by P. W. Davies
Even if it gets that bloody cock of yours into trouble, he thought.
Pulling out the empty chair in front of Roland’s desk, Christian sat beside the enforcer. Dim lighting reminded him this was an office in a cellar, as did the dank smell and chill in the air. If not for the sound of footfalls above them, he might have forgotten this was a dark corner in an otherwise reputable establishment.
Roland seemed impervious to both the environment and Christian’s charm, bearing the scars on his face to prove he’d endured much worse in his day. “Looking for a report, not your cheeky attitude,” the older man said first before sobering. “You find anything on your field trip?”
Christian nodded. The lighter came out again, but this time, so did a cigarette. “A few things. I confirmed your mark works there. I walked by his desk without any effort. Could plant whatever the fuck you wanted there without anyone paying much mind.”
“What did they let you in as?”
“Courier.” Christian smirked. “I read the placard for the managing partner’s name and referenced it to stroll the rest of the way through security. No calls placed and nobody stopping me along the way to ask what I was doing there.” A mental image of the man on the elevator, with whom he’d exchanged a look, flashed across his thoughts. He took a thoughtful draw of his cigarette and brushed that aside for the moment. “Anyway, if you’d like, I’m handy with bugs.”
“No,” the enforcer said, speaking up. “Jasper Ashcroft doesn’t do bugs. What he’d like is some concrete proof that what he thinks is going down really is.”
“Am I permitted to sit with the grownups and know what that is?”
“Don’t push it,” Roland said. He focused on the enforcer. “How does Ashcroft want to get the proof, Ryan? If Christian can slip into the office, I’m sure he could handle something else.”
The question prompted Ryan to take a better look at Christian, as if skeptical that he could blend in nearly as well as Christian suggested. “The catch is that this guy is someone he’d rather not lose business with, if there’s nothing to be afraid of, otherwise, I’d be handling matters from here. Easy access means it’s easy to make the guy disappear. If you’ve got a way of rifling through his stuff, then we can go from there.”
Chewing on one thought, Christian offered another up first. Don’t play all your cards up front. “I could get in there. And if it’s a matter of finding the opportunity to rummage through his belongings, I can find the correct time, but what I’m forced to ask is how this benefits me?”
Ryan looked confused. “You’d get paid.”
“No, not what I mean.” Christian reached to flick the end of his cigarette into Roland’s ashtray. “You want me to look for something without knowing what. Which means that I’ll have to break into the office overnight. Which is both risky and expensive.”
“Not capable of it?”
Christian fought the urge to drive the end of his cigarette into the smug grin Ryan flashed. “Quite capable. Of that and things your imagination couldn’t possibly fathom, but this isn’t foreplay, love.” His focus shifted to Roland. “If you want information, then I can find it. But I want two things.”
He lifted fingers on his free hand to enumerate his demands. “For one,” Christian said, “I want some idea what I’m looking for. And for two, I want the chance to follow-up on whatever I find. If you’re the one who finishes the dirty work, then fine, but the way this benefits me is the one that leads to more work.”
Ryan scoffed, but looked up at Roland with a shrug. “Ashcroft suspects the mark is skimming cash,” Ryan said. “Taking double payments from some of the boss’s clients, for some reason. While the boss isn’t keen on any of his people skimming money, his biggest concern is why.”
“Does he suspect disloyalty?” Roland asked.
The enforcer nodded, producing his own pack of cigarettes. “Yeah. The mark’s a good enough asset that a simple threat would do if it’s a case of greed. It’s if he has his hands in any other cookie jars that Ashcroft will be pissed.” Roland slid his ashtray closer. While Ryan drew from the freshly-lit cigarette, Christian flicked another layer of ash from the end of his. “I’ll give you this, you’re a new player on the scene. Nobody knows who you work for. We could use that.”
Yes, you could. “Then what do you want me to do?”
“Midnight break-ins aren’t necessary. Roland can give you a few names. Some of the places where the mark checks in. See what they can tell you.” He raised an eyebrow, eyeing Christian through the haze of smoke. “And yes, if you can get more info and do it without either the mark knowing or Ashcroft getting asked about it, then you might be able to follow up some more.”
“As long as I’m not stepping on toes.”
Ryan lifted both hands. “I’m not lacking in work. The mundane shit drives me crazy anyway.”
Christian looked at Roland, who nodded in agreement. “Splendid,” he said. “Hand me the names and I’ll see if the clients fancy a chat among blokes.”
“You’ve been in this fucking country for half a year now and you’re still saying ‘blokes’,” Roland said, opening the top drawer of his desk and reaching inside. “What’s the British term for you? A poof?”
“Now, sir, that’s derogatory.”
“See how much I give a shit.” Roland produced a tightly-bound bundle of money and passed it to Christian. “That’s for step one.” Reaching for a pad of sticky notes on his desk, he produced a pen and scrawled a name and address down. “This is step two. I’ll give you someone else if this place doesn’t pan out. I’m not giving you a figure for this end of the job until Ashcroft weighs in on it.”
Christian nodded. Without bothering to examine the money, he slid it into his leather jacket and once he had the note, tucked it into his wallet and stood. One last draw of his cigarette preceded him bending to extinguish it and saluting the two men. “I’ll be in touch,” he said, turning with no further ceremony and walking toward the stairs. One guard stood at the bottom, nodding as he passed, while a second opened the door to the main floor for Christian to walk through. Taking a deep breath, the last of his nerves dissipated when he exhaled and emerged into the dive bar above Roland’s office.
Poor fools, he thought. They don’t ever know what’s going on under their noses.
A crowd of locals gathered around pool tables, others sitting in booths engaged in idle chatter. Walking past them, Christian headed to the bar, freeing a bill from its bundle and sliding it across the counter once he sat. The bartended, Tony, nodded, knowing by now to apply it to his tab. “The usual?” he asked, a distinctly Southern drawl in his voice.
Christian took great comfort in not being the only stranger there. “You are a godsend, as always,” he said. Within moments, Christian held a glass of whiskey in one hand, musing while swirling around the dark-colored liquid on how he should proceed. Should have made it sound more difficult, he thought. You’re far too desperate for work. The adage Paolo had taught him echoed in his head, making him recall his estranged, Italian lover and their flat in London again, much to his chagrin. Never, ever make what’s lucrative sound simple.
“Well, that ship has sailed. Onto the next port,” he muttered into his glass before drinking from it. Each memory continued to stab at his heart, though after six months spent in exile, the pain had simply become a dull ache. Things like the glass in his hand, and the meaningless sex he’d allowed himself again had helped to soften the blow, but working stirred the pot of recollection. Paolo had been a thief, his accomplice in more places than just the bedroom. And now, Christian had to dip into their bag of tricks.
The mark practiced law. That presented both the simplest and most complicated ruse. “Well, you’re not from around here,” he could hear Paolo say, almost like he’d slid onto the stool next to him and leaned over to whisper in Christian’s ear. “Lean on that, if all else fails.”
Christian finished off his drink. Blinking twice, as if to dismiss Paol
o, he focused on something else while excusing himself from the counter, latching onto the first thought his brain could conjure. Thinking about barristers made him think about the man in the elevator, and as he walked outside, Christian allowed himself to savor the recollection.
His brown eyes had been intense. He’d looked beautiful in a suit; not good, gorgeous. And whether it was Christian reading into things or not, the man had liked what he’d seen. Almost craved it like candy, he mused and while that made him wish he’d find an excuse to go back and flirt with him, even Christian knew that’d be a bad idea. If kismet allows, perhaps. Until then, though…
Back to work.
Once he arrived home, he rifled through his closet. Finding one of the few things he’d been able to bring with him from England, he took out a suit that fit him like God’s tailor had made it with all Christian’s best features in mind. As he laid it out onto the bed, Christian eyed the outfit and smirked.
Not quite the hitman again. But one step closer to the life he’d once enjoyed.
Three
“I swear to God, Victor, I need you to not be thick for once.”
Victor took a deep breath. He wasn’t the type of person who needed to count to ten when angry, but Samuel seemed intent on putting that to the test. “There are a few details that would make it easier for me to understand what strategy you’ve been using,” Victor said.
Samuel gave him a look that would have been better suited to an attempt of eating a lemon.
Not letting the man’s attitude get to him, Victor looked through the files scattered on the conference table once more and continued. “Let’s start with the manufacturing. Local factories are one of the things that made Bechtel attractive to Shaw, Obviously, that makes these portions of the company worth spending extra time on. From what I can tell,” he said, keeping his voice as neutral as possible, “it seems like you thought so too, so I would prefer you not refer to me as ‘thick’ while I go through the steps you already made.”
Narrowing his eyes, Samuel looked at Victor as though trying to evaluate if anything he’d just said had been meant as an insult. Victor waited, keeping himself occupied with the next document in the stack.
“Look, Samuel said while standing, his expression smoothing over as he reached for two of the files. “There are rules about how many manufacturing subsidiaries Shaw can have at the same time. Diversification, anti-trust BS if you ask me, but hey, I don’t write the rules I just make money navigating them.”
“So, the factories are attractive, but Shaw might not be able to keep them.” Victor stated a fact, which seemed safer than any other observation he wanted to make.
Samuel’s tone was snide. “Welcome to the conversation.”
Victor resisted the urge to sigh. “We could reclassify them. Not manufacturing, but product development or something similar. Or divest their ownership to a controlling interest rather than the sole owner.”
“The paperwork would be able to fill a small cavern,” Samuel said.
“I believe the leverage with our negotiations with Shaw would make the time worth it,” Victor said, already wondering how best to pitch the idea to Nathan.
“You mean my negotiations with Shaw.” Samuel glared at him. “You just got here. You know how this works.”
“This approach –”
“I didn’t say I hadn’t thought of it already, just that I was trying to think of something else to avoid all the paperwork. But I am a glass-half-full kind of guy. Guess you can be good for something.” Samuel stood up straighter, hands on his hips. “Talk to Nathan. Get his okay to discuss this with John Harper, especially about billing him for the hours. If it’s a go, I’ll bring it up the next time I’m in the room with Shaw.”
Everything Samuel just said set Victor on edge. Outright dismissal. Refusing to admit that Victor had come up with a workable solution. But most grating of all was being directed to speak to Nathan.
No, he corrected. Worst was that Samuel is daring me to call him on it, and he knows there’s no possible way I would risk crying foul over something that will ultimately help our case. ”I’ll see if he’s free this afternoon,” Victor said smoothly, putting the list of other things he would have liked to say in a box residing in a dark corner of his mind. He stood and collected his tablet.
“Great,” Samuel said. “Now, if you don’t need any more babysitting, I’m going to clean this up and get on the phone. Can’t let the clients get nervous about not hearing from me.”
Victor had one foot out the door before Samuel finished speaking, but that didn’t stop the man from calling out, “Hey, Vic.”
Red flashed in front of his eyes, but he stopped walking away. One-one-thousand, two-one-thousand...
Samuel apparently took issue with the silent answer. “You hearing me Vic? Well if not, just blame yourself later when it blows up in your face. I need you to set up a spot for dinner tonight. Nathan wants you, me, him, and the skirt to talk shop before the meeting with Harper tomorrow.”
“Evie.”
“What?” Samuel wasn’t bothering to look at him, eyes deliberately on the scattered papers that he was making a supreme effort of diligently lining up into neat stacks.
Victor chose a different route. “Who’s paying?” he asked. “And what time?”
“C&H. Seven-thirty, eight-ish. Nathan said just don’t go crazy.” Samuel looked up, grinning. “Not sure I’d want to know what lameness you’d consider ‘going crazy’ anyway. Try a pub with good beer and I’m sure we’ll be just fine.”
Victor held Samuel’s gaze for two long moments before he finally consummated his departure.
I wish I had time to go for a run after work. This might be more difficult than I anticipated.
Rather than dwelling on that thought, Victor returned to his office. He needed to talk to Martin and see if Nathan was free sometime this afternoon before he was anywhere near Samuel again.
“You can go on in,” Martin said.
“Thank you.” Victor gave the secretary a nod as he made his way past the desk, continuing through the open door of Nathan’s office. Today, he was behind his desk, suit jack over the back of his chair. Much more his normal posture than how Victor had seen him the other day. “I wanted to run an idea by you,” he said in introduction.
Nathan nodded, his eyes still on his computer screen. Victor waited, understanding that Nathan was telling him ‘just a moment, I’m almost finished.’
He took the time to look over the junior partner’s office, knowing that occasionally Nathan made changes. It was more spacious than his own, with room for the small conference table on one side and a set of couches with a low glass coffee table on the other. Nathan’s desk was in the center of the room, flanked on either side by the formal and informal spaces. It was convenient for meeting with clients face to face, which was something Victor was just beginning to do more. Samuel had only been approved for discretionary client meetings a few months ago, which was another reason Victor was irritated by the man’s behavior.
Pushing back his chair, Nathan focused on Victor and gestured to the couches. “Over here,” he said. “Unless you’re going to tell me you that Samuel finished the negotiations and we’re closing tomorrow.”
“I don’t think Samuel would have given up telling you that news himself,” Victor said, following Nathan’s lead and sitting across from him. “I wanted to ask about billable hours for Bechtel.”
“All our work on the acquisition has been approved with lenient scrutiny.” Nathan looked at him, curious as he settled into the couch. He had no doubt Victor knew that answer already.
Victor unbuttoned his suit jacket to sit. “And if I wanted to reclassify one of Bechtel’s manufacturing plants as a research and development division? Or take investor offers as-is?”
Understanding fell across Nathan’s expression. “Why one?”
“Because it’s the biggest one.” Victor hadn’t bothered to explain to Samuel that he’d alrea
dy had a solution in mind which didn’t involve any more paperwork than needed.
Nathan rolled that over in his mind. “How many contracts?”
“More than you’d like,” Victor admitted. “Reclassifying, there are quite a few pensions we’d have to find funding for since they’d lose their existing structure. On the plus side, that means everyone else’s pensions would be able to draw from the excess after the changes go into effect. Investing, we can do our best to keep existing contracts, but some of the middle-management positions might need to be amended. Shaw probably would have done that anyway, and I’m confident Bechtel knows that. It shouldn’t be difficult to convince them one way or the other.”
“Get me numbers, best estimates, from our finance people. John isn’t keen on this eating any more of his war chest than it needs to, but if there’s a benefit to both his workers and his pocketbook in the long run, he’d be open to the idea.” Nathan smiled. “Not bad for a day’s work.”
“Evie was largely responsible for catching us up regarding Bechtel’s assets in play. It was the wording in Shaw’s letter of intent that made me wonder what could be done to sweeten their interest.” Victor smoothed a pant leg idly, willing himself not to think too hard on inspiring that smile. “It won’t be done by tomorrow, but I can get it started.”
“Wait for approval before you get too ahead of things,” Nathan said, making Victor raise an eyebrow. He answered the unspoken question, “Lenient approval is only for existing directives. New pursuits are on a case by case basis. And I’ll be making the final decision of what we recommend to Mr. Harper.”
Victor understood that Nathan was telling him he was on a short leash, but only because of the client and not any lack of faith in Victor’s proposition. He nodded. “You’ll have preliminary numbers to look over before we sit down to dinner.” Standing, Victor didn’t want to take up any more of Nathan’s time. He also wanted to resist the urge to linger in the junior partner’s presence.