by Cari Z.
“It’s a nice thought, but Serena would kill you if you didn’t show up.” Lennox kissed the side of Elliot’s neck, then slowly pulled out, securing the condom as he went. He threw it away, then reached for the bodywash. “We can make this part quick.”
Elliot turned around and wrapped his arms around Lennox’s neck. “But not too quick.”
“Nah. Not too quick.”
By early afternoon Elliot had been swamped with client teleconferences and vendor meetings. Serena was firing on all cylinders, unlikely to go anywhere, and with everyone else there, Lennox finally felt comfortable leaving Elliot, to run an errand of his own. He was able to explain it away as something for work, and went before either of them could question him in detail. In reality, Lennox had decided it was time to learn more about the enemy.
He was going to meet with Sheridan Pullman.
Reading about the man didn’t do justice to the situation. Listening to Elliot speak about him was no better than any other witness statement: irreparably biased through the lens of Elliot’s perception. If Pullman was a man capable of every nefarious action that Elliot said he’d done, then Lennox introducing himself wouldn’t change what the man might do to him. If he was being talked up, well, then Lennox wanted to know that too. Personally, he had his doubts about Pullman. Something just wasn’t sitting right, with the mix of extremely high-tech manipulation and very low-tech intimidation tactics. They seemed too disparate to be the work of just one person.
Sheridan Pullman had relocated after his release to a private, closed community in the foothills, complete with video surveillance and a guard at the gate. If Lennox had been a little more like James Bond, as his daughter would have loved, he might have shot out one of the security cameras and scaled the gate in a single jump. If he’d been Elliot, he would have convinced the guard that he was visiting a resident and had forgotten to call ahead, and oh, could he let him in? Lennox was neither a super spy nor intensely charming, but he didn’t have to be.
It was amazing what you could get away with if you had a decal.
Lennox stopped on the side of the road half a mile out and took a moment to plaster a few Castillion stickers onto the doors of his truck. As he slapped one on the tailgate, a text came in. He pulled out his phone and checked the sender: Oliver. Excellent. Lennox opened it.
Unconfirmed sighting of Jonathan Lehrer in St. Petersburg this morning, but my source is generally reliable. Looks like he’s found a position with the Bratva. Not the bad guy you want.
Well, that was helpful, but also a little disappointing. It would have made things simpler if Elliot’s suspicions had been correct. Thanks, Lennox replied before climbing back into his truck. He put his work hat on and drove up to the community’s gate with the slightly weary air of one blue-collar worker to another. “Hey.”
“Hey there,” the man said. He wore his uniform open at the collar, his tie long since abandoned to the desk he sat behind. Perfect. “What can I do for you?”
“I’ve got a call to inspect a system in here. Some problem with the keypad.”
The man peered at his hat. “Castillion, huh? The knife people?”
“We do security systems too,” Lennox assured him.
“Why does somebody in here need a private security system?”
Lennox spread his hands. “Hey, man, it’s none of my business what some rich guy decides is worth the extra trouble.”
“Yeah, I hear you. Who’re you seeing?”
“Pullman.”
“Huh.” The guard checked the screen in front of him. “He didn’t call ahead about you.”
“He probably forgot. The guy seemed . . .” Lennox tightened his mouth into a grimace. “Well, let’s just say he was kind of pissed over the phone.”
“Uh-oh. Not a good guy to annoy.”
“You’re telling me. I’m hoping I can get in, get out as soon as possible.” He rambled ahead before the guard could think of another reason to doubt him. “He didn’t even bother to give me directions to his place in here, and of course my phone isn’t getting any reception.” He held up his darkened phone. “Can’t check the map.”
“Oh, Mr. Pullman lives in the rear loop. Number two fourteen. It’s the biggest house on the block, you can’t miss it.”
Lennox smiled broadly. “Thanks, that’s really helpful of you. I’ll be out of your hair in half an hour, tops.”
The guard smiled back. “Sure, okay.” He pushed a button and the gate rolled open.
“Thanks again, man.” Lennox waved and drove through, driving around to the rear loop. The community was one of those places that had been intensely manicured, but designed to look as if it hadn’t. Like nature created pine trees in the shape of near-perfect cones, and every bush was a decorative one that featured red or white berries during the winter. As soon as spring came, Lennox was willing to bet that every lawn would magically sprout Kentucky bluegrass too.
The houses were all expansive, but the biggest on the rear loop by far was two fourteen. It had a circular driveway in front of the house, cobbled, not paved, and a portico that cars could park under to the right of the actual garage―a four-car garage, from what Lennox could see. The house itself was made of rough-hewn sandstone and smooth, dark wood, with a glass A-frame in the front. Well. They’d certainly see him coming, but then, Lennox’s strategy had never relied on stealth. He got out of his truck, walked up to the front door, and knocked twice.
The man who met him at the door looked almost nothing like the photographs that Lennox had seen. That man had been in his early fifties, with a head of thick, silver-gray hair and an angular, handsome face. He’d been broad-shouldered and tall, and as sleek as a shark. This man?
He walked with a cane, painfully stooped. His head was bald on top now, and the rest of his hair had thinned to the point where his scalp was visible through the wispy white strands. His skin was slack around his neck and wrists, and he wore a housecoat and slippers even though it was the middle of the day. The only things that remained the same were his whiskey-brown eyes, sharp and assessing as they skewered Lennox where he stood.
“Ah,” Pullman croaked with evident satisfaction after a moment. “McKenzie’s new bodyguard. Here to try your luck?”
“I’m not an assassin,” Lennox said, slowly and distinctly in case someone was listening. “My name is Lennox West. I’m a friend of Elliot’s. I’m just here to ask you a few questions, that’s all.”
“A friendly chat, so to speak?”
“I’d certainly like to keep things cordial,” Lennox agreed.
Pullman snorted. “You’ve got a hint of Southern hospitality in you, ‘keeping things cordial.’” He turned away and limped back into the house. “But fine, fine. You’ll hand your weapons over to Martine before you come any farther, though.”
A woman seemed to melt into existence beside the door. She was a hard-faced redhead packing a Walther PPK in her holster. Lennox suppressed a smile. At least someone here was getting into the spy persona. He handed over his Kahr PM9 by the barrel, which she took wordlessly before looking him up and down.
“Yeah, okay.” He handed over both his Castillion folding knives as well, one from each pocket. She eyed him again. “That’s it, I swear. You can pat me down if you need to.”
“Not interested.” Her voice was husky and heavily sarcastic. “Go on, then. And don’t get any ideas.”
Lennox nodded and walked after Pullman, who’d turned from his massive foyer into a room on the left. It was like a library, but instead of books it was filled, floor to ceiling, with file folders. Each folder had a number at the top of the spine, but no other visible identification. There was also a desk with a computer, and a massive, highly ergonomic chair behind it. It was all very monochrome and intimidating, except for the Happy Birthday, Brother card propped up beside the keyboard. Pullman was lowering himself into the chair as Lennox entered the room. He waved toward the only other seat in the place. “Make yourself comfortable.”
“Thanks.” Lennox sat down and waited silently while Pullman poured himself a drink. He didn’t offer one to Lennox, which was fine as far as he was concerned. They stared at each other for a long moment before Pullman broke the silence.
“So, why did he send you here? To beg on his behalf, or is he finally ready to negotiate?”
“Do I need to beg for something?” Lennox asked.
Pullman shrugged. “I assume he’s rattled. Elliot’s a smart enough kid, but he’s never been very brave.”
So it is him. Lennox was relieved. One person behind it all simplified things immensely. “Well, anybody would be rattled after some of the stuff you’ve done.”
Pullman waved a gnarled hand. “Please, it didn’t hospitalize him for long. I knew he’d wriggle out of the wreck. Elliot is an expert at setting himself up to survive, which is something you should know about him if you plan on spending much time in his company. Don’t trust that little shit, because he’d as soon stab you in the back in private as kiss your ass in public.”
“That’s pretty rich, coming from a man who’s just admitted that he hijacked Elliot’s car.”
“I didn’t admit anything. Expressing knowledge of a particular event in no way correlates to admitting culpability.” Pullman squinted at Lennox. “You haven’t spent much time with him yet, have you?” He took another drink. “You’ll learn to listen for his doublespeak, same as I did. He was always better at it than Kovalin.”
Pullman leaned forward intently. “Which is why I see right through his act. Bettering other people’s lives? Ha! Elliot McKenzie has always been and will always be only concerned with himself. Don’t be fooled, Mr. West.” His tone implied that he didn’t really think Lennox was capable of that much insight, but that he had to try to educate him regardless, like a bad dog who needed his nose rubbed in his own mess.
“I’m convinced that Elliot’s the one who stole the patent information for my Singularity project. Not only digital copies, but the hard copies as well. He’s one of the only people who had the opportunity before the whole company got broken up for scrap.” He gestured at the walls of file folders. “Very few people had access to where I kept them at my headquarters, but my lawyers were among them, and Elliot had the sharpest eye. And if he thinks I’m going to let him auction off my golden goose without putting up a fight, he’s got another thing coming to him.”
This was all news to Lennox. “What’s the Singularity project?”
“I’m not surprised he hasn’t mentioned it. Why would he tell you the truth? I’d be shocked if he knows the meaning of the word. But that Black Box meeting? It’s not clients coming to drink from the wellspring of that lying fuck’s wisdom.” Pullman snorted derisively. “Not that he couldn’t make a living selling sand to Saudis, but what he’s selling this time is significantly more valuable, and I want it back. Either he gives it to me, or I ruin everything he’s built up over the past five years.” He smiled thinly. “His choice.”
None of this made sense to Lennox, but he didn’t need to let Pullman in on that. The smug expression on Pullman’s face intimated that he probably already knew, anyway. Still, Lennox had to ask. “Why not just kill him, if you’ve got the means?”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Pullman drawled, “but if I did, I’d say that the satisfaction of killing someone only lasts for as long as they’re dying. But killing their pride, destroying their self-worth? That’s satisfying for a lifetime. He’ll be the one going to prison next, if he doesn’t cough up my patent before his auction.” His smile came back. “I doubt he’ll do well in there, pretty little thing. He’s smart, but he’s soft. That’s why he hired a goon like you, isn’t it? To hide behind?” Pullman’s phone beeped, and he glanced at the screen with interest.
“You’re not a man without your own soft spots, Mr. West. You’re in therapy, it looks like. And you have—one daughter, I see. She lives with her mother?”
Lennox’s blood chilled. “You don’t need to know anything about them.”
“I agree. And if Elliot gives back my research before Sunday evening, I won’t. If he doesn’t, well.” Pullman shrugged. “Collateral damage happens.”
“Yes,” Lennox agreed flatly. “Yes, it does.”
Pullman sighed after a moment and lifted his glass.
“Touché. To be honest, I never liked the idea of threatening a man’s family,” Pullman went on. “It hits too close to home.”
“That didn’t stop you from doing it before.”
“I’ve come to see the error of my ways on that front,” Pullman said. “Family is precious, and no one should be without. The fact that Elliot McKenzie’s won’t talk to him anymore, despite his supposed turnaround, speaks volumes about his character, doesn’t it? They turned their backs on him. He had to charm a batty old broad he met in rehab to fund his resurrection. Does that seem like the action of a good man, someone who’s seen the light?”
He looked Lennox straight in the eyes. “Let me be frank, Mr. West. I don’t want a fight, and I know beyond a doubt that Elliot doesn’t want one either. He’s not a fighter, he’s a negotiator, and he’ll try to talk himself out of any corner you put him in. But he’s also a thief, and a liar, and he’s about to try to make a lot of money on some very proprietary, very dangerous information. If you’re smart, you’ll convince him to give it back, and we’ll go on our merry ways. I won’t even ruin his company.”
“Gracious of you.”
“Old age is making me mild, what can I say?” He drained the last of his drink. “I appreciate you stopping by. It makes sending a message so much easier.”
“I think poisoning his dog did a decent job of that,” Lennox said as he got to his feet. He was more than ready to head out and have a heart-to-heart talk with Elliot about everything he’d just learned, but then Pullman . . . froze for a moment, his face completely blank and his gaze unfocused before he recovered himself. Interesting.
Pullman seemed torn over what to say, finally settling on, “Good-bye, Mr. West.”
Lennox left without looking back. The sour-faced redhead gave him his weapons at the door—using her left hand for everything—and didn’t hesitate to slam it shut behind him as soon as his feet passed the threshold. Lennox resisted the urge to run to his truck and speed back to Elliot, just kept his pace steady as he thought about what he knew now.
One: Sheridan Pullman was a cold-hearted, vengeful son of a bitch who wasn’t afraid to threaten people.
Two: There were potentially a lot more layers to what was going on with Elliot and his upcoming event than he’d let on to Lennox, and that had to change.
And three: Either someone was taking independent action on Pullman’s behalf, or there was another hostile in play whom Lennox couldn’t place yet. Either way, Lennox was going to have to take steps.
And the first step? Cornering Elliot and getting the truth out of him, no matter how hard he squirmed.
Excerpt from Shockwave’s article:
It’s a funny thing, the desire to be part of something bigger than yourself. McKenzie’s business plan cultivates an air of elitism, by acknowledging some of the worst mistakes he and his clients have ever made. A lot of his videos are about forgiveness. Not just forgiveness of others, but forgiveness of yourself. They would be disgustingly cloying if it were directed at any other population, but under the circumstances, he sells it. He sells it well.
Charmed Life’s CEO borrows from religion, new-age mysticism, and classical philosophy in a lot of his directives. If he elevated his language a little more, if he altered his tone, if he changed his message a bit, you’d think he was running a cult.
Then again, I’m not a member of Charmed Life. Maybe he is running a cult.
“Aaand take two . . . go.”
Elliot smiled into the camera, his nerves finally subsiding now that he was going. He’d made close to a hundred of these videos, and he still got anxious just before they rolled. “H
ey, guys. It’s Elliot at Charmed Life, here with your weekly insight. This is my last chance to talk to you before the Executive Meetup this weekend, so I figured I better make it count. For those of you who are coming to Denver to take part, I’m very thankful, and I can’t wait to meet you all. I know that you’re going to make connections here that will help transform your life. If you can’t make it this year, don’t be afraid of being left behind. I’m sure that the most interesting stuff that happens will make it onto the forums, and I’m planning to massively extend both the time and the offerings for next year.”
Elliot sighed. “Life doesn’t turn out the way we want it to sometimes. Maybe you wanted to come this weekend and you couldn’t manage it, or you were planning to and something unexpected came up. Maybe you’re hoping your team will win the Super Bowl, in which case, you’re fifty percent likely to be disappointed. Maybe things have gotten hard again recently. Maybe you’ve backslid on some goals, or gone back on some promises.
“I know how you feel. Trust me,” he laughed a little, “I try to hide it, but I’m always making mistakes. It happens to the best of us, and I’ve stopped pretending to be the best at anything. I’m imperfect, and no matter how hard I try, I’m never going to get everything right. That’s why it’s so important for me, for everyone, to have a team. We need people in our lives who we can count on, people to help pull us through the tough times. It could be friends, or family, or a newcomer that you’ve got a good feeling about. Your best support might come from a canine companion, for all I know. And that’s fine.
“If your team isn’t what you need it to be, then I want you to try and do something about that over the next week. Reach out to new people, go to a new place, and try to expand your circle. Or maybe you need to revisit old acquaintances that you might have thought were lost to you. Forgiveness can take time, and we can’t force anyone else’s heart to work on our schedule.