Greed

by Roy Glenn

  “He had this on him,” Alwan said, and handed Carter an envelope as Geno put on his gloves.

  “That’s twenty grand, Carter,” Rex said, but he was looking at Rain. “I just need a couple of days and I swear I’ll get you the rest.”

  “That’s what everybody says when they get dragged out of whatever hole they’ve been hiding in,” Geno said, punched him in the face, and the beating began.

  “Your boy’s pretty good,” Rain leaned close and said to Carter after a few minutes. “He doesn’t hit as hard as you do, but he’s good.”

  “But don’t tell him that,” Carter said and stood up. He walked over to Rex and got in his face. “You wanna tell me what this is about?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Me and you have known each other for a long time, Rex. You don’t fuck up with the money. That shit with the mutha fucka’s hitting the trifecta,” Carter shook his head, “I’ve seen you recover from worse and still be right on time with the paper.” Carter punched Rex in the face, and it snapped his head back. “So, you tell me what the fuck is going on right fuckin’ now, and this shit ends.”

  “I swear, Carter, ain’t nothing going on. I just need a couple of more days, that’s all,” Rex pleaded, but he knew what would happen if he told them his story.

  After they killed him, they would leave there and go kill Jaylinda and Epps. He thought about dropping the whole thing on Epps, but Rex knew that Epps would give her up to save his own ass. So, Rex remained silent and took the brutal beating from Geno until Rain stood up.

  She took out her gun and walked over to Rex.

  “I don’t know who or what you’re protecting, but I’ll find out. I just hope that whoever or whatever it was, was worth dying for,” she said, and shot him once in the head.

  Chapter Ten

  The following morning, Valencia was in the conference room at her office, listening to the presentation that Pooja was going to give to a prospective client. As Pooja enthusiastically talked about how their cloud platforms would allow data aggregation from multiple sources without latency or hefty financial overhead, she was barely paying attention. Her mind was drifting to the night before for more reasons than just one.

  “Older analytical models typically rely on very tedious processes, and workers often have to resort to outdated methods such as printouts and manual spreadsheet entries to share data back and forth.”

  Seeing Geno again after all these years was great. He was just as handsome as the last time she saw him, and Valencia would be extremely interested in seeing him again.

  In fact, I plan on it.

  But where her mind was, was on the fact that she saw her opportunity to get to Mike Black slipping away. Valencia had hoped that Shy could have delivered on her promise of face time, especially when she saw some of the people that were at the party. Her first clue that she was in the right place to broach the subject with Black was the woman standing next to Shy waving the gun around. Then there was the appearance of Carter Garrison.

  “In contrast, cloud application integration facilitates communication, and the collaboration of reports and analytics,” Pooja explained.

  One night, while they were sharing pillow talk, Geno told Valencia about his best friend Carter, and even went as far as to share a kind and gentle Carter Garrison story. At the time, Geno never made any mention of Mike Black, whom she had heard of, or that Carter worked for him. She found that out when Ezequiel Simmonds began telling her about The Family, and what he needed her to do for him and the Comodoro Cartel. And unless she heard wrong, the Rain who was waiting for Geno and Carter was Rain Robinson, the new boss of Mike Black’s criminal organization.

  “Stock market traders and financial organizations depend on analytics and up-to-the-minute reporting and notifications. This kind of real-time data gives stock traders a serious edge over their competition. On-site servers can be costly to maintain under the best of circumstances, and those expenses multiply when you have numerous office branches. Businesses must pay not just for hardware, but also for physical space to house the machines.”

  But all of the hopes that she had of being free of the hold that Ezequiel Simmonds had over her when she walked through the door at Purple the night before, turned out to be disappointing. She never saw Black, much less had a chance to talk to him. And even though Shy invited her, Valencia didn’t think it was appropriate for her to just go over to the table and join the party. Besides, Ryder scared her, so she left and went home.

  The only bright spot in the evening was seeing Geno. During some of the darker days of her marriage to Gustavo, Valencia would think about Geno and wonder how things would have turned out if she had followed her heart instead of her mind.

  “Communication and document-sharing between multiple workplaces can get clumsy and ineffective in the absence of the cloud,” Pooja said, as Adrianna burst into the conference room.

  “Excuse me for barging in,” Adrianna interrupted.

  “What is it, Adrianna?” Valencia may have barked, but she was glad for the interruption.

  “You have a call holding on two.”

  “Who is it?”

  “Geno Crocker. He didn’t say what company that he represented,” Adrianna said, and Valencia laughed.

  What was he going to say; I’m Geno Crocker with Gangsters incorporated?

  “I need to take this call, Pooja. So let’s pick this up sometime after lunch.”

  “Sounds good,” she said as she began packing up her materials.

  “You may also want to include that using cloud-based solutions makes it easier for workers to access tools and information remotely,” Adrianna offered, and Pooja rolled her eyes as she followed Valencia out.

  As she walked across the hall to her office, Valencia was excited about getting together with Geno again after all these years. She closed the door, as an image of them on the balcony in Vegas crossed her mind. She smiled over the memory, sat down and was about to pick up the phone, when it occurred to her that maybe Geno was her ticket to getting to Black.

  “Hello,” she said, no longer sure if she was excited about talking to Geno, or just that he might be able to get her to Black.

  “How are you today, Valencia?”

  “Wonderful. Full of life and enthusiasm. What about you, anything amazing going on in your world today?”

  “Not today. But last night I ran into an old friend that I haven’t seen … or heard from in years, and I am excited about the chance to see her again.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “Then you must be feeling pretty amazing.”

  “I do.”

  “Do you think that she was as excited about seeing you as you were about seeing her?” Valencia asked, spinning around in her chair.

  “You know, you never do really know about these things, but judging by the look on her face, I’d say that she was,” Geno paused. “So, am I right?”

  “You are. It was so good to see you, Geno.”

  “It was good to see you too. I’d like to see you again; and I have to be honest with you, Vee. I don’t want it to be a long time before we make that happen.”

  “Vee,” she paused. “Nobody has called me that in a long time,” she swooned, because the only one that ever called her that was him.

  “Nobody ever—” Geno paused before he blurted out, nobody ever loved you like I did. “Never mind. Anyway, I was thinking about taking you to dinner.”

  “I was thinking the same thing.”

  “I’m glad you approve.”

  “Where were you thinking about taking me?”

  “You pick the place,” Geno said, remembering her passion for fine dining, and knowing that choosing the right restaurant wasn’t in his wheelhouse.

  “There’s a place called La Grenouille, it’s a French restaurant on East 52nd Street. Do you know it?”

  “No, but what time is good for you?”

  “Say seven?”


  “Seven works for me.”

  “I’ll have my assistant make reservations for seven, and I’ll see you then.”

  “Looking forward to it, Vee,” Geno said and ended the call, excited beyond words about having dinner with Valencia.

  He laid the phone down next to him in bed, settled back into his pillow and closed his eyes. Geno thought about their first night together, how chance their meeting was, how easily the conversation flowed between them. It’s been said a million times or more, but they didn’t seem like two people who had just met when they turned away from their respective conversations and found themselves in each other’s arms.

  “My bad. I should have been looking where I was going,” he said, looking down at her, holding on to her bare arms as if his life depended on his not letting her go, while feeling her hardening nipples pressing against his chest.

  “I’m sorry too,” she said, looking up into his dark eyes, but she wasn’t sorry. This man is fine, she thought as she slowly pushed away from his muscular chest. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

  She took a step back and he took all of her in with his eyes. Valencia looked effortlessly elegant in the wrapped royal navy off-the-shoulder satin duchess gown by Talbot Runhof that she was wearing.

  For the next hour and a half, they stood in that spot; Valencia ignoring her guests and Geno completely forgetting that he had delivered the diamond pendant necklace; and now it was time for him to go because he had a woman named Daniella waiting on him to come put in work on her. After a while, each one’s phone became an annoyance as Daniella began sending Geno text messages every ten minutes, and Gustavo started calling Valencia nonstop. Neither seemed to care. And as the event drew to a close, her guests slowly filed out of the hotel ballroom, and associates began preparing to leave, Valencia and Geno turned off their phones and were on their way to a suite.

  Valencia rode him very slowly, grinding her hips and using her walls to make Geno feel incredible. He grabbed and squeezed her cheeks, causing Valencia to lean forward and grab Geno by the shoulders. Valencia began slamming her body furiously into him until his body started to tremble and he said, “Oh, shit.”

  Valencia leaned forward and kissed Geno and he slid out of her. She quickly grabbed his dick and put it back in. Geno laid on his back, twisting her hard nipples, watching Valencia violently bring her body up and down on him, grinding her hips into him with each stroke. She sat straight up on him.

  “You’re gonna make me cum again!” she yelled.

  When it was over, and while Valencia lay there curled in the fetal position, Geno got up and took a shower. They separated, promising that it wasn’t going to be just a one-night thing. Each felt like they had found something unique and amazing in the other. But when the door closed, Valencia got in the shower, washing away the love she had made with Geno; and once she had dried herself, reality set back in and she called Gustavo.

  Valencia got engaged that next week.

  Neither seemed to care about that either.

  As the day wore on, Geno was bombarded with memories that he had long since boxed up and put on the shelf, never to be felt again. But he couldn’t do anything but feel, as he thought about their three months of conversation, laughter, sex, good food, travel, and more sex. But mostly he remembered their laughter and those long conversations about nothing in particular.

  Although Geno knew that he was just something to do before she got married, he fell in love with Valencia, and felt like even though she never said it—and neither did he for that matter—that she was just as in love with him as he was with her, and he hoped that she wouldn’t get married.

  Geno could still remember the love they made the day before she left for Brazil, how she cried when she came and tried to hide it from him. He could feel her love. But in the morning, she said goodbye and closed the door behind her, reminding him that he was just something to do. Knowing that, should have made it easy to move on.

  But it didn’t, he thought, as he got out of the cab in front of La Grenouille.

  It was ten minutes to seven when he presented himself to the maître d’ and wasn’t at all surprised when he was escorted to the table and Valencia was there waiting. She stood up to greet him when she saw him coming toward the table.

  Valencia was looking radiant in the artistic rose print Alexandre Vauthier one-shoulder ruched texture mini dress that hugged each of her curves and highlighted her long and shapely legs. Valencia stood up and gave him the type of hug that said I remember yesterday.

  “Because I damn sure remember you,” he said softly, as he held the chair out for her, remembering the feeling of his tongue sliding around her engorged clit.

  “Thank you, Geno,” she said, as he took his seat across from her.

  Once they were seated, each complemented the other on how they looked, and then the pair chatted about how Valencia always liked to arrive places early, until the waiter came to take their order.

  “I’ll have the Velouté De Céleri-Rave Au Crabe Du Maryland,” Valencia said, and handed the waiter back the menu.

  “Excellent choice. And for you, sir?”

  Geno looked at the menu again. Most of the items were in French, so he chose one of the few things that he understood. “I’ll have the Oxtail braised in red burgundy wine.”

  “Another fine choice,” he said, taking Geno’s menu. “I will put this in for you and be back soon with cocktails and, your first course will follow shortly.”

  “What is Velouté De whatever Crab Du Maryland?” Geno asked once the waiter had left the table.

  “It’s a crab cake with celery cream soup,” Valencia said smiling at him, and remembering how simple and uncomplicated their time together was.

  It was then that Geno saw the two men talking to the maître d’, and thought they looked like cops. He could spot cops a mile away. When the maître d’ pointed toward their table, he prepared to receive them, wondering what it could be about.

  “Valencia DeVerão?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m Detective Landon,” he said, discreetly showing his badge. “And this is Detective Brunetti.”

  Geno looked at Valencia; she didn’t look alarmed or surprised that the police were there for her.

  “Would you mind coming with us? We’d like to ask you some questions.”

  Chapter Eleven

  The ride to the precinct was a quiet one. Detectives Landon and Brunetti didn’t say a word, and neither did Valencia. Upon arrival at the precinct, Valencia was escorted to a room to be interviewed and was told that somebody would be with her shortly. It was a little after eight when the door closed, and it was nine-thirty when it opened again.

  “Sorry to have kept you waiting for so long, Ms. DeVerão. I’m Detective Victoria Gutiérrez and this is my partner Detective Bryant,” she said, and the detectives took their seats across the table from Valencia.

  “Did you want to have a lawyer present for this interview?” Bryant asked.

  “I would like to know what this is about?” she said calmly, but on the inside Valencia was shaking. She knew exactly what this was about. Even though she didn’t kill Coleman, she was there the night he was murdered.

  “We’d like to ask you some questions about Coleman Patterson,” Gutiérrez said, and Valencia smiled as brightly as she could.

  “Coleman is a client of mine,” she began, trying to sound as relaxed and calm as she could, under the circumstances. “I run a technology firm and I do some consulting work for his company.”

  “How long have you known him?”

  “Two, more like three years now, I’m guessing.”

  “And how would you describe that relationship?” Gutiérrez asked.

  “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “Was it just a business relationship, was it personal … a mix of both, maybe,” Gutiérrez said, allowing her voice to drop.

  “I would say that it is a mix of both at this point.”

  Bryant
leaned forward. “So, the two of you were more than friends. Ever been to his house?”

  “I have. And I am not sure if I’m comfortable with what you’re implying when you say, ‘more than friends’ in that tone of voice, Detective Bryant.”

  Gutiérrez glanced at her partner. “How would you describe the relationship between you and Mr. Patterson?”

  “We are friends who share an occasional glass of wine and talk about politics and global finance. But there is nothing intimate or physical, if that’s what you were implying,” she said, looking at Bryant before turning to face Gutiérrez. “And you still haven’t told me what this is about.”

  “When was the last time you saw him?” Gutiérrez asked, ignoring her question. She would answer it in due time.

  This was the question that concerned her—how to answer this one question. It could mean the difference between her walking out of there or asking to speak with a lawyer. Should she tell them that she was there on the night of the murder? Did they already know she was there and were waiting to spring their trap?

  “It’s been a couple of weeks. I’d have to check my calendar to be sure, but we have gotten together recently to deliver a proposal. And here again, you still haven’t told me what this is about.”

  “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but Mr. Patterson is dead,” Bryant dropped without emotion.

  “Oh, my god,” Valencia said, quickly covering her mouth.

  “He was murdered this past Sunday evening at his home,” Gutiérrez said, with just a bit more compassion than her partner.

  Valencia sat quietly with her head down for a second or two and was able to force out a tear before she faced the detectives. When she looked up, there was a picture of Coleman’s body on the table in front of her. She glanced at it quickly and looked away.

  “We found a fingerprint in the house that matched yours, Ms. DeVerão,” Bryant said, “and a number of his neighbors told us that they’ve seen you there a number of times in the past.”

  Valencia wiped away a single tear and looked at Gutiérrez. “Yes, as I told you, he and I are friends,” she began, careful to refer to him in the present, rather than past tense. “I’ve been to his house many times over the years and we drink wine and talk—” Valencia paused as if she was getting emotional, and there was a part of her that was. Even though he was her blackmailer, they did have something of a curious friendship. “I’m sorry, this is a lot to take in.”