The Waiting Game (Garvey Fields)

by RA Chandler

  “Her name is Jasmine Grace, nice elegant name that she might actually have been born with. She lives in Tribeca, 80 Warren Street; they got a nice whole food market up that way. Preliminary research comes back with her father killing himself just after Leman Brothers went down; he was a consultant of some kind and decided to go flying without a parachute 20 floors up. Mothers dead too, less dramatic, cancer or something, and she got a kid sister in some private boarding school up the coast a little. The little sister could be the way in, get her to release the clients son.”

  “How’d you get all this?”

  “The client got a copy of an account balance statement from one of the twins’ casinos. The kid ran a line of credit there for half million dollars. So when the son, he’s adopted, was confronted by the client he claimed that it must some kind of identity theft and the account wasn’t his. So the client bought a man named Squirrel in to make enquiries. He made contact with the casino, and returned with a copy of the CCTV showing the runt filling out forms. Anyway he’s not on the case anymore, like me he likes to stay with in a safe parameter of risk and reward.”

  “Can I speak with him?”

  “Sure, I don’t think that could hurt.”

  “So am I going to meet the clients name today or shall I come back later?”

  She smiled the way someone would if you claimed to have an iron jaw and offered them the first punch in a bare knuckle fight. Only they are the reigning gipsy fighting champion and they only need one punch to put you to sleep, but you didn’t realize because they didn’t look anything.

  “Well this is special, you can meet him if you want, right now in living color,” she stood and walked to her glass door, popped her head out and gave Georgia an order to bring the client in. Her ass wasn’t as nice as Georgia’s but I appreciated the effort she’d gone to in her pursuit of an apple shaped but.

  She went back to her desk, rubbed nonexistent creases out of her dress, sat down again and smiled at me. She had about fifteen years on me and didn’t do much to hide that she wanted to find out what my dark meat was like, but I didn’t do the whole cougar thing.

  “Is Georgia seeing anyone right now?”

  She frowned, only a little and fixed her bra, “I’ll only warn you once, stay away from her. Last year she made the firm 3 million in divorce work, and that was without so much as going up to their room and letting them squeeze her booty. Any man touches her will meet with an accident, understand?”

  “Eventually she’s got to fall why can’t I be the once that takes her down?”

  “Because, beyond her bravado she’s actually quite sweet and when not working she might be susceptible to a seasoned vet like you.”

  “It’s not like you lead a church you know.”

  4

  There was a polite cough at the door and we both turned to see Georgia waiting patiently. I wondered how much she’s heard because I was either going to get called something nasty for objectifying her as a prize to satisfy my carnal appetite or Cortina was going to get asked for a pay rises for objectifying her as an expensive asset.

  We both waited for her to say something, but she didn’t, just ushered in a harassed looking client, closed the door carefully and returned to her post.

  The client moved quickly and with purpose so much so that I thought he might demand Cortina get out of her chair. I stood to greet him but he ignored me, looked at his Patek Philippe watch instead and tutted.

  He was tall, thin and had an avalanche of white hair that swept to the nape of his neck. He was wearing a grey pinstriped suite, double breasted with a waistcoat and brown brogues, which were probably Church’s. His face was as putrid as Jafar from Aladdin, which is to say in a constant frown of distaste, with a shadow under his eyes, little lip to speak of, and eyebrows that looked groomed. He was holding a tablet in a leather bound case and Vertu phone in the same hand.

  I didn’t like him.

  “I am not in the habit of waiting Ms. Young, you have nineteen minutes of my time,” he spat venomously. “I’ve made good money keeping it as a valuable asset.”

  I still didn’t like him, but he was right, time was money and time not spent in regenerative leisure or learning should be spent at work.

  “My apologies, but we are trying to save you some money,” Cortina said in a soft ‘I’ll let you touch my leg if you’re a good boy’ kind of way. “I’m sorry you had to wait Mr. Flynn, but to get an operative of this quality at such short notice and to have him come in so you can appraise him is not something we are used to.”

  Without looking at me he said, “he doesn’t look like the type of man to do this kind of work. Perhaps more of a gentleman, less thug…”

  “Is it Larry or Errol,” I said jokily. I’d worn a nice D&G suit with a silver tie and Massimo Dutti shoes, I’d even put on some Creed Aventus I felt that he wasn’t appreciating the effort I’d made; I’d even gotten a fresh trim at the barbers. More to the point I’d left my car at the office because parking was hell, and not ridden my Triumph because I didn’t want to crease my trousers. I didn’t like the subway, but I’d done it to make Cortina happy.

  He turned to me slowly scowling and considered me with ice blue eyes, “you have the temerity to insult me, who are you? Do you have any idea who I am…?”

  “Hold on a minute,” said Cortina.

  “Oh, I guessed wrong, my bad,” I said. “Well let’s try this, and I won’t hit you with the whole Richard Sherman thug thing. You don’t know me but your Ivy League education has told you that all of the perfunctory stereotypes are correct and provable. You see me, ignore my dress, offered greeting and haven’t heard my lucidity and you assume you know me. But here’s a fact, you need me or a professional with my skill set because you’re situation is outside of your realm of normality and sterilized view of the world. Now by definition a gentleman is a chivalrous, courteous or honorable man. Of course there is a definition which describes a gentleman as a man of noble birth attached to a royal household. But this is America baby, so we can sidestep that one.”

  I paused to see if Mr. Flynn wanted to interject, he didn’t so I continued.

  “You see a man or gentleman like me doesn’t last long if I allow myself to be insulted without a good reason to let it slide. But of course Mr. Flynn you may not have intended to insult me and I would like to afford him the opportunity to rephrase your earlier comment.”

  He glared at me, straightened his back and tried to stare me down, looked at his watch again, “ten minutes,” he said. “I apologize, there is nothing in your demeanor or attire to suggest you are not a gentleman, it was not my desire to insult you.”

  “Thought not and I knew you weren’t really Larry or Errol.”

  He made an involuntary lurch type flinch of his shoulders, and then relaxed. I think he realized he actually didn’t understand what I meant.

  I stuck out my hand and he shook it this time, I was disappointed with the shake. He’d been all mouth and a limp handshake, which told me he was probably a coward who hid behind money and the power his race, wealth and status afforded him. If he’d tried to break my hand I’d have respected him more.

  “So I’ve been briefed a little by Cortina, are you willing to make a payoff to rid yourself of this Grace girl problem?”

  “Not so much as a dime,” he said indignantly. Raising his voice a few decibels to emphasis his point more forcefully.

  “Really? If this is a hustle she’ll want compensation for their trouble. If she goes onto marry him in Vegas or something it’ll cost real money. What kind of money are we talking about him receiving going forward?”

  “That is unimportant,” he said, but it was more like a retaliatory strike because I’d wounded him first.

  “If you give me half the info you get half a job.”

  He considered by statement like one might a golf shot, “as we speak he receives ten thousand dollars a month U.S from a trust fund his mother, my late wife, established for him.”
He took a breath, “when he’s thirty he’ll get more money than most double lottery winners.”

  “Damned, well you can’t blame a girl for trying her luck to see if she wins big, not these days anyway. Have you tried the twins, any chance of a discount or agreement?”

  “It’s a shady gambling debt that is uncollectable,” he said like a spoilt child trying to make a point that a silly parent didn’t get.

  Cortina sighed wearily; this was why she stuck to unfaithful spouses and a little escorting. Spouses cheated and were caught, escort provided company, the only question being how much they wanted. This kind of detective work, dealing with those who didn’t understand the rules, was too cumbersome and likely to lead to the client messing things up themselves.

  “Whatever you say Mr. Flynn,” I said. “But these people don’t have a habit of letting people off debts; it would set a bad precedent. After all, the Twins would have authorized payment if your son had won.”

  “That doesn’t matter me,” he said finally.

  5

  Looking back that is when I should have walked away; working for someone who doesn’t have a concept of consequence or the impact of what they are asking or saying is no different to a normal paid job. He wasn’t trying to understand the gangsters or the honey pot or the perilous nature of his son’s position. He simply believed that he could will something into or away from existence. That didn’t work in the arena he had stepped into, down on this trade floor the rules were different and the consequences were direr.

  “Well I guess you can stick to that line, but those twins might not sleep so well knowing they got an account in debit of $500,000 that isn’t worth anything to them.”

  “So you’re saying there is a threat of violence?” he asked. The penny had finally dropped.

  “Hard to say really, their places are exclusive, get an A-list crowd. The truth is they can’t afford to go around killing or disabling people, it looks bad, but every now and again someone takes a hit just to keep up appearances. Even if they don’t want to deal with things directly, they could always get an associate to handle things for them. You know, car crashes, exploding gas pipes, random shootings in a public spaces and your son would be the innocent bystander. Either way the message gets out and people play by their rules.”

  He looked at his watch again, and then forced hit blazer sleeve down as though trying to pull off the arm. “All of this is your concern; the D.A and I are friends, if you think you are unable to…”

  “Are you a Democrat or a Republican?”

  “Republican.”

  “You ain't friends, I’ve known him a while too, Grand Jury, that sort of thing. Listen, you could have gone to him straight away, but you came to Cortina and begged her to bail you out of a messy situation, knowing you couldn’t use regular channels. So I would say D.A or otherwise it didn’t stop your cry for help.”

  He clicked his heels together like Dorothy, “my money is as good as it is long, you bring me results and I’ll pay you prompt and maybe even provide a bonus. I think we have an understanding. Ms. Young I will be in touch, I expect to be kept informed.”

  He turned and left the office closing the door softly behind him.

  I turned to Cortina.

  “How do you know this guy,” I said.

  “He uses the escort service from time to time and mentioned something to one of the girls. They suggested my firm; I run the escort and detective agencies as separate entities. You goanna do the job?”

  “For a two thousand dollars a day, yeah sure, just make sure he puts my money in escrow. I don’t trust his ass one bit.”

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  I like to read; in fact I have a degree in English Literature. I would ask you to forgive my editing sometimes though. I started writing because I was looking for something and could not find it. I enjoy Walter Mosley’s Easy Rawlins, books by Eric Jerome Dickey, but I wanted a slightly more urban series of urban mystery fiction. I hope you enjoy this effort and those that follow.

  Table of Contents

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  PROLOGUE

  PART ONE: NIGHT CAP

  PART TWO: FIRST DAY

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR