“Everything,” Stan replied with excitement. “Absolutely everything. But considering what we are about to talk about, you should order something you will just completely adore. A good conversation must be accompanied by good food and good libation; that way all three will leave an indelible impression.”
Taylor could see Stan was really feeling himself and knew whatever information he had, to use his metaphor, would be pleasing to the palate.
Just like a man, Stan immediately began to take over. He called the waiter over, flirted for a few moments, then proceeded to order dinner for the two of them.
“You’re not allergic to any seafood, are you?”
“No,” Taylor replied as she looked at the waiter.
“Wonderful! We will have two of your biggest lobsters grilled, the glazed carrots and asparagus, the cran-orange acorn squash and for dessert, the pumpkin-cranberry custard.”
“Fine choice,” the waiter replied. “Anything to drink, sir?”
“I’ll take a tall glass of you,” Stan said, laughing slightly, as if he were trying to see if he had a chance with the young man standing next to him. “I’m just kidding. Nothing alcoholic for me. I’m twenty years clean today. So I’ll just have a Diet Coke.”
“And what about you?” the waiter asked, turning to Taylor, seemingly unfazed by the solicitation he had received only seconds earlier.
“A glass of Chardonnay and some water with lemon,” Taylor replied as she closed the menu and returned it to the man’s awaiting hand.
Now with the waiter gone, Taylor could no longer hold it in. “Really, Stan?” she said. “You actually believe you had a chance with that young man? If I were him, I’d have punched you out.”
“Yeah, but you’re not him,” Stan replied. “Plus, if he works here, he has to be used to it by now. The ones who can take it end up with the best tips. Anyway, enough about proper waiter pickup etiquette. Do you have my money, Ms. DuBois?”
“Damn, Stan! We agreed you would get paid once the material was confirmed. But to show I have faith in you and your abilities, I did bring you your fee for the information about Blake’s brother. It still needs to be confirmed, but for now, I am offering it as a good faith gesture.”
“Really,” Stan said as he played with his utensils. “So you have three thousand dollars with you now?”
“Yes! Why do you think I called you? Did you not listen to your message? I said I had something for you. What? You didn’t believe me? Come on, Stan, that’s no way to start a business relationship. The rules are clear. If you get legitimate information, you will receive a three thousand dollar finder’s fee for each thing that pans out. Break the rules and no money. Provide rock-solid information and watch your money grow. It’s that simple.”
“Okay, honey, I got it,” Stan said, seeing she was enjoying her lecture. “Now I know why Yeager keeps you around. You do his dirty work as well as he does. You even have some of his mannerisms.”
“Well, I’ll take that as a compliment. I know you have mad respect for the councilman, and that’s why we selected you to work on this project with us. Your discretion serves you well.” Taylor understood the power of stroking and she would stroke until she was sure she had complete control of Stan and the situation.
“After dinner,” she continued, “we will make the exchange. I don’t want to make it publicly, if you know what I mean? Now, let’s move on. I can’t wait to hear what news you have for me today.”
“Well, Ms. Thing … .” Stan laughed. “I know, honey, you want to hold that illustrious title for when you are in the mayor’s cabinet or whatever, but I can’t help myself. So you’re going to have to just bear with it.”
“Whatever,” Taylor said visibly perturbed by his disregard of her wishes. “Anyway, go on with your story.”
Just as Stan was about to tell everything, the waiter arrived with their meal. And of course, Stan had to comment on the length and width of the lobster tail. To Taylor, it was obvious Stan didn’t have a chance with this guy unless, of course, he paid for it.
Once the waiter had left the table, Taylor again redirected the conversation. “So, where were we?” she asked as she began to remove the shell from her lobster. “If the information is as good as you say it is, I would think you’d be jumping at the opportunity to tell me about it, especially considering the hefty bounty attached to the info.”
“Yes, of course,” Stan said, right before taking a bite of his lobster. Once he finished chewing, he continued, “Anyway, after I told you what my cop friend told me about Blake crying on the side of the road and his brother dying, I did some digging. I started to look into Blake’s background. You know, where he went to school, who he hung out with, stuff like that. It took some digging, but I finally got in touch with his old roommate. Who is gay, by the way.”
“Wait a minute!” Taylor said. “Are you about to tell me Blake Jones is gay?”
“I wish, but not a chance, honey. He’s as straight as they come.”
“Then what’s the connection?”
“Well, if you stop interrupting me, I can finish my story.”
“Okay. I’m sorry. Go on.”
“According to the roommate, every month Blake received a letter from someone in Missouri. He never knew who the sender was because there was never a return address and Blake never mentioned anything about them. But one night, his roommate accidently stumbled upon the letters.”
“So, what did the letters say?” Taylor asked without looking up. She was jumping with anticipation, but at the same time, couldn’t tip her hand. Stan was just as good at playing mind games as she was and she had to maintain control.
“A lot,” he said assuredly as he took another bite of his lobster. “But before I tell you, did you know that Blake is mixed-race and not Black? Biracial — you know — a beige one, as the kids would say.”
“Hold it. Wait a minute,” she said. “Who would have ever thought it? Do you know how many times Yeager has said, for a Black man, Blake Jones didn’t know his place?”
“I can only imagine,” Stan replied, laughing. “Trust me; he’s not the only one who has said that. In my circle, we say it all the time. That —” Stan stopped before letting the epithet slip, keenly aware of his environment.
Unamused by Stan’s ability to refrain from speaking his true self, Taylor stayed focused on the matter at hand. At that moment, Taylor knew Yeager would never hear the information Stan was giving her. At least, not until she was ready.
“But, anyway, honey, it gets better. After reading the letters, his roommate could not believe what he had uncovered. The letters were written by Devon Laurie, Blake’s half-brother. Apparently, our little biracial, GQ power broker/world traveler/financier is the son of none other than the deceased billionaire, Yancy Laurie.”
“Yancy Laurie?” she said, confused. “I don’t know that name. Should I?”
“Yes, you should!” Stan said, shocked that someone so influenced by power didn’t recognize the Yancy name. “Well, anyway, let me finish my story before my food gets cold. Apparently, when Blake found out that his identity had been discovered, he was forced to pay to keep it a secret. And pay he did. This guy — Blake’s old roommate — hit the lottery. He was given $1 million a year for his silence. But there was a hitch. He had to keep Blake’s identity secret as long as his half-brother was living. That way there would be no scandal attached to the Laurie name. After his father died, Blake was well taken care of. In fact, not only did he have access to the family fortune, for the last ten years he has overseen the entire portfolio — a portfolio worth over thirty billion dollars.”
Stan watched Taylor’s face drop like a piece of glass, which when it hit the ground, shattered. He knew he had her where he wanted her.
“Pull your lip up, girl; I’m not done yet,” he said, now chewing with his mouth open while clapping his hands in excitement. “This story is bling-bling rich, girlfriend. It’s loaded with twists and turns. Now, whe
re was I? Oh, yeah, now I remember. When Devon Laurie died, all the Laurie fortune went to Blake, ending the ex-roommate’s annual money train. Apparently, Yancy Laurie had set it up so that, if all the legitimate heirs borne of the union between Eloise and Yancy Laurie died, then the entire family fortune and wealth would go to his firstborn son, Blake Daniel Jones. So, sugar, do you know who Yancy Laurie is now?”
Taylor was silent. Stan could tell she felt exactly as he had when he heard the news. And he wasn’t done with the story.
“I think so,” she said. “Are you saying that the Yancy Laurie you are referring to is the Clydesdale Energy fortune’s Yancy Laurie?”
“Bingo!” Stan yelled. “Now give the girl a prize. But, before you get lost in that tidbit of information, I need to warn you — I’m still not done. When I asked his ex-roommate if he recalled what any of the letters said, he did one better. Apparently, he kept one of the letters and now he has given it to me.”
“Wow. Do you have it with you?” Taylor lowered her voice to prevent other diners from hearing.
“I sure do,” he whispered, taking his cue from Taylor.
“Well, let me see it.”
Without hesitation, Stan pulled the letter out of his jacket pocket and casually handed it over to Taylor. He had done what he had set out to do, so for him, his next big hurdle was simply to enjoy his lobster. Taylor’s food could get cold and go to waste, but not his.
Dear Brother,
My friend Guy is at it again. He’s always sucking up to Yancy. Every time I turn around, he’s trying to impress him with his drive and intellect. In many respects, I think Yancy feels sorry for him because he grew up so poor, and at the same time, I think he is intrigued with him because of his intellectual prowess. Guy Yeager may have been raised as poor white trash, but with Yancy, he has parlayed his intellect into a weapon.
I wish I didn’t love him, Blake, but I do. What’s worse is that I love a man I can’t trust.
He’s manipulating Yancy just so he will financially support him. He doesn’t love me, Blake. It’s our money and what our family can do for him that he loves. It’s like he’s Yancy’s son and now, Father is taking him places and introducing him to his powerful friends. Yancy thinks that with the right help, Guy would be an asset of sorts. Anyway, it’s getting late. I’ll write next week.
Love always, your brother Devon
Stan delighted in watching Taylor’s expression as she read the letter. He now knew what he’d looked like when he first read it. And since he couldn’t tell anyone else, Taylor immediately became his best friend in the sandbox.
Stan put out his hand and Taylor returned the letter to him. She needed a moment to digest what she had just taken in. It was if she had just received a whiff of something so powerful that all she could do was sit back and wait for the substance to subside.
“This is unbelievable,” she said. “Blake Jones is the sole heir to the Clydesdale Energy fortune and Devon Laurie, Blake’s half-brother, was Guy Yeager’s lover. There is no way the councilman knows this connection.”
“I know,” Stan said, calculating. “I know.”
Now Taylor knew why Yeager had almost fallen to the ground when she told him Blake had a brother who had died recently; he too had figured it out. But how? She also could tell by the way Stan was staring at her that he wasn’t done; there was more to the story.
“Eat your food, Taylor,” he said with swagger. “What I have left to tell you can wait. Whereas this wonderful cuisine should be appreciated while it’s warm.”
“There’s more,” she said patiently, knowing very well she had to redeem herself.
“Yes, girl, there’s more, much more. Three days after Devon’s death, court documents were filed. And according to the documents, Blake can expose his identity if he wants but he doesn’t have to. Now, hold on to your seat, girlfriend; this is where the rubber hits the road.”
Stan leaned in close, looked Taylor straight in the eyes. He wanted to make sure she heard every word. Neither one blinked. At that point, Taylor knew the game had changed. Stan was showing his hand.
“So here’s the grand finale,” Stan said enthusiastically. “If Blake dies, the entire Clydesdale Energy fortune will be turned over to —”
Stan stopped in midsentence as if he were playing Family Feud. He then pushed his chair back from the table and crossed his arms and his legs. He was in full diva mode and his theatrics were playing out just as he had practiced. Now he watched with glee as Taylor put the final piece together.
“No!” Taylor said loudly. “Don’t tell me. No way! You have got to be kidding me! Guy Yeager?”
“Yep. Guy Yeager. He would become the estate’s beneficiary and as such, responsible for managing billions.”
Taylor could not believe her ears. Stan was right. If he published this story, they would put his face on the cover of People Magazine. But even with this news, there was still something missing. Thinking back to her last conversation with Yeager, Taylor recalled that when she told Yeager Blake had a brother, it was fear she had seen. Fear that had almost made him fall down — pure unadulterated fear. It was as if something was about to happen.
“Well, Stan, there is no doubt you earned your finder’s fee, that’s for sure. And you can prove all this?”
“Absolutely,” he said.
“Well, let’s stick with our plan. After dinner, I’ll walk with you to your car and we can exchange things then.”
“Sure thing, Ms. Thing. I can’t wait.”
Stan was clearly completely in his sissy role now and enjoying every minute of his accomplishment. This worried Taylor.
When dinner was over, the two of them walked out to Stan’s car and sat inside to exchange the money.
“As promised,” she said, “here is three thousand dollars. And here is another three thousand for tonight’s information.”
“I thought you had to verify it first,” Stan replied, looking at Taylor with suspicion.
“Based on what you told me and the letter in your pocket, not even you can make this shit up. Plus, we need you to keep on doing what you’re doing, so we’re willing to pay.”
Once she handed the money over, she knew Stan would not be able to keep their secret. She had to do something to protect her interests. “So, are we good?” Taylor asked.
“Yeah, we’re good for now,” Stan replied as he fanned the money.
As she got out of the car, Taylor noticed two young boys standing on the corner. They were watching her as much as she was watching them. With Stan in the car still counting his money, she pulled out her cell phone as if she were calling a friend and loudly said, “Girl, you will not believe it. Stan and I were walking to his car and he found six thousand dollars in cash. Someone must have just dropped it. Right now he’s in his car waiting on the waiter to end his shift. I guess he’s going to really get him some stuff now,” she said, laughing as if there were an actual person on the receiving end of her call.
From the corner of her eye, she could see the boys heading in Stan’s direction as she hailed her cab. Within seconds of entering the taxi, she heard gunfire and saw the two boys running down the street. The cabdriver, seeing the two men flee, pulled over directly in front of Stan’s vehicle. And from her backseat window, Taylor could see Stan, gasping for air, his blood splattered everywhere.
“Stan, Stan! Oh, my God, that’s Stan. Call 911,” she said to the driver as she opened the cab door and got out. By now, Stan was dead. The blank stare was unmistakable. Taylor knew that she had to get that letter from his coat pocket before the police and paramedics arrived. Since she’d been the last one to see him, moments before he was shot, she had to act lost and distraught when the police showed up.
By the time law enforcement arrived, everybody had the same story. They’d heard a couple of shots and seen two males with jeans and white T-shirts take off running down the street. No other description could be given because it had happened too fast.
&nb
sp; The District had now been rocked by two national gay news stories — first, the indictment of Councilman Grey Jeffries and then, the murder of Stan Lewis. Without any solid evidence, the police were convinced Stan’s death was another senseless random robbery that had gone bad; however, gay advocates thought there was more to the story. Was his death a hate crime? After all, Stan had had a reputation and on more than one occasion, he had been threatened.
As Taylor watched the news coverage, each channel showed her at the scene crying. But, despite what it looked like to the public, she felt no remorse. Information was powerful and Stan had provided her with enough information to make her a very rich and influential woman. She had known she would have to have a contingency plan to prevent Stan from telling their secret; she just hadn’t known she would need the plan so soon, nor had she known the plan would be permanent. In her mind, Stan was collateral damage and if the tables had been turned, he would have tried to eliminate her, too.
Besides, she knew she had to stay calm because later that day, she would be asked to tell her story again, but this time, there would be no cameras filtering her response. No tears could be created to cover her malice and no witnesses would be present to corroborate her story. This time, she would be surrounded by detectives groomed to elicit information even from the most skilled criminals.
As Taylor sat on her bed, thinking about all that had happened, she could feel herself turning into an emotional wreck and this was foreign to her. No matter how much she tried, she could not suppress the fact that she had deliberately instigated a murder. And as much as she tried to be strong, her mind would not let her escape the images that had now bored a hole in her psyche, images of Stan’s head leaning against the window as blood bubbled out of his mouth, eyes wide open, trying to grab as much air as he could. With each image, her body felt flushed.
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