Page 4 of Breaking Storm

“What was that about?” I shrug. “Next time, be careful. He could have pulled a gun on you.”

As we continue to collect the dues from businesses, Sean asks, “You haven’t said anything about the marriage.”

“What’s to say?”

He catches my arm to stop me. “For starters, what did James threaten you with this time?”

I move again and he follows alongside. “If I didn’t agree to the marriage, I wouldn’t be able to check the camera feeds to make sure she’s safe. He’ll cut off all Skype contact.”

He is shadow boxing the air. “Shit!” He shakes his head and then stares at my profile. “James is an asshole.” I continue to stare ahead. “So, you’re going to go through with this arranged marriage.” My sideways glance and downward tip of my chin give him the answer. “Well, at least it’s Teagan. You’ve been crushing on her since grammar school.”

We arrive at an art gallery, and the bell above the door chimes when we walk in. Bernardo glances up, and when he sees us, he shuffles papers into a pile, shoving them in a drawer.

He comes around the desk and says, “Joey. Sean. Good to see you.”

Bernardo makes a mint from crazy art pieces that resemble trash. He’s even had exhibits, praising a new artist who created weird neon signs and a suit hanging on a hanger. The art community is a rare breed. They’re set apart from the rest of us who don’t consider splashes of paint on a canvas, or crepe paper glued together art.

A skinny man of forty, Bernardo’s head reflects the lights, and beads of sweat trickle down his temples. His eyes dart from Sean to me and back.

He rushes out, “Can I get you two anything?”

I bury my hands in my pockets, which has many people assuming I have a gun in one of them. It’s actually tucked in my back holster. Bernardo isn’t so bad. He’s a scared little rich man.

With a chin nod toward his office, I say, “Just the dues, Bernardo.”

We follow him into the back area, collect the money, and as I’m counting it, he boasts, “I’m having an exhibition next weekend. You two are more than welcome to come, and I’ll even waive admission.”

Sean stares at Bernardo like he grew two heads while I finish counting.

I tap the pile on the side of the desk and ask, “Does the admission cost a thousand dollars?”

He’s jittery, eyes darting around the room, and then he says, “Uh, no, why?”

My voice is level. “Don’t bullshit me, Bernardo. I know how to count.”

Unfortunately for him, I’m a whiz at math. I’m so good my old man handed over the accounting ledgers to me when I was twelve. Ever since, I’ve been doing our books, investing, and shuffling monies into separate accounts.

Bernardo’s palms slide down the sides of his pants. “Um, well, now that you mention it…”

I smack the pile of money against my palm. “Where’s the thousand?” Bernardo goes behind his desk and reaches for a drawer. “Be very careful opening that drawer.”

He holds one hand in the air, the other retrieving money, and he hands it over.

Sean moves next to him and says, “This doesn’t look good, Bernardo. Hiding money and trying to rip off the Coopers isn’t smart.” He brings Bernardo’s arm behind his back.

Bernardo’s head is about to fly off his neck from the speed he’s shaking it. “No. I didn’t mean to.”

Sean pushes the arm behind Bernardo’s back upward and he screams. I’ve known Sean practically my whole life, and he barely nudged it.

I lean on the desk. “Why were you hiding the money?”

Bernardo’s thin lips quiver while tears and snot drip off his chin and mouth. “A friend’s daughter.” Sean shoves him into the seat, Bernardo looking from him to me. “She had surgery, and he doesn’t have enough money. I… I’ve been saving but was short this week.”

The guy might be naïve to think I wouldn’t notice he short-changed us, but he’s not stupid enough to lie about his friend. To make sure, I ask him questions to gauge his response and reaction.

“What procedure?”

“For her leg. She was in a car accident, and her leg was crushed. She has pins and a steel plate on her fibula. Now she needs physical therapy.” I stare at him, waiting for more. His head whips from me to Sean. “My friend doesn’t have insurance.”

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