by Nic Saint
“Fine, fine,” her father mumbled.
Letting rip a disgruntled cry, Charlene turned on her heel and strode out, finally leaving that great man alone with his thoughts.
He sat back in his chair and read through Dawson’s article once again. Jerry Vale had sent him the link, pointing out the latest stunt of the young reporter. It needed addressing, as did all of Dawson’s attempts to undermine Falcone’s vast business empire.
He hadn’t built up a sizable fortune only to see it jeopardized by some pesky reporter. When word had reached him that Dawson was planning an exposé revealing some of his shady business dealings, he’d immediately been on the horn with his old friend Murphy Roops, who owned the New York Chronicle, and told him in no uncertain terms that Dawson had to go. Roops had immediately agreed, and had handled the situation with satisfactory expedience.
It didn’t hurt that Falcone owned a controlling interest in Roops’s Press Corp.
He stared at the blog entry and the picture of Felicity Bell wielding a gun in some sort of convenience store setting, and wondered if he shouldn’t talk to his lawyers and bring an action for libel and defamation of character. Or was it slander? Lawyerese had never been his strong suit.
On the other hand, if this first blog post was anything to go by, he’d overestimated Dawson. At the very least he’d expected him to get his facts straight. As it was, he’d never even heard of Felicity Bell, though of course he was familiar with Bell’s Bakery & Tea Room. But working for him? Had the young reporter gone mad? Had his summary dismissal from the New York Chronicle sent him teetering over the edge into insanity?
Odd, he felt. Ominous, even.
His interest piqued, he decided to investigate this matter further. Something told him this Bell person was a chink in Rick Dawson’s armor. A chink which could be exploited.
He picked up the phone and within seconds a raspy voice sounded.
“Vale? Falcone. About this blog post. I want you to get to the bottom of this thing. Find out everything you can about Felicity Bell and her ties to Rick Dawson.” He listened for a few moments, then disconnected. He saw that this matter would require his personal touch, and before long he was on the phone with his secretary, the inestimable Suzy Boom.
“Suzy, cancel all my meetings. I’ll be out of town for a couple of days.”
He typed the name Felicity Bell into a Google search window. Up popped a YouTube video and he clicked on the play button. What he saw surprised him. A curvy woman with flaming red hair was talking about her sex life while baking a cake. Odd, he felt, but then again, in this day and age of sex tapes and naked singers he knew that little should surprise him.
“No sex,” the woman was saying. “Sex only complicates things.”
Puzzled, he shook his head.
This thing was getting curiouser and curiouser by the minute.
Chapter 23
In the small office which his father had assigned to him, Baldemar ‘Bomer’ Calypso, a goofy-looking young man with butter-colored hair, rubbed his tired eyes. He’d been slaving away all night on his father’s project and the only reason he hadn’t fallen asleep at his desk was the liters of coffee he’d been drinking. Now that a new day dawned, he felt it was a good time to take a break. His deadline was looming, and he knew he couldn’t afford to miss it. Even though he was the son of one of New York’s wealthiest real estate tycoons, Dad was of the old-fashioned notion that his children had to work for their money, and not fritter away the family fortune by yachting in the Bahamas, skiing in Biarritz and playing baccarat in Monte Carlo.
Dad had made it perfectly clear that if Bomer wanted even a sliver of the vast fortune his father had amassed, he would have to work his fingers to the bone, just like he himself had done. Which is why Bomer had been slaving away in this tiny office for four days in a row now.
He stretched his weary bones and stared out the window for a moment at the skyscrapers of Manhattan. He thought of his lovely fiancée, and how he’d had to brush her off several times. Charlene was very fortunate to have a father like Chazz Falcone, who didn’t care if his daughter worked or not. Unlike Chazz, Bomer’s old man had told him in no uncertain terms that if he didn’t see this project through, he could kiss his easy life goodbye, and would have to find employ elsewhere.
The thought gave him the willies.
And then there was Charlene to consider. He was pretty sure that if she discovered she was marrying a pauper, she’d dump his ass in two seconds flat.
Though he loved her dearly, he didn’t doubt that a large part of his appeal lay in the vast fortune associated with the Calypso name. He wasn’t as handsome as some, nor was he charming or debonair, and the glow that surrounded him was purely the aura of money, not beauty or wit.
The predicament was weighing on his soul, and for the umpteenth time he cursed his father’s ideas about work. No work, no money. It seemed simply silly.
Staring before him, battling sleep, he made a decision. Picking up his phone, he went to the first item on his speed dial list, and was gratified to hear Rick Dawson’s voice, even though he sounded grouchy.
“Wakey, wakey,” he chuckled.
“Bomer,” the voice croaked. “What time is it?” After a pause, the voice continued, peeved. “Christ, don’t you have anything better to do than call people in the middle of the night?”
“It’s nine o’clock, buddy. Rise and shine.”
“Why are you up so bright and early?”
“Why am I still up so bright and early would be the right question.”
“That infernal project again?”
“Exactly right, old friend.”
“I really think your father is taking the concept of mental torture to a whole new level. Why don’t you just tell him to go to hell?”
“You know I can’t do that,” Bomer said wearily, rubbing his sagging features with the palm of his hand. “He’ll cut me out of his will and kick me out of the company.”
“Maybe you should go for it. With your master’s degree you can get any job you like. And trust me, nothing can be worse than working for Grover Calypso.”
“That may be so, but I highly doubt if Charlene feels the same way. You know how much she loves money.” He didn’t mention he loved the stuff even more.
“What you see in that girl surprises me, Bomer.”
“She’s not her father.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
They’d had this conversation so many times Bomer didn’t even bother to respond. “Look buddy, I need your help.”
“Sure, whatever you need.”
“This project is killing me. I need to get away for a couple of days. Somewhere quiet and undisturbed. Charlene has been ringing my phone off the hook and Dad keeps barging in, demanding to see results. I really can’t work like this. I just feel that if I can be alone for a bit, I can really nail this thing.”
“What do you suggest?”
“Let me hole up in your place. Everybody knows you’re in Happy Bays, so no one will bother me there.”
“I guess,” his friend said hesitantly. “It’s just that…”
“It’s just what?”
“Well, you know I’m working on this article on your future father-in-law, right?”
“Right.”
“The thing is, he’s been sabotaging me every step of the way. He’s even sent two of his goons down here to keep an eye on me.”
“So? If they’re over there, they won’t bother me over here, right?”
“Right,” his friend said dubiously. “Just…don’t open the door for anyone, you hear? Just in case Falcone sends his men to my apartment.”
“I won’t. That’s the idea: go completely off the grid.”
“Great. Then I guess mi casa e su casa, buddy.”
“Thanks. You’re a life saver, Rick.”
He disconnected the phone and sighed with relief, then closed the file he’d been working on. He hadn’t mentioned this to anyone, especiall
y not his old man, but four days in, all he had were random scribblings and some really funky doodles.
True, he’d managed to earn a master’s degree. In Commercial Art and Graphic Design. The last time his father had indulged him. He kinda doubted whether working in his chosen field would sustain his and Charlene’s lifestyle, though. And then there was his hobby of photography, and even that didn’t look all that appealing when compared to the Calypso billions.
No, he would simply have to buckle up and push through. Daddy had told him to come up with a killer idea for a new real estate project, and that’s what he would do. Even if it killed him.
He turned off his phone, picked up his laptop, his copy of The Art of The Deal, and quickly scrawled a note to his father and placed it on the desk.
Hey Dad!
I’m hard at work on the project.
Even though you can’t see me.
That’s because I’m not here.
I’m in fact somewhere else.
Working.
Hard.
On the project.
See you!
Bomer
Chapter 24
Without hesitation, Felicity negotiated the Happy Bays Inn and walked straight on through to the kitchen. Happy Bays’s one and only claim to hostelry fame wasn’t a grand operation, but it was clean and cozy and quite popular with the regulars. The inn’s proprietor, Mary Long, prided herself on running a business geared to families, and made sure that there was always something to do for both parents and kids.
She placed the crate with bread and pastry on the gleaming stainless steel kitchen countertop and waited patiently for one of the kitchen staff to check its contents and give her the thumbs up.
She ambled over to the swinging doors that led into the inn’s dining room and saw that some early guests were already lining up at the breakfast buffet. She eagerly took a whiff of the aroma of sizzling eggs and freshly brewed coffee and was reminding herself it was probably time for her second breakfast of the day when a familiar figure burst through the dining room doors and headed straight for the coffeemaker.
On this beautiful morning, Rick Dawson looked nothing like his usual handsome self. His blond hair was tousled, his shirt rumpled, and his face a thundercloud. The man was clearly in a foul mood. Felicity’s heart bled. Even though she didn’t see eye to eye with the reporter, she felt for him.
It was obvious from what the NYPD detectives had told her that he was a man with a lot of issues. And very soon now she would be adding one more in the form of a complaint filed by her against that dreadful article of his.
Seeing Rick again suddenly made her want to thresh this thing out in person. Before allowing Alice to coerce her into filing charges, that had been her first thought. She didn’t like things like this hanging in the air, and she had no trouble telling a person to his or her face exactly what she thought of them.
She walked up to Rick and cleared her throat.
It was the last thing he’d expected, for he jumped about a foot in the air, and spilled the coffee he’d just poured all over his shirtfront.
“Ouch!” he cried as the piping hot liquid hit his sensitive skin.
“Oh, I’m so sorry!”
At the sound of her voice, he slowly turned his head and laid a look on her so frigid, it could have frozen the coffee and saved him a lot of trouble.
“You!” For a moment he just stood there, breathing heavily through his nostrils. It wouldn’t have surprised her if he’d breathed fire.
“I’m so sorry about this,” she said tentatively.
“You!” he repeated, and it didn’t sound as if she was his favorite person in the world. Nor could she blame him. It seemed as if every time they met, he ended up being assaulted in some way.
“Don’t worry about the stains,” she said, taking a napkin from the stack and swiping at his shirt. “They will come right out.” As he simply stood there glowering, she added, “I thought it was time you and I had a little chat.” When he didn’t respond, she continued, “I saw that article you wrote about me. The thing where you claim I’m working for Chazz Falcone? I just want you to know that I don’t know Mr. Falcone and I don’t like it when people tell lies about me. That said, I wanted to add that I fully understand if you’re sore with me, seeing as how I managed to cause you some trouble since you arrived in town.”
“Some trouble,” he repeated incredulously. “You’ve caused me nothing but trouble.”
“I’m well aware of that. Which is why I wanted to extend the olive branch.”
“And instead you decided to extend me the coffee,” he said in a low voice.
“That was an accident,” she huffed. The man was very hard to talk to.
“I see.” He pondered this for a moment, then snatched the napkin from her hand and dabbed it furiously at his shirt, making matters worse.
“I hope you have another shirt,” she commented, eyeing the devastation.
Ignoring her comment, he declared, “I’m going to pass on your offer.”
“Oh?”
“I never associate with people associated with Chazz Falcone.”
“I just told you, I don’t know the guy!”
“I have it on good authority that you work for him.”
She planted her hands on her hips and cocked her head. “And here I thought a good reporter always double-checked his sources.”
“You were entertaining two of Falcone’s men last night. You were offering them…” He screwed up his face in disapproval. “…favors.”
Her face fell. “Two of Falcone’s men? Where did you get that idea? The only men I had at my house last night…” She narrowed her eyes. “How do you know who was at my house? Have you been spying on me?”
He raised his chin. “I never reveal my sources.”
They both stood glaring at each other for a moment, then she decided it was time to make him see the light. He was dead wrong, and it was time he admitted as much. “Two NYPD detectives came by last night, asking questions about you. They said someone had filed a complaint against you, and they thought I was implicated because of what happened at Rafi’s Deli. I told them I’d only met you that afternoon and told them the whole story. Since Detective Vale—that was his name—kept clutching his stomach on account of this fast his wife has put him on, I fed him strawberry shortcake, pork chops and scalloped potatoes. So whatever your source told you about those ‘favors’ I offered, they were right, but in my defense I have to add that there is no law against feeding a policeman. And what Chazz Falcone has to do with anything I really don’t know, because, as I told you, I DON’T KNOW THE MAN!”
She knew that extending olive branches usually didn’t consist of raising one’s voice, but this man was so pigheaded she felt a little voice raising would help to drive her point through that thick skull of his.
He gave her a pointed stare. “Did you just say…Detective Vale?”
“That’s right. NYPD Detectives Jerry Vale and Johnny Carew. They said they were investigating a complaint made against you by—”
“Chazz Falcone.”
Rick was staring before him thoughtfully, his defiant air now gone.
“So I would really like to see that blog post of yours rectified to reflect my side of the story.”
“Eh?”
“I said that I would like you to change that stuff you wrote about me.”
“Oh, sure, sure,” he muttered, rubbing his chin. She noticed he hadn’t shaved and she kinda liked the effect. The stubble lent his strong features even more appeal, though for the life of her she didn’t know what that had to do with anything. She was merely relieved that he’d agreed so quickly. She felt a wave of relief wash over her.
“You know, Alice told me to file charges against you for defamation of character. I actually told Detective Vale to take my statement.” She gave him a grateful smile. “I’m glad I don’t to have to go through with that.”
“Eh?”
Her smile
disappeared. “Are you really going to make me repeat everything twice?”
He eyed her wearily for a moment, then suddenly took her arm in a viselike grip, and steered her to a nearby table.
“Hey, what do you think—”
“Just listen for a moment,” he said emphatically, and she was starting to think she should revise her earlier decision not to press charges. Maybe Alice was right, and he really was some kind of crazy person. But before she could think this through, he was already babbling on. “Jerry Vale and Johnny Carew are not police detectives. They both work for Chazz Falcone. When I saw them enter your house last night—”
“So you were watching me!”
“—and then heard them talking to you that way—”
“What?!”
“—I figured you were in bed with them.”
She swiftly rose. “This is an outrage!”
Before she could stalk off, he pulled her down again. “Listen! Vale and Carew are Falcone’s goons. If they’re in town it can only mean one thing: they’re after me and they won’t stop until they’ve found me.”
She rose to her feet again. “That shouldn’t be too hard. After all, I found you and I’m not exactly Jessica Fletcher.”
Once again, he pulled her down. “What did they tell you—exactly?”
Rubbing her arm, she searched around. She was relieved to find at least three families enjoying their breakfast nearby. If Rick Dawson got really rough, she could simply holler and they’d come running, saving her from the beast. In the meantime, it didn’t hurt to placate the man. “I told you, they wanted to know how we met. I explained that I didn’t know you from Adam, and they seemed satisfied.”
He hit the table with his fist and started throwing surreptitious glances about the room. “I need to get out of here. If they’re following you they might have found me by now.”
“Mr. Dawson—Rick—can I make a suggestion? Simply turn yourself in. If the NYPD are looking for you—”
“Haven’t you heard a thing I said? They’re not police! They work for Falcone.”
It was time to address the elephant in the room. “Who is Falcone? I mean, I know he’s a businessman, but—”