Page 60 of Satin Empire

He’s big with bright white hair and a huge nose. His eyes are light blue and the lines on his face make him seem all the more imposing. When he speaks, it’s with a light German accent, like he’s been living here a long time but hasn’t given up the last shreds of his old country. “Whatever you’re selling, I don’t want it, and whoever you’re canvassing for, I won’t vote for him, so good day.”

“Wait, Markus Becker? We spoke over the phone. My name’s Carlo Rossi.”

He doesn’t move. The door doesn’t slam, but he also doesn’t seem excited to see me. I’m pretty sure he’s about to curse me out, when Alana appears at my side, smiling her big, gorgeous smile, and giving him a small wave.

“Hello, Mr. Becker. I’m Carlo’s wife, Alana.”

The old fucking perv’s eyes glance down her body, but at least he doesn’t stare, and his expression softens. “Nice to meet you, young lady. Is your husband as crazy as I think he is?”

“Definitely,” she says, putting her hand through my arm and leaning against me. “And he’s also very serious about buying your property if you’re willing to sell.”

Becker grunts in reply, shaking his head, but he opens the door and lets us follow him inside.

The interior of the house smells like stale flowers. We enter into a sitting room with a blue couch on the left and a grandfather clock in the corner. He instructs us to sit while he moves into a kitchen in the back, bustling around for a minute, and returns with snacks: corn chips, three cans of Coke, and a chocolate bar cut into pieces.

“Best I can do,” he grumbles and takes the chair in the corner of the room. “Now, no bullshit. You really want to buy my warehouse?”

“Yes, sir. I can’t be the first person to make an offer. It’s in a great location.”

His eyes narrow and I can tell the old guy isn’t stupid. “No, you’re not the first offer, but you are the first person to give me a reasonable number.”

“We’re very serious about this,” Alana says, leaning forward to pick up a Coke. Becker’s eyes travel along her arm, and I feel a twinge of fucking jealousy pulse into my stomach. Which is stupid considering I was the one that made her wear the dress and play the role of my pretty arm candy, but now that she got us into the door, I find that I don’t like it when another man eyes her. Even if that man is too old to get it up.

“Tell me what you’re going to do with the space,” he says, which isn’t what I expected. I figured he’d want to make sure we have the money, that this whole thing is actually above-board and legit.

I give him the quick version. When I’m finished, I can tell he’s not happy about the prospect, and I have one clue why—the place is a dump, and even if it’s going to be a club, at least it’ll get used again.

But before he can say anything, Alana speaks up. “What did you use the warehouse for, if you don’t mind me asking?”

His expression softens a touch. “I used to import goods from Germany. I had friends and family there, but most of them are gone now. Back in those days, the business was good, I could fill up that space and sell everything in a few months then start all over again. Vacuums, radios, whatever people wanted, I’d bring it over, but then the world started to change and German goods weren’t what they once were, and now the space is empty.”

“You must miss it,” she says and puts a hand on my knee. I watch her, not sure what she’s up to, but decide to trust her. “It sounds like that warehouse was your life and a connection back to your old home.”

“It was everything to me. I understand you likely see a big, beat-up old building now, but it was bustling back in my day. I had two dozen employees, all of them good German men and women, and I made sure their families were taken care of. But the world changes.”

“Tell me about it,” Alana says, and she gets the old man talking about the good old days while I watch and marvel at how easily she draws him out. It’s clear Becker hasn’t spoken about this stuff in ages. And yet for some reason, the guy’s willing to spill his guts to my wife, all because she’s engaged and asking questions and really empathizing with the man. It’s impressive—I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone draw another person out like this before, and by the time Becker’s done, I can tell the deal’s going to happen.

I barely need to do much. Alana mentions how the club will bring new life to the space, how it’ll be a new social center for people, and even if it’s not like it was back in the day, at least it’ll be alive again. Becker can come visit whenever he likes.

“I want papers drawn up,” he says as I shake his hand after we agree on a number. “Lawyers, official documents, that sort of thing.”

“Absolutely. I’ll have everything sent over in the next day or two, and you can have someone look it over to make sure it’s exactly what we agreed on. Does that work?”

“That works.” He nods once at me and looks to Alana. “Thank you for indulging an old man’s stories. That warehouse has been on my mind a lot lately, ever since I went down there and found a bunch of strange men camping in my old office.” He laughs as if it’s the funniest thing in the world. “This was a month ago, maybe more. I know vagabonds sometimes do drugs and such, but these men seemed so normal, except they barked at me in Russian like a bunch of dogs.”

I stand very still. My feet go cold and my hands start to sweat. I look over at Alana and her mouth is hanging open in shock. Becker’s walking to the door and he must not notice our reaction, and I manage to get myself under control when he turns back around.

“Those guys you saw. Did you get a good look?”

“No, it was very dark, but they were in decent clothes and had phones and computers with them.”

“That’s so strange,” Alana says, slipping her hand into mine and smiling like it’s the most normal conversation in the world. Except my head feels like it’s full of wool.

“I threatened to call the police,” Becker says. “They cursed at me in Russian and thought they were being really clever, but I am the clever one, and I cursed right back at them in their own language.” He guffaws, pleased with himself.

“Did they say anything else?”

He tilts his head and his smile fades as he remembers. “One of them mentioned going across the river, and another guy told him to shut up and that they’d only go there if things got bad. They argued about it a little before I went to call the police, and when I got back, all their things were packed and they were gone. I don’t get down to the warehouse often, so I don’t know if they ever came back. I hope those nasty vagrants are rotting in jail.”

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