GREED Box Set (Books 1-4)

by John W. Mefford

  “Okay.” She pondered what this meant to her role.

  “You have no problem with that, no?”

  “I guess I'll need to move my next tea party?” she said with a giggle. Enrique chuckled in response.

  She ended the call and instantly felt pressure building in her frontal lobe. She wondered how she would communicate to her current, soon-to-be former employer that she was moving on—no less, to a new competitor in the industry.

  The constant battle inside of Emilia's head was wearing on her. She turned and saw an image in the mirror she scarcely recognized, not the physical part—although years ago, she wouldn't have been wearing expensive clothes and lavish jewelry, matching purses, and related accoutrements. She'd lost touch with her inner self, that little voice that had been pushed so far back that she could hardly hear it. But it would never completely be expunged from her conscience. She needed to start telling herself the harsh truth.

  She had acted like a junkie, utterly addicted to the routine, and especially the reward—non-taxable cash. Dirty money.

  Chapter Forty

  Starch-white, puffy clouds sprinkled the expansive sky, as Andi peered through the window of the Boeing MD-80. Beginning their descent into the resort city of Puerto Vallarta, she and the others who cared to take in the view seven miles above the earth could already see the spikes of the mountain ranges east of PV, as her youthful friends called it.

  The jet circled out into the Pacific Ocean then banked hard left. Andi could nearly look straight down into the glistening ocean. Finally, after teasing both the mountaintops and the sandy beaches, the tires of the aging airliner squealed as they hit the concrete at Puerto Vallarta's Licenciado Gustavo Diaz Ordaz International Airport.

  “Welcome to the friendliest city in the world, la ciudad mas amigable en el undo,” the flight attendant said with dramatic flair.

  The bounty of spring break partiers erupted with whoops and hollers, nearly creating a cardiac event for an elderly couple sitting diagonally from Andi. She imagined they were likely visiting Puerto Vallarta to determine if the resort city would be an appropriate retirement home, but were out of touch with the timing of spring break during the school year—the magic time of year when even the most subdued students turned into wild, crazed lunatics. And that was before any liquor or cheap beer was consumed. Andi joined in the raucous celebration, again trying to recapture her thoughts and actions from when she was a more naïve and self-consumed seventeen-year-old.

  Summer had told Andi that around twenty kids from her own high school were on this very same flight, and another ten or so from the private high school. Out of the corner of her eye, Andi noticed a boy goosing one of their female counterparts. Harmless, it appeared, although she couldn't place the face of the guy, who had a darker, more prominent beard than the other more juvenile-looking boys.

  “Be careful. Your eyes might become glued to his ass,” Summer said quietly into Andi's ear as both girls waited for their bags at the automated luggage carousel.

  “I'm just checkin' out the scene,” Andi said, looking around nonchalantly.

  “Seriously, you probably aren't aware...that is Coach Wilson. Yes, that's what I said, Coach,” Summer emphasized. “He's the assistant girls' soccer coach, but he's also chasing Carlie's booty.” Summer winked at Andi, as if to say Coach Wilson may be pursuing, but Carlie was quite happy to let him grab her perfectly molded buttocks.

  Andi took a mental pause, noting that Courtney had played on the soccer team.

  Carlie, Andi learned, was a fast and flashy forward on the soccer team. She had a powerful left leg, tremendous athleticism, and phenomenal ball skills. She could score goals at will. Apparently, on this trip, scoring meant an entirely different thing.

  “Some of the parents weren't going to let their girls go, so they proposed that Coach Wilson go as a chaperone. And, wallah, wouldn't you know that he and Carlie are playing grab-ass,” Summer said. “They've been flirting for months. God knows what they've actually done. Down here, though, there aren't any rules. Obviously, they ain't hiding anything.”

  Having become an expert at thinking certain thoughts yet showing a completely different facial expression, Andi found herself recalling memories of high school she hadn't contemplated in years. She remembered forming a crush on her chemistry teacher, Mr. Steele. He had a certain charm about him and would help even the least interested chemistry student, like Andi, enjoy learning the intricacies of the Periodic Table. She would stay after class and try to talk to him about life outside of chemistry class, outside the walls of the high school, yet he never reciprocated her obvious interest. Well...once she thought she caught him winking at her, but then she also noticed him wink at a fellow teacher. Likely just a natural response. Eventually, the crush evaporated like dew on an early summer morning.

  Moving beyond the high school memories, Andi wondered why a twenty-something college grad would have a desire to hang out and play grab-ass with a teenage girl, even if she had a body that wouldn't stop. Maybe he never grew up. Nonetheless, he was someone to watch, given his access to alcohol and his craving to prey on girls whose bodies were far more mature than their mental and emotional capacity.

  “By the way,” Summer said as she yanked her bag off the carousel, “Don't flinch if you hear the term Butch on this trip. That's Coach Wilson's first name, and the girls sometimes call him that. I don't think we have any lesbians in the group, but if we get drunk or high enough, you never know.” She gave the trademark Summer wink again. Andi giggled in response to maintain the necessary rapport.

  Oh brother, Andi thought. She was open-minded, liberal in most circles, but she couldn't see herself with another girl, regardless of the toxic influence. Just then, she felt a pinch on her butt, as a throng of flip-flops shuffled past her.

  “Girlfriends, let's get ready to party our asses off!” Summer raised her fist and led the group of girls out the terminal doors, where they smelled the Puerto Vallarta air for the first time.

  Chapter Forty-One

  The text came in cleanly, but used the youthful shorthand: Safely landed at PV aport. Raucous kids. Chaperone = soccer Coach Wilson. Has hots for Carlie; could b drug c-nectshun. He creeps me out. More later. A

  Good girl, I said to myself, feeling comforted by the fact Andi had texted me and Brandon upon landing outside of the United States. That was our agreement.

  I was awaiting my bride to exit our bedroom, checking my emails and texts that had arrived during the previous few hours. This evening was our night together, a date night, minus Marisa's mother, who continued her elongated stay with us but made herself busy searching for some type of antique while up in the North Texas area.

  Fortunately, the cold war between Marisa and her mother had thawed a bit since Mama Emilia had dropped the bomb on us two nights ago. My better half had absorbed a great deal and, after the initial shock, had become more subdued, which was her way of letting things churn inside her brain, trying to determine how she felt, whether to hold a grudge, and what, if any, type of action she should take. Leaving our third shop while meandering down one of the new urban, adult playgrounds that were becoming more popular in the 'burbs, Marisa, while less talkative, had a glow about her. She seemed remarkably relaxed, which was surprising, all things considered, including the fact that I was zooming away on a private jet to a foreign country the next morning without my return trip planned.

  Marisa had taken an afternoon jog, which undoubtedly helped her mental outlook. Still, to a degree, she seemed a bit mysterious, most likely from her lack of normal verbosity.

  “Hey...what the heck?” I exclaimed, as Marisa playfully tried to push in my leg behind my knee, causing me to flop like a tortilla. That was her way of showing she was feeling feisty and, possibly, mischievous.

  “You trying to kick an old man when he's down?” I asked.

  “You used the term, not me. You're thirty-five, so I guess you are old enough to play on the senior tennis tour.�
�� She pinched my ear.

  “Good one. I'd like to think that I'm finally old enough, and I guess wise enough, to run for president.”

  “You mean wise ass enough,” she said as she smacked my backside unabashedly.

  “You're definitely in one of those sassy moods tonight,” I said with a sly smile.

  We settled in a booth at the nicest Mexican food restaurant in the area, overlooking the man-made, tree-lined pond. For a bustling Saturday evening, the atmosphere was festive yet restrained. We felt a part of the action but not in the middle of it. Which was fine with us.

  “I'll take your Cadillac Margarita,” said my playmate, who raised her eyebrows at me when ordering, as if to ask, “Are you ready for me to break out of my shell?”

  I joined her, and we both sipped the smooth beverage, which included Jose Cuervo White Tequila, one of our favorites. We touched on a number of light-hearted topics, leaving her the option of discussing her mother's newfound openness...or not. It only took fifteen minutes and one Margarita.

  “Do you think my mother realizes how much she hurt me by not telling me this all these years?” she asked, looking for support but also insight.

  “Mama Emilia is a private person. Yet I think something inside of her was really impacted when she saw Arthur nearly break down.”

  “But that doesn't answer my question,” she said directly.

  “I brought up Arthur because, like a lot of us, we deal with the here and now. Plus, you've admitted you haven't spoken to her much in the last few years. It was probably pretty easy to keep that story about your dad on the back burner.” I took a bite of my Mexican fish dish. “She didn't plan on your dad dying when he did or how he did. I'm sure it shocked her. She probably never thought about telling you, and then, over the years, it became a burden. The more I think about it, that might have been a reason for her not spending more time with you. I'm not sure you're ready for it, but Mama Emilia might be ready to be a real mom to you for the first time in your life.”

  Marisa looked away, nodding her head while apparently pondering how to process all of this turmoil. I noticed the light hitting her beautiful profile, her cheekbones down to her neck. She slurped up another mouthful of her Margarita.

  “Part of me wonders if I can truly put this behind me and not hold a grudge,” she said transparently.

  “She's been honest with you, it's just taken a few years,” I said with a smirk.

  “It might take me years to deal with all this shit.”

  I called to the waiter and ordered two more Margaritas.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  I returned from the restroom just in time to hear Marisa make a slurping noise with her straw—she had downed her third Cadillac Margarita. And it appeared her engine was ready to be driven.

  “Hey, Doyle,” she whispered, as she reached out for my hands. “You going to take me on a romantic walk around the pond?” Her bare foot had crawled up my pant leg.

  “Check, please!” I called out to no one in particular, which drew an overt laugh from Marisa.

  I signed the receipt, my mind crunching the numbers to provide adequate gratuity, and we headed out the door.

  “Do you still find this thirty-something body attractive?” I was shocked to hear such a question from my usually confident bride.

  “Baby, of course...you, your body, all of you,” I said but not in the most romantic tone.

  “You sure you don't have one eye on your little Monica Lewinsky?”

  I chuckled at the analogy and the absurdity of it.

  “First, Andi is no Monica Lewinsky.”

  “True, your intern is much younger, and under those baggy clothes, she probably has a rock-hard body,” she said in an uncharacteristically jealous tone.

  “Her name is Andi, and I look at her no differently than I see Rose and Hector. Let me correct that a bit. She is an intern and while she's sharp, she's not battle-tested, so I'm concerned about her gullibility and how that might impact her ability to do her job, get to the bottom of these drug deaths...or put her in danger,” I said, putting more of a professional spin on it to ease Marisa's mind.

  Marisa hung tightly to my right arm, rubbing my bicep with her free hand, as we strolled down the outdoor stairs and approached the calm water. We watched as one duck waddled into the pond and began plucking at another duck.

  “I think someone wants to get lucky tonight.” Marisa's lips turned upward, displaying a warm but frisky smile. She pulled me away from the duck skirmish to start our trek around the pond.

  The sun had dropped behind the upscale, contemporary apartments and hotel on the west side of the pond. The only light came from a few well-placed, solar-powered beams set up at various intervals along our winding path. The developers of this entire complex of shops, restaurants, apartments, hotel, and yes, a nature area had seemingly thought of everything. For North Texas, the trees were numerous and the surrounding landscape lush.

  We held hands and only sporadically crossed paths with other couples, young and old.

  “Do you think that will be us in forty years?” Marisa asked as we passed by an elderly couple who were strolling arm in arm. “What do you mean? That's us in two years,” I said sarcastically. Marisa nudged my ribs.

  Our stroll around the pond allowed us to be absorbed by the striking natural surroundings. Speaking only occasionally, our moods became more reminiscent. We'd been married just under a year, living together for three years prior, yet it felt like we'd experienced a lifetime full of emotion and drama together, but also trust and intimacy.

  Now the potential danger of my trip to Mexico was looming in the back of our minds. I kept thinking to myself all things happen for a reason. Last year's tragic events—the murder, the conspiracy, and us being assaulted and staring down death—helped strengthen me and reinforce my connection with Marisa. I didn't want to overthink it, but this excursion to Puerto Vallarta to trade a half million bucks for Trudy couldn't be any more out of my comfort zone: unpredictable and very possibly dangerous. We would be in a foreign land, in unfamiliar surroundings, with little understanding of the language, and relying on the guidance from a voice over the phone. Of course, there was the Francisco factor. I still wasn't sure if that really gave us an advantage or just allowed our naïve nature to feel more at ease. Was he a plant by the kidnappers, regardless of whether he was connected to the drug world?

  “Hey, Doyle, I'm to your right.” Marisa snapped her fingers to garner my attention. She'd seen me drift off into another world, the one I often hit when worry overtakes my idle thoughts.

  “I know what you're thinking about. I am too.” Marisa squeezed my arm. “But I asked myself, what if you didn't go and then something happened to Arthur or Trudy. You'd never forgive yourself, and you'd have a hard time looking at me for not supporting your natural desire. I know you, and as hard as it's going to be, I have faith. We are meant to be together, sharing our lives, as well as supporting each other's convictions.”

  I said nothing in return. I didn't need to. We turned to face each other, and our bodies came together like magnets. We kissed passionately, rubbing each other's back and neck. We finished with our two foreheads touching, our eyes closed, allowing this bond to be etched in our minds and hearts.

  “I have a surprise,” Marisa whispered softly in my ear.

  “What's that?” I said, smiling. Had she baked me one of her legendary cakes at home?

  “I didn't wear any panties.” She giggled and quickly trotted off toward some heavy shrubbery inside the normal path.

  Like a dog on a leash, I chased after her, with my tongue hanging out. I could hardly see where I was going, with little light and overgrown trees and bushes smacking me in the face. Suddenly, I tripped and went flying through the air. In a split second, Marisa was sitting on top of me laughing her ass off.

  “Have you fallen head over heels in love with me again?” she said, making another bad pun.

  “Very funny.” I did a men
tal check to make sure nothing in my middle-aged body was bruised, torn, or pulled. I leaned up slightly, but Marisa pushed my shoulders down.

  “What are you doing?”

  She didn't respond verbally. She unbuttoned her purple blouse and told me to unhook her bra. The only light came from the full moon shining brightly overhead. I reached out to caress her ample bosom, gently sliding my fingers across her nipples. She leaned over and kissed me, holding my face—and my heart—in her hands. She took off my shirt and rubbed her hands and arms across my chest and shoulders. She kissed every spot that she touched. She unbuttoned, then unzipped my pants.

  “Baby, are you sure we should be doing this? Remember, I'm the associate publisher of the Times Herald. I have a reputation to uphold,” I said, almost laughing at what I'd just said.

  “Whatever,” she said, hardly listening.

  Marisa slowly started rocking back and forth, defining a steady, erotic rhythm.

  “You're amazing.” I grabbed one hip and used my other hand to massage one breast then the other. As the rocking became more profound, I pinched her nipple, ever so slightly at first. Then she began to groan. Despite the reduced visibility from the darkness, I could see the whites in her eyes. Her reaction only added to my own incredible feeling. We rocked in tandem, moans growing louder. I put both hands on her breasts and pinched her nipples more voraciously. Finally, she screamed out, I screamed out. We climaxed in perfect unison.

  She collapsed. I kissed the top of her head, our heaving chests pressed against each other. Our excited breathing slowly dropped back to a normal rate with my memory wiped clean of every worry in the world. I had clarity on what was truly important in life—the life we shared. She began running her fingers lightly across my shoulder.

  “Do you know what Marisa wants now?” she asked in the third person, smiling at me.