“I want a copy. And the money she’s owed.”
“How do I know you aren’t gonna blackmail me again? Huh?” he asks, still facing the floor. His face drips steadily, and blood collects on the wood.
“You don’t. But you can live in anxiety and fear just like she does because of what you did to her.” I kick his foot. “Get the fuckin’ money. Right now.”
Now he lifts his head because this part is again about him specifically. Fuckin’ prick. “I can’t get that kind of money at this hour.”
“Nah,” I shake my head. “I don’t believe that. Get the fuck up, and let’s get your checkbook. Right now.” He doesn’t move. I scratch my jaw. “If you need a gun to your head, I can do that.” I don’t have one, but I can get one. Or just… knock him out.
“I do feel bad about what happened, you know,” he says quietly, sifting his bloody fingers through his hair. I bet his haircut cost the same as a tune-up and oil change.
I roll my eyes even though he ain’t lookin’. “No, you don’t. Now get the fuck up unless you want me to sleep over.” He looks up at me, his eyes wide. “We can have a slumber party if you want.” I crack my knuckles and spit on the floor, unafraid of him.
I gotta hit him a few more times to get him as motivated as I need him, but once one of his eyes is swollen shut and his knee is looking worse for wear, he’s at his high-back leather chair in his home office, laptop open.
I watch him make a copy of the movies for me. I don’t let myself watch them, only the download bar at the bottom of the screen. I don’t want anyone to watch them, but I want Goldie to know that she has the power to put this man behind bars if she wants it.
I know she just wants to move on. But options are good.
“Why the fuck did you make copies, you moron?” I ask as he pops the USB drive out of the laptop, slapping it into my open palm like the little bitch baby that he is. “It ain’t evidence to put someone else away. It’s evidence to putyouaway, dumbfuck.”
He groans.
I kick him under his desk. “Why the copies? You just stupid or what?” Iknowhe’s stupid; I guess I’m just tryin’ to see how stupid.
“I don’t know, okay, I guess I thought…” He won’t face me, and it’s then I realize just what’s going on here.
I grab his neck and sink my fingertips into his pulse as he gurgles his reaction. “You were gonna release some of these if she tried to report you, weren’t you? Make her seem like she’s just some jaded ex. Except how would that have worked if she’s crying and saying no, huh?”
He doesn’t say anything, and my fists are aching to finish him.
I slide the USB into my pocket and grab his checkbook. Throwing it down onto the desk in front of him, I growl, “now write the check.”
I don’t know how he comes to the figure. Maybe he tries to decide what’s enough to buy her off and not too much, not enough to make her feel like he’s actually sorry. I look down at the check where he’s written: “Goldie” in the “to” field and “750,000” in the “amount” field.
“Rip it up,” I say, because he wants to be free, but he also wants the last underhanded burn because he’s a petty, pathetic piece of shit. I know if he’s saying $750k, then she’s entitled to more. He’s banking on me seeing lots of numbers and being shocked into satisfaction.
Another serious miscalculation on his part.
“Make it 1.5 million.”
He rips up the check, saying shit under his breath. I punch him in the back of the head, making his face slam forward into his desk. He bounces a little, and blood splatters across the keyboard and checkbook.
“Write a new one with no blood on it.”
“Stop fucking hitting me, and there wouldn’t be blood on it!”
“Stop raping women while you record them, then fire them, and you wouldn’t need to be treated like a human punching bag,” I deadpan, hating the truth he makes Goldie live with.
He writes a new check and raises his hand above his head, passing the paper to me.
I shove it in my pocket.
“You ain’t done yet. I want a letter.”
Then I stand over him for another five minutes while I make him hand write a letter—because handwriting analysis and all that shit can prove that he wrote this and paid her if need be—apologizing for what he did.
At the end of it, we have an itemized list of things he has apologized for. He signs it and I take it, and then I let him stand up.