by Shay Stone
“Sit down, Memphis. I’m fine,” he says, waving me off and taking a sip of water from his glass.
“You sure?”
“Fine enough to kick your ass in some Madden after dinner.”
“Oh, you’re on.”
“Good. I can school you about women while we play. It’s obvious you don’t have the first clue what to do with them.”
“Oh, and you do?”
He smiles and it warms my heart.
“Are you kidding?” Cora chimes in. “He has all the nurses and interns eating out of his hand. And don’t even get me started on the way the girls look at him when we go to therapy. They call him Romeo.”
I cock a brow. “Romeo?”
Mason shrugs.
“Yeah, but he likes Hannah.”
“Ooooo, and who is Hannah?” I ask, setting my elbows on the table and resting my chin on my hands giving him my full attention.
A hint of pink spreads across his pale face. “Just a girl.”
The rest of us share a smile over his embarrassment. Cora stands and starts clearing plates and I rise to help. She lifts her chin motioning towards Mason. “You could learn a thing or two from him.”
“Someone needs to teach him,” my dad mumbles, handing me his plate. “Honestly, Memphis, I don’t understand why you can’t meet a nice girl.”
“I’ve met lots of nice girls.”
“Then why don’t you find one to settle down with?”
“Because nice girls deserve better than me.” The room grows quiet and I gaze up to find the three of them glaring at me. “What?”
My dad shakes his head. “You don’t give yourself enough credit. You’re a good man. You’ve got a terrific job at the investment firm. You take care of your family. You deserve to be happy, son.”
“I am happy.” They all share another glance indicating they think otherwise. “What? I am!”
My James Hamilton phone rings saving me from further lecture. I sigh knowing it’s probably Angie again. The woman still calls and texts me at least fifty times a day, and that’s not an exaggeration. Sometimes she’s telling me she loves me and begging me to come back; other times she’s calling me an asshole and threatening to ruin my life for breaking her heart. I’ve stopped listening to them. The second I get my settlement this phone will be gone.
I’m surprised to see my lawyer’s name flashing across the screen. They couldn’t have the check already, could they? I know they said they were going to have the judge sign-off on it today, but we got out of there pretty late. I assumed it would be tomorrow at least before they filed the paperwork.
“Cora leave those. Go to church. I’ll do ’em when I get off the phone,” I tell her, stepping into the living room to take the call. “Hey, Paul. What’s up?”
“Are you watching the news?”
“No, why? What’s going on?” I grab the remote and flick on the television just in time to watch footage of Harlan Stapleton being led off in handcuffs. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one who knew he was embezzling. “What the hell happened?”
“The indictment came down this morning. All his assets have been frozen. Business and personal.”
I glance up and see Mason point to his bedroom indicating he needs to lie down. I nod. He’s getting sicker by the day. “What about my settlement?”
“It could be tied up for years. And I hate to tell you this, but they want to bring you in for questioning. You need to lie low until I find out what they’ve got on you, if anything. I’ll call you when I know something.”
“Thanks, Paul.” I hang up and stare down at my phone, trying to figure out what the hell I’m going to do. My other cell rings. I don’t have to consult the caller ID to know who it is.
“Hey Vito.”
“Are you responsible for this? I know you wanted out, but if you fucked me over …”
“Come on, you know better than that. It wasn’t me. If I wanted to fuck you, I’d turn in the thumb drive. This screws me too."
“Yeah, I guess it does. I’m not happy, Memphis. How fucked are we?”
“We’re not. This is why you use me. The cops can investigate all they want but they’ll have a helluva a time tying anything to you or proving the donations and companies aren’t legit. It’s all good, Vito,” I assure him, hoping I’m right.
“It better be, because if this goes to shit, I won’t be able to protect you. I’ll have to tie up loose ends.” There’s conflict in his voice as he ends the call on the needless threat.
I’m not an idiot. The one thing that connects Vito to Harlan is me. All the paperwork has been filed and everything I’ve done is made to stand up under intense scrutiny. But if this goes Federal, and they get the slightest whiff that Vito is involved, that may not be enough. They’ll lean on Harlan and tear everything apart to nail the notorious mobster. I’ll need to disappear, or Vito will make me disappear.
“Memphis, you okay?” my dad asks, entering the living room.
“Yeah, Dad. Don’t worry. I’m fine.”
But I’m not fine. I’m completely fucked. I scroll through my previous call log and hit the button. “It’s me. I’m in. I’ll be there Friday.”
FIVE
Never Pay for Anything You Can Steal
Thursday morning, I catch the first train to Manhattan. I’d planned to spend a few more days with Dad and Mason, but with Harlan’s indictment, there’s no time to waste. Especially knowing the police might be investigating one of my alter egos. All of my identities are rock solid, but there’s always a chance of getting caught. That’s part of the thrill. If I was smart, I’d play it safe for a while until everything cools down. Unfortunately, I don’t have that luxury.
I purposely told Mike I wouldn’t arrive until Friday because I wanted time to scope things out for myself. To say my faith in him right now is shaky at best would be a gross understatement. He’s keeping tightlipped on this new job. The only thing I know about our new mark is that she’s loaded and “smokin’ hot.” Like that helps me. I couldn’t even pry a name out of him last night, which only reinforces my belief that he’s hiding something.
The smell of exhaust chokes me as I bottleneck with the throng of commuters out of the train into the station. Outside, the luxury car I prearranged is waiting by the curb to take me to The M hotel. Modern and lush, the granite tower services a clientele regularly featured in the pages of Forbes. The kind that don’t arrive in taxis.
When the bellhop greets me, I inform him I arrived earlier than anticipated and slip him a twenty to keep an eye on my bags until my room is ready. I don’t have a room. My plan is to head inside and park myself at the bar until I find the perfect mark. But it looks like that won’t be necessary. Six feet away I spot a valet struggling to fit a stack of Louis Vuitton suitcases into the back of a limousine.
A man wearing John Lobb’s and a navy blue Brioni suit is talking loud enough on his cell to attract attention, making sure everyone knows he’s someone important. I make note of the Patek Philippe Aquanaut timepiece he’s sporting on his left wrist. He keeps a contemptuous eye on the valet, pausing his conversation long enough to berate the kid. “Would you hurry up? How hard is it to load a few damn suitcases? I have a plane to catch!”
The frazzled valet lifts another suitcase misjudging the weight and lightly bumps the bag against the car. The man in the suit goes ballistic. “Are you fucking stupid? That bag is worth more than your pathetic life!”
The timorous kid cringes, taking the abuse the asshole is all too happy to keep giving him. I walk by with my head down typing a text and knock into the irate douchebag. My arm shoots out to steady him. “Excuse me.”
“Watch where you’re going asshole!”
“Sorry man.” I take a few steps and pull a credit card from the wallet I just lifted from his jacket. There are benefits to having an eidetic memory, and this is one of them. Quickly, I memorize the name, card number, expiration date, and security code before returning it to the slot an
d snag a couple bills from the massive stack inside. I slip them in my pocket and toss the wallet.
“Sir?” I say, interrupting his tirade.
“What?” he snaps.
“I think you dropped something.” I point at the ground, stooping to pick up the wallet and hand it to him. I contemplate taking his watch but decide against it, only because I don’t need him coming back to search for it. His eyes narrow. He snatches the billfold from me, opening it to make sure the cards are all there then peeks at the money inside before returning it to his pocket without so much as a “thank you.”
The valet loads the last of the bags and closes the trunk. He takes a step closer to the man, keeping his arms by his sides with his palm up waiting to accept a tip. The douchebag scoffs at the kid’s hand and climbs into the back of the limo.
“Asshole,” the kid mutters, watching the car pull off. He winces when he realizes I’m still standing there. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“No, you’re right. He was an asshole. And I think that asshole would want you to have this for putting up with him,” I say, slipping the kid a fifty.
His eyes bulge out. “Really? Thanks Mister.”
“You’re welcome. Have a good day.”
I cross through the sliding doors into the expansive three-story lobby. White marble with gray veining butts against a large charcoal patterned inlay in the middle of the floor. A light installation consisting of glass cubes sprouting from satin nickel rods of various sizes extends from the ceiling producing a falling rain effect. Black leather couches are flanked by asymmetrical tables to create sectioned off seating areas. Businessmen are gathered in small groups, making it easy for me to blend in. I lean against the wall and dial the phone number to the hotel keeping an eye on the front desk.
“Thank you for calling The M hotel. This is Cynthia. How may I assist you?”
“Hi Cynthia, this is David Priggs. I just checked out of your hotel a few minutes ago. Turns out my flight has been cancelled. I was wondering if there was any way I could rent my same room for another night.”
“Let me check. It looks like that room is still available,” her voice is honey, but her lips curl with disdain. “I’ll just need your card number again please?” I rattle off the numbers and PIN I memorized. “Okay, you’re all set, Mr. Priggs. Just stop by the front desk and we’ll have the key waiting for you.”
“Great, thank you Cynthia. Are you the nice woman that checked me out before? Do I need to ask for you?”
“No, that was Jessica. She just finished her shift and is gone until this evening. I’m the one that checked you in when you arrived. But anyone can help you.”
“Perfect. Thank you.” Now I know who to avoid when I check in. If David Priggs treated either of them like he treated the valet, they’ve probably ingrained his face to memory.
I busy myself until Cynthia takes her first break and manage to check in without incident. My suite is spacious and sleek with dark woods and gray linens. It’s modern and functional with nothing warm or cozy about it. This isn’t a place men come to be reminded of home. This is a place they come to close deals and forget about their wives and families while they fuck their mistresses or one of the high-end call girls loitering around the bar downstairs. It’s the lifestyle of the rich and privileged and it’s exactly why I’ll never fit into their world.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that marriage is nothing more than a business transaction to these people. A power play they use to their advantage to amass greater wealth. But it’s sacred to me. I don’t believe in much, but I do believe in that. Which is ironic considering what I do. Maybe because a wife and family—a real one—is something I covet more than anything. But thinking I ever could have one is just foolish on my part. Besides, I don’t do love.
I hang my garment bag and unzip it to assess the state of my suits, knowing I’ll probably have to call down to the concierge and arrange to have them pressed. They’ve been hanging in there untouched since I cleared my stuff out of the house Angie and I shared weeks ago.
“Shit!” I exclaim, realizing the best dry cleaner in the world won’t be able to save my poor suits. As a parting gift, my darling ex-wife used some sort of bleach pen to write obscenities across the back and the lapels, dousing the rest of the fabric with the chemical for good measure.
Part of any good con is dressing the part. But dropping several grand on a new wardrobe is the last thing I need to do. Money is tight, and I still need to wine and dine the new mark. Frustrated, I weigh my options—buy some cheap ass ill-fitting suit from a Bargain Warehouse or don a ten-thousand-dollar suit with COCK SUCKING MOTHERFUCKER scrawled all over it. Honestly, it’s a tossup which one would make a worse impression. Having no other choice, I leave the hotel for some recon and shopping.
Outside, the frenetic energy of the city vibrates through me the moment my feet hit the pavement. Or maybe I’m anxious to get started on this con. Every second that passes without making money seems wasted—like I’m playing Russian roulette with Mason’s life.
I flag down a cab and give him the address to Mike’s apartment, hoping I’ll catch him as he’s leaving for work and I can tail him to the office. When we reach the apartment building, Mike is outside screaming into his cell phone. I lower the window, but I’m too far away to hear what he’s saying. He hangs up cursing and slips into the back of a nearby cab.
“Follow that car,” I instruct the driver. We zip in and out of lanes for a few miles through Manhattan’s Upper West Side until the vehicle slows in front of an onyx mirrored skyscraper, stretching up higher than I can crane my neck to see.
Mike’s face is still marred with anger when he exits the taxi, but he screws on a fake smile to greet a coworker holding the door for him. I pay my fare and hop out of the car, lingering across the street to remain unseen. That’s when I see her.
She steps out of the café next door, all legs and self-assurance. Her back is straight with her head held high, but there’s not a shred of arrogance about her. Just confidence. And it’s sexy as hell. Long flowing dark chocolate waves stretch to the middle of her back, framing an exquisite face with delicate features and the most luminous skin I’ve ever seen.
Pouty red lips stretch into a smile as she stops to coo over a puppy, crouching to give him a welcomed scratch behind the ear. Lucky dog. She rises straightening her knee-length skirt that showcases a body with curves that should require a warning sign. And those heels. My god don’t even get me started on those heels.
Her hips move with a natural sway that has my cock twitching, reminding me it’s been a while since I’ve gotten horizontal with a woman. She’s a pin-up bombshell and the girl next door all rolled into one. But it’s her radiance that captures me. I’m inexplicably drawn to her. Literally.
Tires screech and the raucous sound of a horn screams through the air. I place my hand on the hood of a brown sedan stopped less than an inch from me, still rocking from the abrupt halt. Without realizing it, I’d stepped into the road wanting to get closer to her.
“Watch where you’re going asshole!” the driver barks out the window.
I wave a hand in apology. When I look up, the sultry siren is gone. I rush across the street fighting my way through the crowd trying to see which way she went, but she’s nowhere. How could someone disappear so fast? For a second, I wonder if I imagined her. But no, she was real. I know she was real.
I waste a full five minutes searching in opposite directions up and down the sidewalk before finally concluding I’m being ridiculous. I mean, really? Even if I find her, what am I going to do? Walk up and say, “Hi, I noticed you from across the street and had to meet you?” Actually, that’s not bad.
No, no, no. I’ve got a job to do. I can’t be distracted by some temptress in a tight skirt with bedroom eyes and long legs I’d love to throw over my shoulders and …
“Damn it, Memphis! Focus!” I chastise myself out loud, shaking away the thought. Only on
e person shoots me a questionable look, taking a wide berth around me. The rest of the mob continues about their business, ignoring my little outburst. It is New York after all.
I give up my search and head into the office building perusing the directory for a list of company names. The occupants include everything from a law firm to a pharmaceutical company, with Steele Industries claiming the entire top floor. That’s probably the best place to start.
After taking in the visitors for a few minutes, I decide I’m just wasting time and need to move on. Two blocks down, I spot a high-end men’s store. I’m about to duck in when the smell of knish from a street cart permeates the air. My stomach pangs and I realize I haven’t eaten anything since the bag of chips Mason and I shared last night when I doled out tips on how to ask out Hannah while he annihilated me in Madden. I step up to the cart and place my order, eavesdropping on a guy about my age, yammering on his cell phone outside the men’s shop.
“Yeah, I’m walking in right now. I just pick out what I want and they have your card on file? Who do I ask for? Lorenzo? Alright. Dad I gotta go. I’ve got another call.” He clicks over. “Preston Wetherbee speaking.”
I smirk marveling how much the name suits the snooty rich boy. The vendor collects the money and hands me my food. I sit on a bench eating my potato pastry when Preston plops beside me interrupting my moment of peace.
“Hey baby. I didn’t expect to hear from you today. Thought you and the hubby were doing the family thing. How long is he gone? Are you sure? I don’t want to have to run out the back door with my pants around my ankles like last time,” he remarks, grinning at me like I’m supposed to empathize with him. He glances back at the store. “Fuck it. My dad already thinks I’m here. I’ll tell him I went. He’ll never know I didn’t. Get naked. I’m on my way.”
He climbs into the back of a Lexus and zips off. I kill about ten minutes savoring my food and daydreaming about the sexy brunette from earlier. Years of experience have taught me most people return within that amount of time if they forgot something or change their minds. Once I’m sure he’s gone, I step into the store where I’m immediately pounced on by an eager sales associate.