The Repairman- The Complete Box Set

by L. J. Martin

  "What's up?" Skip asks.

  "My adrenaline," I say, then add, "I'll fill you in after I have a chat with Wedgeworth." Skip might summarily rip the guy's head off, and I don't want that to happen until after I collect. But maybe just after.

  The boys have all decided to stick with me; I guess it's something about the quarter million each of them has coming.

  As I'm waiting for Skip to handle the rental of two cars, and after my adrenaline has calmed a little, I return Tenee's call.

  "That appears to be you and your father," I say.

  "It is. My sis was hiding in the closet and took the picture. He'd kill us if he knew we had it. Now do you see why I'm going to kill him?"

  "Tenee, don't do anything until I get there. I'll be at your house tonight. Don't tell anyone, and I mean anyone, not even your sister, that you showed me that terrible picture, or that I'm on my way."

  She's silent so I add, "Agreed?"

  "Are you going to kill him for me?" she asks.

  "I'll make him wish he were dead, and he'll never bother you again."

  "Or my sister?"

  "Or your sister. You stay out of his way until I get there."

  "Okay, I will."

  Now, if I can just keep from killing the worthless prick.

  34

  It takes us three hours with the terrible traffic, and is seven PM when we pull up to Lucky's. I ask Hank, Madman and Wetback to get a fat steak and a few drinks while Skip and I take care of business. I've still not told any of them about the photo which is residing in my iPhone, and which I've sent to Pax for safekeeping.

  Skip will go with me, as there will be some no-necks guarding the Wedgeworth estate.

  We make a simple plan. I drop him off out of sight of the guardhouse and move up and stop even with the little passthrough. It's the same gym rat who was at the gate the first time I came.

  "Having to work nights now?" I ask.

  "May I ask your business?" he asks, as officious as ever.

  "I'm Mike Reardon, here to see Mr. Wedgeworth."

  He eyes a clipboard, then looks up. "You're not on my schedule."

  "Call him."

  "That's not how it's done here. I don't bother the house unless it's an emergency."

  "Look at me, sunshine. I'm your emergency, so call him."

  "You should make the turn around and leave now."

  I shrug, then dial Wedgeworth on the throwaway phone I left him. I'm not surprised when he doesn't answer.

  Gym rat is patiently waiting, and when I pocket the phone, says, "You must make the turn around, and leave, otherwise I'll have to presume you have some malicious intent, and will call the sheriff and, while the cops are coming, I'll physically throw you off the property and I'll really, really enjoy doing so." He gets a tight grin then picks up the phone.

  Skip is alongside the guardhouse, and I give him a nod. The Viking storms the castle with a smashing kick to the door that damn near takes it off its hinges, and in two steps puts one alongside the guard's head, knocking him out from under his Wedgeworth embroidered bill cap. Then as the guy bounces off the wall, uses his own momentum to throw him through the door out prone into a patch of ivy. He's right behind the guy, and as gym rat tries to sit up, Skip grabs him by the tie with his left and smashes two hard rights into his nose, which was broken with the first one. He relieves the guy of his sidearm, then steps back into the guardhouse, looks around, then nods to me as he hits a button and the gates begin to swing aside.

  As agreed, he stays at the guardhouse while I go on alone, winding my way up the long driveway.

  Like an apparition, Tenee steps out of the sandpaper oaks. I brake and lower the window.

  "It is you," she says, as she comes over and leans on the door.

  "As promised."

  "You will kill him for me?" she asks.

  "I didn't say that, Tenee. I will, however, as I did say, make him wish he were dead."

  "Can I come up with you? He's still in his office."

  "No, you may not. Please wait in your room. Someone will come for you. You won't have to spend another night in the same house with him."

  "Go up and take care of your little brother and sister."

  "Okay, but only for an hour. Then I'm out of here. I…I can't stay here anymore…."

  "It won't take an hour."

  She fades back into the copse of trees, and I idle on up the driveway.

  I'm not surprised to see another gym rat stationed outside the eight-car garage. He's seated in a lounge chair, reading. I presume he's somewhat blinded by the bright reading light he has clamped to the arm of the chair. As it's not yet dark, I don't have my lights on and he doesn't look up until I'm only a hundred feet or so from him. Then he jumps up as if he's been hit with a cattle prod.

  I roll another fifty feet his way as he's madly studying his clipboard, then I roll to a stop and climb out.

  "How did you get in?" he asks as I stride his way.

  I shrug. "Mr. Wedgeworth called the gate," I lie.

  "Wrong. He always calls me if there's an unexpected visitor." He reaches for a radio clipped to his belt, and not for the semi-auto on his other side.

  I'm closing the distance as he fumbles with it, and as he raises it to his mouth, put a lot behind a straight right that snaps his head back like he's been rear-ended by a freight train. The radio goes one way, the clipboard the other, his head hits the garage door, and he sinks to a sitting position his head slumped onto his chest. He'll be out of my hair for a while, and when he comes to he won't be too eager to find me again. I relieve him of the firearm and stuff it in my belt. A Glock…nice.

  I walk into the pass through door and find the pantry door, then the stairway that I know leads directly to Wedgeworth's office.

  He's at his broad desk, head down, studying a spreadsheet, as I cross the room. He looks up, and his eyes go salad-plate round, but before I can get to him he hits a button under his desk. In two more steps I have him by the throat with one hand and drag him to his feet, then shove him, maybe a little too violently, back against a bookcase that covers the wall behind him.

  Just as I slam him into the bookcase, the door to the outer office opens, and his personal secretary, the Polish beauty Tatya, is silhouetted there.

  "Don't hurt him," she says, looking a little confused, and I let him come a foot off the bookcase, then slam him back again hard enough that his eyes roll. Then I drag him over and shove him back into his seat.

  He sits there gasping for breath as I haul the phone out of my pocket, bring up the picture, and drop the phone on his desk.

  I wave Tatya over and point to the phone. "Did you know that was going on?" I ask. She picks up the phone but stands and stares at him for a moment, the returns it to its cradle as she stares at the screen on the phone.

  "God, no," she says with a hand to her mouth, and gives her boss a look like he is the cesspool scum he's proven to be.

  "Is Mrs. Wedgeworth home?" I ask, as I flip the phone to Prather K., and he grabs it up and stares in horror, then his expression turns smug. Tatya nods, and I say, "Get her." And she hurries out of the room.

  "Photoshop," he says, and curls his lip. I step over and backhand him, splitting the formerly curled upper lip, and he cries out like the little girl he's not allowed his daughter to be.

  "Bullshit," I reply. "That's not what Athena told me. Sit there and shut up until your wife gets here."

  "What are you going to do?" he asks, and again his look is fearful, as blood trickles out of the corner of his mouth.

  "I should rip your fucking deviate head off, but I haven't decided yet. You and your wife and Tatya and I are going to have a little talk, then I'll decide your fate, fuckhead."

  In moments Tatya is back, with a very angry Portia Wedgeworth in tow, and she's wavering as if she's spent the afternoon in some cocktail lounge…as usual, I guess.

  "Sit down," I instruct them both.

  "I was getting ready for my bath,"
Portia slurs, looking disgusted.

  "Sit the fuck down," I say, taking a bit of a threatening step her way, and she quickly sinks into a chair across the desk from her husband. Tatya remains standing, her arms folded, glaring at her boss.

  "Show her the picture," I snap at Wedgeworth, who has his face in his hands.

  "No," he manages to mumble, so I step closer to the desk, pick the phone up, and toss it into Portia's lap.

  She picks it up and as if in disbelief, stares at it, turns it to one side, then the other, then looks at her husband as her face begins to redden. Before I can stop her, she leaps up and dives across the desk, her fingernails, like cougar's claws, rake his face. Stripes of blood surface along both of his cheeks. I grab her around the waist and sit her back in her chair. She tries to rise, but I put both hands on her shoulders, shove her down with authority, and command, "You stay. Don't move, or I'll see you're in a cell next to that prick."

  She's breathing rapidly, like a cheetah that's just run a springbok to ground, her mouth open, her eyes wide, as she glowers at Prather.

  "Okay, this is how it's going to be. Prather, you're going to wire two point five million to my account."

  35

  "The plane's impounded. You didn't do your job," Wedgeworth says, and I'll give him this—he's got balls. Tiny ones, but balls.

  "The plane is home in the USA, so yes, I did my job. You'll get it as soon as the DEA sees fit to cut it loose. Now, again, you'll wire two point five million to my account in the Caymans. But that's just the beginning. You'll also pay Hank Hausman every dime you owe him, plus interest at ten percent."

  Then I turn to Portia. "And you, ma'am, unless you want your husband to spend many very unproductive years behind bars, will commit yourself to a rehab, and stay until they say you're cured of alcoholism—"

  "I'm no drunk," she snaps, but slurs even those words.

  I reply, slowly but emphatically, "I don't think you can get cured of stupidity, which you're obviously infected with, but they might be able to cure you of alcoholism. So unless you want a change of lifestyle, much for the worse, you'll do exactly like I say."

  "Bull crap," she says.

  "Exactly. This whole life of yours and Prather's has been bull crap, but the important thing is no matter what else happens…a few years in the graystone mansion if you insist…that picture will be all over the internet if you don't do exactly as I say, and I don't think you want that for your daughter." I threaten, but for Tenee's sake, would never do it.

  But this widens Portia's eyes again, then her face is buried in her hands and she begins to sob. Now both of their faces are hidden from view.

  I turn back to Prather. "You will move out of this house. Tatya will be paid four times what she's currently making, with a three year firm contract, to stay here and watch over the kids, and you'll both sign to give her temporary custody of the kids until you're proclaimed cured." I step over and put a finger in Prather's chest. "You'll also seek treatment from the best psychiatrist in the land because you're one sick fuck. You'll not see your kids until you, and I, get a green light for visitation from whomever I find to treat you. You'll also have the kids see the best in the land for some psychiatric help, for as long as they need it. But not the same doctor, so there's no chance they'll stumble into your sorry ass."

  "That's ridiculous."

  I lean down, only two feet from his face. "Let me ask you, fuckface…how good have your bodyguards been?"

  He looks a little sheepish, so I answer for him.

  "They, and anyone you can hire, can't keep me from putting a bullet in your sick fucking head, and if you don't do exactly what I say, that's your fate. But if the situation is right, first I'll put one in your right knee, then the left, then one in each elbow, then, as should have happened long ago, I'll blow your balls off…and all the fucking money in the world won't keep me from putting you deep six where you fucking well belong. If I didn't have a lot of respect for your daughter, Tenee, you'd be fucking worm food already. Do you understand me?"

  He's now looking green. His lip has bled all over his yellow power tie and white shirt.

  "He's right," Portia says. "He's absolutely fucking right."

  So it's Portia's turn. "And you'll clean up your mouth around your kids," I say, just as an afterthought. Then I turn to Tatya. "Is all this okay with you?"

  "How about having him castrated?" she asks, and Prather turns even more green.

  "Not a bad idea," I say.

  But then she offers, "I love those kids, even though they're all three spoiled rotten, and not from overindulgence by their parents, obviously, but from the lack of parental guidance."

  I finally sigh deeply, as I'm taking on someone else's problems, then I add, "I'll be checking with you for updates. Daily at first, then, if things go well, weekly."

  "Great," she says, and the look I get seems to invite me to make those reports face to face, which is fine with me.

  "So, you'll move in the house, so you can parent these kids?" I ask. "I'm sure this joint has plenty of room."

  "Tomorrow."

  Then I turn to Prather. "Wire the money to my account." I go into my phone and retrieve the account and routing numbers and write them down for him, then continue. "You've got enough cash in the house to pay Hank the sixty grand plus interest you owe him. Just make it an even sixty-six thousand…so get it out. Then you're going to pack and drive out of here and not come back until you get a clean bill of health from a doc, who I'll recommend by morning. Call Tatya by noon and get a name, understand? And, by the way, get rid of the hidden hard drive on your computer…you know, the one with all the porn. You're one of the world's best with computers, Prather, but my people are even better. They've mirrored that drive, so we have that to hold over your worthless head."

  He's beginning to get it, and his tone is now begging. "I don't want to go to jail."

  "What you don't want is for your business to be ruined, for your reputation to be ruined, and far more importantly for your children to be ruined worse than you've already done. Now get on the phone to your banker and get the money wired."

  "It's after hours," he says, looking hopeful. "Besides, I only owe you two million four hundred fifty thousand…remember the advance?"

  "Do it, and you're right about the amount…a deal's a deal, even though you don't seem to honor them. Get your banker on the phone…you know they'll do whatever you need done."

  With resignation, he does so, and while he's doing so, I call Pax. "Hey, I need confirmation that two-point-four-fifty mil hits the bank in the Caymans. Can do?" I ask, and he confirms that he can.

  "Congrats," he says, and hangs up.

  "It's done," Prather says, and hangs up about the same time as I do.

  "Now, let's go get you packed," I say.

  "And don't fucking come back!" Portia screams at him.

  "Gee whiz," Wedgeworth mumbles, "it's no wonder I'm so screwed up."

  He rises and stumbles toward the door and I follow, chastising him as we go. "Don't even think there's any, and I mean any, excuse for you being such a worthless prick. I'm going with you and will watch you pack."

  We climb another set of curved stairs, at least ten feet wide under a chandelier the size of a Volkswagen, from the entry to the second floor. I follow him down a long hallway, then reach out and stop him. "Which room is Athena's?"

  He points to a door and I walk over and knock on it, and Tenee immediately answers.

  "Did you kill him?" she asks, not knowing he's six feet from me.

  36

  "Tenee!" Wedgeworth manages, sounding shocked, as he should be, and she looks over.

  "I want you dead," she shouts.

  I lay a hand on her shoulder. "He's moving out, and you'll not see him for a long time, and maybe never again unless he gets well and lots of doctors say he is. Your mother is going to a hospital to get some help for her drinking. Tatya will be staying with you kids. And I'll be checking on you and your br
other and sister."

  She falls into my chest, hugs me, and begins to sob.

  "It's gonna be fine, Tenee. It will take some time, but Tatya is a good woman and she'll watch over you, and you'll mind her, right?"

  She nods her head.

  "I mean that too. You've got to mind her and you've got to be a good kid. I'll be checking on that too."

  "I will, I promise."

  I gently shove her back inside her room and pull the door shut.

  "Pack," I snap at Wedgeworth.

  "Gee whiz," I hear him mumble, as he heads for the master bedroom.

  While he's packing I ask him who, at CalGeoCyber, he wants to take over the company in his absence, and he says it has to be the chief counsel, Blumenthal. So I inform him I'll be meeting with Norval Blumenthal, who will be instructed to draw up an agreement for Tatya, to handle the request to the judge for the order for her temporary custody of the kids, and to contact Wedgeworth, him, to confirm his temporary appointment as CEO. I assure him that I'll only tell Blumenthal that it's all health related, which is true, as insanity is a health issue.

  Skip and I follow Wedgeworth to see that he checks into the Biltmore hotel. He does, and what a surprise, he seems both eager and anxious to part company.

  It's after ten when we rejoin our buddies at Lucky's, but not too late for me to order a rare New York steak, a baked, and grilled spinach, which I chase down with a local Firestone beer, while Skip manages to destroy a like steak, a lobster, and an exotic pot pie of some kind.

  I hand a paper sack over to Hank. "Here's the dough Wedgeworth owes you, plus interest. You're buying supper."

  "Wow," he manages, peeking inside the sack and smiling as if he just hit the lottery. "You bet your sweet ass I'm buying."

  We decide to split up as I don't trust Wedgeworth not to be stupid enough to try and have his bodyguards, or some independent contractor, resolve his problem by sending us all five to Valhalla. Skip and I head into town and find a hotel and separate rooms on separate floors, while Madman, Wetback and Hank go out to Goleta and split up in two motels. The plan is to drive to Vegas in the morning, presuming the money's in the Caymen bank.