Page 19 of Devil In A Suit

“As you yourself said, it is their excuse. But a head’s up. This is just the beginning. The real problem is the persistent rumors. Rumors of political intrigue in high places…”

“Who is purporting these rumors?"

"You surely don’t expect me to reveal my sources."

I study the man. "I have done nothing wrong and you know it. Not only that you have absolutely nothing on me, but I have something on you.”

"What do you mean?" he asks warily.

"You dream of being the higher power, or running for higher office, don’t you? What is it? Governor? Mayor? You’ll need backing and funds. Lots and lots. But no one will back you because you are principled and refuse to be corrupted. I am very open to being your ally. All you have to do is ask.”

He stares at me, and then he smiles. “You wouldn’t be trying to bribe me, would you?”

I chuckle. “You are smarter than that, David. We can be friends or enemies. I do not have reason at this very moment to consider you an enemy, but the ball is in your court."

"This meeting started out friendly and I’d like to conclude it in the same manner. As long as I find nothing untoward in my due process, I will owe you one courtesy call to warn you ahead of time if the bureaucrats decide to move against you."

"For that, you will never again have to feel like a bug," I promise.

“And they will never beat you. You are where you rightly belong. I see that now,” he says softly.

Chapter Thirteen

IVAN

Closing the PDF Greta sends me, I delete it from my phone. I lean back against my car seat and stare out of the window. What I am going to do is cruel. Very cruel. I have never done anything like this before. And if I do it there is no going back. She will hate me violently, but… I will get what I want. Is it worth it? The answer flashes into my head, clear and definite.

Yes.

Yes, it is worth it.

I think of Lara’s fingers unwittingly caressing my chest while her mouth says no. Yes, I can live with her hate. I want only her passion and that instinctive, animalistic need I saw briefly in her eyes. I know she wants me. The only thing standing between us is her pride and a stupid sense of propriety.

In the background, Violetta, the tragic fallen woman inLa Triavatais singing, ‘Nothing in the world matters except pleasure. Let’s enjoy ourselves. Love is a flower that blooms, dies, and is gone forever’.

The car comes to a stop outside a shop in a rundown area in Brooklyn. There is graffiti on the half-closed roller metal shutters. A hooded man jumps out of nowhere and comes forward. Alexei and Igor do their thing and he finds himself suddenly trapped between them. I get out of the car and walk towards them. The man turns out to be very young, no more than nineteen, but his eyes are shifty. He has spent his whole life in the slums and knows only to cheat, lie, and steal.

“You here for the game?” he asks.

I nod.

“This way, bro,” he says. He seems nervous, but that is on account of the intimidating size of Alexei and Igor.

I follow the youth down a narrow steep concrete staircase into a dingy basement where an illegal gambling club has been set up. Dice in the front, blackjack and poker at the back. I walk towards the back. There are already five men seated at the table. Everyone looks up at my arrival. They are waiting for me. I am the whale, the mark. They think they are going to skin me for anywhere between sixty to a hundred thousand dollars. Alexei and Igor stand at the door. They face outwards because the danger is not from the gamblers, but from the masked robbers who come in with guns. I take a seat at the table with the men. Three I can see are the degenerate gamblers, the losers, and the other two are the sharp professionals. They nod at me, but their eyes give nothing away.

A heavily made-up woman in a tight dress comes up to offer me a drink.

“Scotch on the rocks,” I say, even though I have no intention of drinking anything in this establishment.

“Are we all ready to start?” the dealer asks.

I put my first thick wad of cash on the table. The only person who blinks with greedy surprise is Lara Fitzgerald’s father.

We start to play. The professionals make sure that three degenerates and I win for the first few rounds. They are carefully persuading us to be careless and overconfident. Lara’s father’s face is flushed, his eyes are glittering, and there is a sheen of sweat on his skin. He is exactly as Greta described in her report: gambling addict by night, doting father and real estate company director by day. He asks for another glass of whiskey and leans forward eagerly. He thinks he is on a winning streak.

And he is. He wins the next game. “Excuse me, lads. I need a bathroom break.”

“Me too,” I say and stand.

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