She sighed, her voice a whisper over the line. "I want to see you, too. But no more of this overprotective macho stuff, okay?"
She hadn't seen overprotective and macho yet. He knew what she was saying, but he wondered whether she'd still be saying it if she knew the whole truth. It didn't matter. What mattered was it was time to bring Walter down. It was time to claim his life for his own.
"I'll see what I can do," he joked back.
They hung up. The phone call had been an attempt to shake Simon, he knew. His father wanted him to know how big and powerful he was-- that nothing was safe from him. Well fuck you, too, Walter. Because that phone call had been Walter pulling the pin out of the grenade. Simon intended on making sure he was there when it went off.
Looking at the time, he decided to make his way over early. Mike strapped the wire to him. It was small but uncomfortable. He imagined it sizzling against his skin, sending off an odor that Weinstein and Baldur were sure to smell. Narc, they'd smell. Betrayal.
So Simon needed to be his most smooth, his most suave. He needed to bring his A-game and then some. He checked the lines of his tailored suit. Crisp, modern, and decidedly masculine. He slicked his hair back. It had been interesting to him how, when trying to work with women, wearing it tumbled and in his face got him what he wanted. In dealing with men? It was all slick and styled. He looked tough.
Finally, Simon did something he hadn't done in a long time-- he strapped some weapons onto his body. Working for Walter in recent years, he hadn't needed them. He'd flat out refused to wear them for many months after the murders he'd committed for Walter. But Jessica's life was on the line and he was taking zero chances.
Knife at ankle, another at his hip. He packed his derringer pocket pistol in a chest holster. It lay near his armpit, small and deadly. Only one shot.
The time for questioning himself and his motives was over. It was time to do his goddamned job.
Chapter Twelve
"You want me to what?" Simon couldn't have heard correctly. Walter was not a good guy, sure, but he'd never ask for this.
"I want you to take care of them." The coolness in the man's voice bothered Simon. It was one thing to dabble in political manipulation. But killing people? "It's what you've been trained to do, right?"
"Not exactly. I mean, I know how to but--"
"Where would you be without me, Simon? Where would your mommy be? She'd be deported back to Mexico, is what. Who do you think got her green card approved? Who do you think helped her become a citizen? I did it because I reward loyalty, Simon, and she was loyal to me."
"I know that, sir, but what you’re asking--"
"What I'm asking is for you to stop and remember who gave you each and every opportunity you have. You'd be feeding vultures in some desert in the middle east, riddled with shrapnel or some shit as a fucking grunt if it wasn't for me. I had to pull in a lot of favors to get you trained, you know. I don't just give favors away. So you owe me. You owe me because your mom is safe and happy. You owe me because you aren't just another bag of dead meat somewhere. You have money, you have a house, you have autonomy--"
Well, Simon could argue that. He didn't feel like he had autonomy most days. But what Walter was asking him proved it. He was in serious debt to the man. Most days he didn't even mind. After all, he was good at what he did. He liked the thrill of seeing influential men fall from grace and knowing that he had made it happen. There was a surge of power in his line of work that couldn't be replicated anywhere else.
And Walter meant something to Simon. He was the father figure Simon had wanted his whole life. All those years living with Roger and Dallas, watching Walter with them-- those assholes didn't know how good they had it. They had a dad who was present. Who was invested in them.
Of course, now Simon often felt like the son Walter had wanted. After all, who did Walter call when he needed something? Not Roger, that was for damned sure. Walter needed Simon, wanted him to be his right-hand man--
"Look, Simon," Walter made his voice soothing. "I know I'm asking a lot. Just sort of springing this on you. Usually I use another guy, but he's unavailable."
Use another guy? Was this something Walter did often?
"I'm asking you to keep the family name safe. These men... they're not good men. They're as corrupt as you can get. I don't do a lot of nice things, but I do what I can to make our country a better place. These men are after me. They're trying to frame me and take everything I have. No one threatens me or my family. You're family, too, you know that, right? I'll always watch out for you, Simon, but I can only do that if I'm safe."
"So you're saying... they are threatening you?"
"That's exactly what I'm saying, kid. They're threatening to take everything."
Heat moved through Simon. Yeah, he could do this. Walter had been good to him. Had been good to his mother. Had just called Simon "family," the one thing he'd wanted more than anything growing up. If someone threatened your family, well, murder became self defense, right?
Off of the phone, Simon went to work. He'd need the two Senators to look like accidents. Murder was too easy to trace and people tended to notice a lot more when high profile men were killed off. Probably poison, maybe an accident...
The CIA agent was corrupt, Walter had said. Simon yearned to know more about what these men had done to cross Walter so much, but in the end, it didn't matter. What mattered was he'd been given a job and he intended to do it. He packed a gun with a silencer.
Time to get to work.
~ ~ ~ ~
The restaurant was dimly lit. It wasn't a surprise. Men liked to carry out dirty business in dark corners. It wasn't the hiding, Simon thought, but probably that they liked the mystique. Like Agent Mike, the men he was dealing with liked playing a role. Fine, he could play a role, too.
"So tell me again what you're planning on doing about Roger?" John Weinstein was old and fat. He was wealthy and clearly didn't mind living his life in excess. Simon could gather that not just from the waistline of the man's pants, but also from the twenty ounce steak the man had ordered, the bottle of vintage wine that didn't even pair with the steak, and the suit the man wore. It was a Zegna Bespoke. It was Italian and if one didn't have an eye for those things, you'd never know it cost over twenty grand. Simon had an eye for those things.
Eric Baldur, on the other hand, was more modest in appearance. He wore the standard Dolce and Gabbana men's suit. Tailored and flattering but not too showy. He was younger than most CEO's in oil, a field that tended to reward generations of families, rather than letting in new and young blood. There was a shark-like quality to Baldur that made it easier to believe he'd managed to bull his way to the top.
"We need to wait until he's been secured as the nominee for Vice President," Simon explained. Both men scowled. Roger's reputation as a man who wouldn't play ball with special interest groups was well known. Both of these men shared a special and singular interest: Money. "We do this because Roger is young. One of the youngest nominees in history, actually. And as we've known from the news, he's untouchable right now. Everyone loves him. A fucking political rock star."
"You aren't inspiring a lot of confidence in me," growled Baldur. "Walter made some hefty promises. He might be made of a lot of money, but what we would have made from the pipeline makes his billions look paltry. We've enjoyed working with him in the past, but this is a debt he cannot pay out of a checkbook."
Simon held his hands up, deceptive and disarming. "Gentlemen, Walter wouldn't be content writing you a check, even if he could. You like working with him because when he says he's going to do something, he'll do it."
"If that were the case," Weinstein said between shoving bites of rare steak, blood still dripping, into his mouth, "Roger Taylor would have been taken out of the game a long time ago. Weren't you in charge of that?"
This, of course, was the tricky part. Simon hadn't admitted to any crimes formally to the Feds. Everything he was saying now, of course, was
being listened in on and recorded. Even with Mike's promises, he wasn't sure how much protection he could be offered if there was an admission of guilt on tape.
"No offense, gentlemen, but my job is difficult. I'm good at it, but things don't always go as planned. In the past I may not have planned closely enough. I assure that now that is not the case. Every detail is being covered. My plan is in motion already."
He said it without saying it. Hopefully. If Mike decided to double cross him it was probably still enough to land him in jail. Then again, Mike had hinted they may just skip the judicial process overall for Simon. Gee, how nice to receive special treatment.
"Okay, I hear you," Baldur said, "but I don't see any evidence. What proof do we have that what you're saying is true?"
Simon pulled out his phone and hoped to God that Dallas, Mariel, and Paige had worked quickly enough. He opened his email.
It was there-- the screenshot of the bank statement. He quickly downloaded and opened it while saying, "Gentlemen, this is just the beginning." He held the phone up to see.
"What am I looking at?" Weinstein asked, but Baldur was already nodding in approval.
"These are his personal bank accounts?" There was a touch of glee in his voice.
"Yep," Simon offered. "You're looking at a large sum of money that has been entered from a special interest group and promptly spent on personal trips."
"Not just trips," Baldur laughed. "Clothing, massages, hell... I think... my god, yes! The man just bought a Ferrari!"
Okay, so Dallas had taken him a little too literally at his word. Irritation flooded through Simon but he kept his smile as he tucked the phone away. "Now tell me, gentlemen, how many Vice Presidents remain in that position after bribery charges?"
"It's very impressive," Baldur admitted, though his eyes narrowed. "But how did you make it happen? I can see how you might be able to sneak the money into the account-- but how did you make him spend it?"
Simon waggled his eyebrows. "A man never gives away his secrets, Mr. Baldur. Otherwise I'd be out of the job."
Baldur and Weinstein frowned at the same time. "I'm sorry, Mr. Stills, but I'm going to need a little more to go on," Baldur admitted.
“Fine.” Simon’s finger hit speed dial and he put it on speakerphone.
“Hello?” Anastasia had a voice that oozed sex. She sounded just as hot over the phone as she was in real life.
Simon winked at the gaping men. “Anastasia, sweetheart, didn’t you tell me the other day that you’d been chatting up Dallas Taylor?”
She didn’t miss a beat. “Oh sure. The Senator’s brother spoke to me a long time. Wants to make an appointment.”
He needed to give her a raise. Dallas Taylor would never be caught a mile near a prostitute, not now that he had his girlfriend, Mariel. But these men didn’t know that, and that was what Simon was counting on.
“Anastasia, what kind of appointments to you make?” He asked, syrupy sweet.
She giggled. “Oh, Mr. Stills. You know I can’t kiss and tell in my line of work.”
Perfection. The high-profile brother of a Senator being caught with an escort? That was headline news, the kind that could crush an entire family’s reputation.
“Of course,” he joked, “what was I thinking? I’ll speak with you soon.” His finger mashed end call, his heart filled with triumph. Those were appetizers, not even close to the full range of things he could do with time and resources, neither of which he had at the moment. They were a good first course, though, and should please even the toughest of critics.
“That, gentlemen, should be enough proof that what I say will happen will happen.”
"No," said Weinstein. He coughed, his face growing red even as he continued to shake his head. "No, it isn't enough. I'm sorry. Tell Walter we need Roger taken care of. The whole way. Bribery and whatever shenanigans you think you can pin on him-- it isn't enough."
Fuck. This wasn't going the way it should. He needed more, too, for Special Agent Mike. The problem was that no one was making themselves fully complicit in the act.
"What you're saying," he asked slowly, "is that you need Roger Taylor dead?"
Baldur scowled. It was a faux pas to state crimes directly. Simon had put them in the hot seat. He hadn't offered to kill Roger, he had simply asked if they wanted him killed. Weinstein, whether from arrogance or too much of his mismatched wine, just grinned. "Yes, now we're talking. Besides, Walter owes us more than just another politician taken out. The Senators from before were helpful but--"
As John Weinstein jabbered on, happy to hear the sound of his own voice, Simon's vision went red. He'd done that job. He'd done it for Walter, because he'd thought he was protecting his family. Had he really murdered just to appease these two douchebags? If that was the case... were the men whose lives he'd taken even corrupt?
He had a sinking suspicion that maybe, just maybe they'd been the good guys. Which made him a very bad man.
It took effort, but he compressed the guilt and rage into a ball and hid it in himself. He needed to stay focused. The important part, though, was he had what he'd needed. John Weinstein had not only given a direct request for an assassination, he'd also admitted to being responsible for past murders as well. Mike was probably shitting his pants in delight right now.
"Of course, Walter knows we like to keep oil profitable. The side venture makes the money but isn't nearly as secure--"
"Shut up," Baldur hissed. "You're running your mouth!"
Simon shrugged. "Of course," he addressed Weinstein, as if Baldur hadn't just spoken. He had no idea what the side venture was. Curiosity had him. The more they could pin on his father, the better. His stomach clenched at the thought of Jessica unknowingly sitting and eating with a man who had sent a killer after her. "Walter shares your feelings."
"Does he?" Asked Baldur shrewdly. He was definitely the smarter man out of the two of them. "That's funny, since that's where so much of his money comes from."
Fuck. Walter had never been explicit about where all of his investments came from, or where the money went. The funny part was, publicly he was a billionaire, but at least half of his funds weren't public knowledge. Simon, in all of his father-figure worshiping ways, had never really thought of it. The man gave orders and he'd just followed them.
"It isn't a long term investment, don't you think?" Simon added warily. He had no clue what they were talking about, but the men obviously thought he should know. He wondered if Mike knew about any of it. If he could just get them to say something. "After all, Walter likes to play it safe with his money and his reputation."
"Well, he certainly picked the wrong business for that!" Weinstein joked. "Safety. Yeah, right. That man has his hands in more--"
A hand slammed on to the table. Baldur glared at Weinstein and then at Simon. "This meeting is over, Mr. Stills. Tell Walter it is all or nothing. He doesn't want to choose nothing. We've lost patience and he needs to keep his promise. Do I make myself clear?"
Damn it. He had enough, hopefully, for Mike, but now his gut was dancing with curiosity and wariness. Walter liked to picture himself as kind of syndicate head. Like a mob boss but with class, he'd joked on multiple occasions. This was sounding more and more like that wasn't a joke.
He offered to pay the bill, despite Weinstein's ridiculous order, but they declined. Apparently the only payment that was going to clear their accounts was Roger's spilled blood.
Chapter Thirteen
Walter called as Simon finished taking off the wire and getting into his car.
"Well?" He demanded. "Were they satisfied?"
"No." Simon was preparing to race to Richmond. This news was sure to make his father irate. Simon planned on getting Jessica out and hidden well before his father could do anything to her. "They want Roger dead."
Walter sucked in his breath. "I can't say I'm surprised. Disappointing. Well, call me when it's done."
"When what's done?"
"Roger, you dip shit."
"I'm not killing my own brother."
There was a pause, and then Simon heard Jessica sob, softly, on the other end of the line. "You son of a bitch," Simon roared. "What are you doing?"
"She's just some insurance, Simon. Like you did with Paige. Only unlike you, I'm serious about this. I don't think you understand how much I have invested in this deal. So you will kill Roger or you'll come home to pieces of this slut. And when she's dead, if you still haven't taken care of Roger, I'll start in on Amanda." Jessica screamed, a ragged cry of terror ripping through her throat. Simon thought he might vomit.
"That's your own granddaughter!" Simon couldn't believe what he was hearing. Walter never did the work himself. What was interests did he have that he was this desperate to protect?
"Simon, you are the only family I'd consider still family, but if you don't do this, and I mean tonight, then I am going to burn all of you to the ground. Do you understand?"
There was a loud smack over the phone and Jessica screamed again. Oh, Simon fucking understood.
"Fine. I'll do the job. But if you touch her again--"
“Don't threaten me. Not now," Walter interrupted. "I'm not in a forgiving mood."
He hung up.
~ ~ ~ ~
God, he hated this. Fury made his foot heavy on the gas pedal and he zoomed through traffic. He wasn't sure what the right way to handle the situation was. Did he call Mike at the FBI? Did he call Roger?
... did he just do the damned job and run with Jessica?
He'd spent his whole life wanting a family. Now he had one, and it felt like his life had been in shambles ever since. What good was having brothers if Jessica was dead? But would Jessica still be able to love him if she knew what he was capable of doing to keep her?
He peeled to a stop in front of Roger's D.C. home. It was nice, posh. Not too posh, because Roger liked to keep things small in D.C. The more you remind people of your billionaire status, the more they tended to resent you. The family home back in Alexandria, of course...
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