GREED Box Set (Books 1-4)

by John W. Mefford

  “Chowing down. Nice one,” I said with a wink, then tore open a package of soy sauce and spread it on my rice.

  Did I just see her eyes roll? Again?

  “At one point last night, I thought I'd taken my last breath,“ I added.

  After removing her stylish jeans jacket, she let out a huff, blowing strands of hair away from her face, and scrubbed even harder. I almost chuckled, but then I realized I still craved more brain food and took two more bites.

  A few minutes later, I was able to focus, my strength on the uptick. My dreams had been repressed sufficiently to function in the real world. I wasn't sure how to tell Andi she'd been going about this stain-cleaning process all wrong.

  “You know, I've heard that if you dab the stain, as opposed to rubbing the hell out of it, you have a better chance of the stain coming out.”

  “Really? Now you say something. Geez, men!”

  I was taken aback. Sounded like young Andi had built up a wee bit of resentment against the male gender.

  “Anything you want to talk about?”

  “What? What are you talking about?”

  She acted like she didn't hear me, or get me. But the Andi I knew was quick-minded, so I knew better.

  “I realize I'm still trying to fill in the gaps of the last few weeks, a murder, being assaulted twice in one night, learning more about this mysterious woman, Camila. But I don't think I've asked much about your life. If I did ask whenever we first met, or re-met, then I don't recall what you told me.”

  More scrubbing. “Eh.”

  A one-syllable response. Not the Andi I knew.

  “I recall a guy named Trevor. I think he was a doctor. I met him at Satish's place, then he was your plus-one at Marisa's funeral,” I said with a leading voice.

  Andi tossed down the rag, then curled messy hair around her ear and bit her lower lip. I'd hit a weak spot.

  “The cute guy with the dimpled cheeks and great ass...played me.” Her brown eyes stared off to the corner of the room.

  I could hear people walking and talking in the hallway outside our room—white noise.

  “You guys seemed like a good fit.” Perhaps I'd been too transparent.

  “Look, Michael, I know you're trying to help, and probably trying to make sure your memory is still intact, but I don't need to relive the last eighteen months of my life.”

  Is that a tear bubbling in her eye?

  I reached across and touched her hand.

  “Sorry. I think I'm still a little fuzzy on filling in some of the holes. And I'm probably a curious guy by nature, given my previous role as the associate publisher of the Times Herald.“

  She pinched her nose then grabbed her iced tea and took two sips. “Don't mean to take it out on you. It happened a while back, so I'm all good.”

  “So, who's playing better this season, the Cowboys or the—”

  “Okay, he more than played me,” she said, ignoring my sports question. “When we first met, he told me hadn't dated in two years, given the time commitment to his residency. Not even dated, my ass.“

  Resting arms on knees, I coiled my mouth into a knot trying to dislodge food caught between my teeth. But I also managed to nod along, letting her vent as long as she needed.

  “It was his birthday, and even though I knew he was in the middle of working thirty-six hours over two days, I showed up at his place to decorate it. You know, make it special, memorable.”

  “You thought he was The One?”

  She pursed her lips. “Anyway, I guess you could say I loved the guy. After how he connected with Nicholas, Jenny's autistic son, I knew Trevor had a special gift with kids. It opened my heart to the possibility of Trevor and Andi, you know, as a couple.”

  “His birthday?”

  A deep breath, then she ran long fingers through her chestnut hair.

  “I've tried to bury the thought, the visual,” she said, avoiding eye contact. “As soon as I opened the door to his apartment, I saw the trail.“

  I gave her a quizzical look.

  “The trail of lingerie. A lacy bra, a thong...oh my God, what a slut!”

  I didn't move.

  “Sorry, sometimes it just comes out.” So did her tears. I stepped to the bathroom and brought back a box of tissues, offering her one. She blew her nose in the most unfeminine way, then continued.

  “I went from feeling like I was giving myself to someone I loved to finding out he was a two-timing asshole, all in about two point two seconds.”

  “Did you ever speak to him again?”

  “Thirty seconds later. I guess I couldn't walk away without knowing one hundred percent. I followed the sounds of moaning and groaning. I repressed the urge to throw up. It was a horrible feeling, knowing what was on the other side of his bedroom door, but also knowing I couldn't walk away until I had confirmation.”

  I shook my head then patted her knee. “So, back to the Cowboys and—”

  She ignored my sports ploy again. “I opened the door and saw the most sickening sight.”

  “Don't tell me you actually caught them in the...uh, act?” I winced when I said it.

  “Worse.”

  “What could be worse?”

  “He was in bed, screwing two women. Actually, one was going down on him, while the other...let's just say it was one big fuck triangle.“

  “Haven't heard that term before.”

  I moved to her bed and gave her a sore shoulder to cry on. She took me up on it. I'd never seen Andi so human, so vulnerable.

  “You know the French have this term for that kind of...arrangement.” I attempted to make light of the situation, and I should have known better.

  “Fuck the French! Fuck all men.” She giggled slightly then buried her face in the crease of my arm and shook like a little kid.

  Suddenly, a thud banged the window. I jerked right and jumped up.

  “What the hell was that?” I scooted toward the window, Andi just behind me. We were twenty floors up, but I ignored the million-dollar view. It couldn't have been human. I then felt the window, looking for cracks in the paned glass.

  “You think someone shot at us?” she asked, her voice a different pitch due to her clogged sinuses.

  “Given the shit I've experienced, I can't discount anything.”

  She let out a snotty chuckle as she blew her nose again.

  “What's so funny?” I asked.

  “Up there.”

  I looked upward and I saw a feather stuck against the glass.

  “Ouch. I think we just came across someone who had a shittier day than me.” I couldn't help but belt out a laugh while I held both sides of my head.

  I felt bad for Andi; her nose was as red as Rudolph's but not quite as small and cute.

  “Isn't Facebook headquarters just over that hill?” I pointed out the window.

  “Camila. Do you recall that's where she used to work?” Andi asked.

  “Huh? Maybe. It just entered my mind.”

  “Yea, she got buddy-buddy with Zuckerberg and—”

  “One of the first ten employees. Real technical genius,” I butted in. “Hit it big with stock options, then cashed it in and moved on to a calmer life running the massage parlor.“

  “So, I guess you recall J-Ho?”

  “You mean Ji. Ji Ho.” I shook my finger.

  “Well, I never met him, but you described him like he was a pop diva.” Sassy Andi had returned.

  “What? You're nuts. Ji did learn a lot about Camilla in a short period of time. Then again, I wouldn't be in this condition if he was a little worse at his job.” I smirked.

  Knock knock knock.

  Both of our heads swiveled in unison toward the room's only entrance and exit. Our eyes then met each other's.

  Knock knock. "Room service," said a man's voice.

  I whispered, “You didn't order anything, did you?”

  Andi shook her head slowly. Neither of us moved. I hoped the person would just go away.

 
; Without warning, I heard a key slide in the lock, then the door flew open. Instinctively, I put my arm in front of Andi and moved her behind me, but both of us leaned right to peer down the room's long entrance hallway.

  The man—dressed in hotel service attire with black pants and shoes and a white shirt—literally jumped in the air when he saw us. He dropped whatever was in his hands, then turned on a dime and darted out of the room. I paused for just a second, replaying the scenario to ensure it wasn't a figment of my imagination, glanced at Andi, then moved as fast as my banged-up body could toward the door.

  I shuffled my feet to minimize my brain from jarring in my head, and it felt like it took me five minutes to reach the door. I twisted the handle then heard Andi behind me.

  “Michael, don't go after him.”

  I ignored the comment.

  With the quickness of a man who'd been beaten up and left for dead, I glanced left and right. No one in either direction. I listened for a sound. Just a soft buzz from lighting fixtures. A bank of elevators was off to the right. He could have jumped into an open one. I turned in the other direction and saw an EXIT door. I shuffled in that direction, the only noise coming from the swooshing sound of my jeans.

  Just before I hit the handle on the EXIT door, I heard Andi again.

  “Michael, where are you going?” I didn't respond, but I knew she'd follow, so I opened it quickly, then looked and listened. I thought I heard an echo of footsteps. Was it above me or below me? I tried to think like a thief, so I went up. I attempted two steps at a time, but I had to pull back to just one, moving at a grandfatherly pace. Actually, make that a great-grandfatherly pace. I wouldn't catch the guy unless he had a heart attack.

  I made it two flights, and then Andi burst through the door calling out my name.

  “I'm up here.” She got to me in under ten seconds.

  “See anything?” she asked.

  I had one arm on the rail, and she could see I'd hit my physical limit of playing this cat-and-mouse game.

  “No. I thought I heard footsteps, but I couldn't tell if they were going up or down. Probably picked the wrong direction.”

  I saw Andi's red nose twitch.

  “I've got a headache.” I attempted to tuck my loose bandages into my makeshift turban.

  She rubbed her nose then displayed a wry smile. “Someone's been smoking pot.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Two Weeks Ago

  Did Harley Man have anything to do with the death—check that—the brutal murder of Camila's brother, Gustavo?

  Theories and thoughts swirled through my mind as I stood off to the side of the main area inside Swan Massage Therapy. I leafed through brochures about yoga and finding peace, while Celtic mood music chimed through hidden speakers. Green plants littered the shop, a few hanging from the tiled ceiling, some in large, earthy pots, others nestled together in a vignette. They looked fake, so I reached and touched the edge of a leaf.

  Damn! That sucker was real and sharp. Poked right through my skin. I sucked the blood then stuck my hand in my jeans, feeling like a fool.

  Finally, Camila came through the purple suede curtain and appeared behind the counter. She nodded my way then tended to a customer.

  “How did you enjoy your massage today, Ms. Chen?”

  A kempt Asian woman, who looked fifty but was probably closer to sixty, slid rings back on her fingers. I almost needed sunglasses.

  “You do such an amazing job. I feel so relaxed, rejuvenated. There's something about you, this place...that makes it special. You're one of a kind, Miss Camila.”

  The Natural forced a half-smile, her face a bit flushed, sadness escaping her turquoise eyes, but Ms. Chen apparently didn't notice the lack of an authentic response.

  The five-foot-nothing woman rolled her neck, then placed her arm behind her head, apparently testing some faulty joints.

  “I haven't felt this loose, this young, in years. Why I haven't been making this part of my routine, I have no idea,” Ms. Chen continued with a fair amount of drama. “I guess I do know. I'm such a giving person. I do favors for everyone. I can't turn down a single invitation to join this cause, host this event. It's all very important, but I have to take care of myself. I have to be selfish...especially if I want to keep Mr. Happy happy.“

  Ms. Chen roared with laughter, turning slightly to acknowledge my presence, then back to Camila, who put her hand to her mouth to attempt to snuff out her giggle. I pretended to survey the textures of the lush, green plants, but I caught Camila's eyes shooting me a quick glance, one that had a hint of the person I'd seen that first night at the Fairmount. The look made my heart dance just a tad, but I continued to fake-admire the plants.

  The two ladies exchanged payment for services rendered, then Camila walked around the counter where Ms. Chen reached up a few inches and pulled down Camila's neck in an awkward hug.

  “Give Mr. Chen my best and tell him he's welcome to join you next time for a couple's massage, if you'd like.” Now standing just fifteen feet away from me, Camila's accent was velvety smooth, inviting.

  “Oh, believe me I know what Mr. Chen wants. Mr. Happy is going to have the ride of his life tonight!” Ms. Chen knocked her head back with laughter, then opened the door with zest, humming some tune that made her seem even younger. She waltzed down the sidewalk without a care in the world.

  Camila turned and faced me, her lips drawing a straight line. “Ms. Chen, she's quite a lady. She was one of my first customers.”

  “Apparently, she's a huge supporter of yours. She thinks you've helped her rediscover her youth.”

  “A very frisky youth, from what she's telling me, you, and the world.” Camila giggled and took three steps toward me.

  We'd just had our first real conversation, and it already seemed...natural. Go figure.

  As easy as the interaction felt, the ensuing period of silence lasted longer than normal. She looked directly at me, but I couldn't read her mind. Was she going to ask me to leave, tell me she's in love with Harley Man, who'd made her so upset?

  Or maybe she felt the same trepidation as me.

  I looked down to the painted concrete and shuffled my feet, feeling a bit like a sixteen-year-old boy who was trying to generate enough courage to ask the cutest girl in school out on a date.

  She walked right toward me, her eyes meeting mine. The closer she got, the more my pulse sprinted faster. She stopped a foot to my left. I had to consciously hold back my hand from reaching out to her.

  Damn, there was something magnetic about her, me, us—at least from my perspective, I had to remind myself.

  Suddenly, she reached above my head, her taut arm almost grazing my hair.

  “Now, this one here, it's a vine that is indigenous to the Bay Area.” Camila's fingers were gliding over a leaf from one of the many hanging plants.

  Before my head made a full turn back to the swaying plant, my eyes stuck on her extended arm—smallish but tight, a rippling muscle, a single vein protruding near the crease at her elbow.

  She continued. “It grows somewhat slowly, but it's quite hearty. In fact, there is a sea of this plant just a few miles away. Not sure if you've heard of this little sanctuary, but it's called Mount Sutro. It's this amazing jungle of plants and animals. So serene. You feel like you're in a different country.”

  Her eyes lit up, her hands swaying everywhere, apparently helping her formulate her thoughts.

  “Never been there, but I've heard the name.”

  “Here, touch it. It's just so unique, it's hard to describe.” She moved my hand closer to the plant.

  My thumb felt the surface of a leaf, and she was right. It was smooth yet had a small layer of fluff on top.

  “Pretty cool.”

  I caught a waft of something fruity, maybe lemon. I think my nose scrunched up a bit.

  “You're smelling one of my homemade massage oils. It contains a lemon extract.”

  She held her hand up to my nose. I touched her hand,
and my heart skipped a beat. I almost forgot how I'd arrived here, what had transpired to enable our paths to cross. Whether it was a fleeting bond or the start of something deeper, I couldn't foresee. I was wrapped up in everything Camila.

  “Oh, what happened to you?” A concerned look washed over her face, now less flushed than before. She took my hand and noticed a line of blood curling down my forefinger.

  “It's nothing. I, uh...” I didn't want to admit my lack of horticulture expertise.

  “You touched the green dragon, didn't you?” She turned to look at the plant that had gouged my finger. “He'll take a bite out of you every time. Follow me, I have just the thing for that.“

  I followed like a dog on a leash, still okay with not addressing why I came here—what I had witnessed between her and Harley Man. I was just going with the flow.

  She sauntered around the counter, me a step behind her, and then she flipped over the curtain and disappeared into darkness. For just a second, I saw columns of lights blinking, yellow, green, a couple of them red, some close to the floor, a bank of lights higher, like they were sitting on a table. I think I saw the outline of other equipment, but it was so dark I couldn't be certain. My curiosity was piqued.

  My legs acted like they were growing roots. I stood at the precipice of the entry into the back room, concerned I'd ruin the moment if I blatantly followed her there. Then again, didn't she essentially ask me to follow her? She never said, "Stop here." I scratched my chin and contemplated moving forward...or retreating to a more comfortable spot on the other side of the counter. Indecision won out.

  “Oh, you caught me by surprise.” Camila had just stepped through the curtain, obviously not expecting me to be standing in that exact location. She allowed her hands and forearms to lean against my torso, without immediately pushing away. I might have put both of my hands on her hips to bring her even closer. I know I was thinking it, wanting it.

  She thumped my chest twice. “Let's go over here; it will be easier to fix up.”

  I laid out my hand on the counter. She first applied an antiseptic, wiping away the dried blood.

  “Can't be too careful,” she said. Her hands were soft, yet it felt like I was being caressed by Wonder Woman, a deathly grip just a blink away. She was so gentle with my hand and finger. I was just glad I was on her good side. Otherwise, she could have snapped my wrist like a twig.