feet and placing a newspaper clipping of me and Meredith’s wedding photo onto the table. “I’ve never seen you happier than when you were stringing her along. By the way, there’s blood on your hands.”
“Literally or figuratively?”
“Both.”
I look down and see a dried streak of blood on the inner lining of my glove’s left finger. A small bit of Rio.
“Thank you.”
He nods and starts to walk away, but then he comes right back.
“In the off chance that you’re considering being with your wife for the long term and telling her everything…” he says, “Like, if you honestly think there’s a chance that she’ll be able to accept you for you once you bare your soul, I want to give you some advice.”
I don’t even pretend to deny his suspicions anymore.
“Don’t.” He glares at me. “You know it’s pointless and it’ll never last. You have far better things to do—An “all or nothing” promise that you owe yourself, and me. If you ever suspected me of doing what I’m suspecting you of doing, when it comes to a target, I would expect you to tell me the same goddamn thing.”