Page 68 of Bidding War

38

ANDERSON

Meeting Moss at a convenience store down the street from June’s apartment feels wrong. He's been there before. He knows where she lives. Obviously. But I just don't like having him in proximity to June. Ever.

Today, though, shouldn't be that bad. According to Moss, the guy we're going to pick up from is a pipsqueak. So, having him anywhere near her today doesn't feel too dangerous. I don't want him around her any day we're going to do any serious pick up, though. He gets this edgy, unstable energy on those days. Like his gun might go off in the wrong direction at any moment.

He pulls up in his big black SUV, wearing clothes to match. The large man grins and says, “Anderson, good to see you. Get in.” His typical greeting.

I get in on the passenger side of his ride, and we're off. “How did Caterina's ballet recital go?”

“I gave her the wrong name.”

I laugh at that, confused. “How so?”

He chuckles. “I should have named her Angela. Not her sister. Caterina moves like an angel. I am so proud of her.”

There are many things that I could say about Moss. Maybe the most important one is that he is a doting father. “I'm glad to hear she did so well. What can you tell me about our target today?”

“Today we are visiting one Mr. Edgar Jones. He is a CPA. He is afraid of his own shadow but managed to lose $100,000 to your father, and that is what we are coming to collect.”

“Holy crap, How did he lose that kind of money?”

Moss shakes his head. “Never bet on the Cowboys.”

I laugh hard at that. Can't believe somebody lost their life savings over the Dallas Cowboys. “Damn, if you're gonna lose that kind of money, at least bet on the Patriots. If you're gonna lose, lose on the home team.”

“Jones is originally from Texas. I think he holds some sort of loyalty to them.”

I sigh. “Bad call, Jonesy. Bad call.”

“We get Chinese food after this?”

It is easier to talk June out of her cravings than to talk Moss out of his. There are two things, three things, to never come between Moss and (Moss and what?). His daughters. His music. And his food. That's why I ask about the recital and why we listen to opera on the way to threaten some guy. Staying on Moss's good side is a good way to stay alive.

“You think Jonesy might give us any trouble?”

“Never. He's a good client. This is a lot of money for him. But he is a good client. He will pay.”

Moss takes us to a four-story average brick office building in Wellesley. It's as plain as plain can be. I'm not even sure I could find my way back here. Nothing about this place sticks out other than the empty parking lot. “Why are there almost no cars?”

“Most of the offices here do work-from-home. Makes it the perfect place to meet Jones.” He parks near some trees instead of near the front, making it easier to distort what his vehicle looks like if there are any cameras around. The more branches, the better. Moss parks so that his license plate will not face any camera.

I have so much to learn from this man.

“How does a CPA come up with this kind of cash?”

“He said he takes it from 401K.”

“His wife won't like that,” I note.

Moss chuckles. “You tell the girlfriend everything?”

I can't tell if that's a careful interrogation or a genuine question. Does he know that I've been forbidden to see June? Does he think I'll confide in him? Every word, every sentence, every gesture means something to Moss. And those things he reports to my father. I have no illusions about his loyalty to me over Dad.

I smile at him. “Does anyone?”

He laughs boisterously at that. “Telling everything is a good way to lose a relationship. Let's go.”

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