Page 105 of Lord Have Mercy Part Four: Big Son

Ghost’s stomach tightened painfully.

“Younger than you, yes? Young enough you could have gone to prison had anyone learned of your relationship with her when you first met.”

“I don’t think you really wanna talk about prison, do you?”

“Of course not,” Abacus said, smoothly, unperturbed. “I’m simply putting a few things in context. Your wife was quite young when you met her.” The look that came over his face then, wistful and reflective, made Ghost’s skin crawl. “Supple, smooth skin. Tight body. Gravity still working in her favor: a girl on the cusp of womanhood, perfectly ripe for picking.”

Ian kicked Ghost’s ankle under the table, and Ghost stepped on his toes to keep him still.

“I’m sure you wanted her,” Abacus said, “enough to risk prison. Enough to risk everything.

“But that was many years ago, and while your want doubtless hasn’t abated, your wife has changed. Matured, softened, fattened. She’s borne two children, and her body will show that strain. Does she dye her hair? Gotten any cosmetic surgery? Perhaps she harangues you about taking out the garbage, or remembering your anniversary. Tells you to drink and smoke less. She nags, and nags, and nags, and you’re left wanting more than ever.

“Now, I know how…clubs…like yours operate. I know there are groupies. Ladies who admire your…aesthetic. But are they what you truly want? Are they the subjects of your fantasies, late at night, when you can’t sleep, and your wife is snoring, and you wonder how your life ended up so pedestrian and unfulfilling?

“There are tens of thousands of men – and even women, couples – in your position. And for those who are willing to pay, I can fulfill every want that’s ever possessed them.”

With great effort, he hitched himself up higher in his chair, waving off the helping hands of a guard. He leaned across the table, and Ghost could smell the sour wine on his breath, undercut by something medicinal and foul, the smell ofold. “Imagine it: imagine stroking your hands up the unblemished thighs of a girl just turned eighteen, with breasts like gumdrops, and she’s ready to tend to your every wish. Whatever you can imagine, you can act out with her.”

“You’re talking about slavery.”

“No. I’m talking about ambition, and the rewards of it.” He turned his head, a slow and creaky effort, and pawed at the air in a gesture that sent a guard out of the room. The old man’s expression took on a self-satisfied air that Ghost didn’t trust.

The guard returned a moment later, marching a girl in front of him.

She was barefoot, dressed in a silk negligee that revealed dark bruises around her throat and along her collarbones. Her hands were bound before her, ankles connected with a short length of steel cable, so she only had room to shuffle, and couldn’t have run if she’d tried. She moved with bent head, and bowed spine, curved into herself and trembling.

Ghost watched Abacus twist his head with aged difficulty, watched him smile at the sight of her that way, and had never wanted to kill a man more.

“Here, bring her here,” Abacus instructed, and the girl was steered up beside him, right at the edge of the table. A second guard stepped forward, tipped her head back with a rough touch at her chin, and swept her dark hair off her face. She’d been crying for a while, eyes red and puffy, tears shiny with dried tear tracks.

“Stunning, isn’t she?” Abacus asked, and reached with one gnarled paw to stroke her arm. She jerked in response, but didn’t step away, caught between her two captors. “All that youth, all that promise – and she was wasting it. Buying cocaine in a club.” He tsked. “Now, though.” He passed his hand back up her arm, and Ghost saw gooseflesh break out down the length of it. “Now she can serve a purpose.” He gripped her elbow, for all that he was able, and turned to Ghost. “A gift for you, Mr. Teague. A gesture of good will, should you agree to my terms.”

“And what are those?”

“Few. But they’re nonnegotiable.” As he spoke, the guards ushered the girl around the table toward Ghost. “Firstly, all of your countermeasures against us will come to an immediate and total end. Secondly, you will be required to tailor your business practices in such a way that best serves the needs of my organization.”

The girl arrived at his side, shivering, smelling of stale sweat and urine.

“Meaning?”

“He wants you to procure girls for him,” Ian spoke for the first time, voice unusually heavy. He sounded like he had a lump in his throat. “Right?” he asked Abacus. “That’s how it works with you: everyone contributes, and then everyone has skin in the game so no one turns on each other.”

Abacus shrugged; a small motion that nevertheless left him wincing when something popped audibly in his shoulder. “Contributions vary from member to member, thatisnegotiable. But a contribution must be made.”

The girl leaned against Ghost’s side, and he had the impression it was out of a genuine need of physical support. “We have a powerful paralytic at our disposal,” he offered. “Not currently on the market.”

Abacus’s smug looked dropped away. The sagging of his face into anger would have been comical under different circumstances. Thunder grumbled, close enough now to rattle the windows.

“It’s not on the market because it was designed for our exclusive use.”

Ghost shrugged, and felt the girl shift, leaning in closer against him. She was trembling. “Shoulda found someone more trustworthy than Luis to truck it in from Mexico for you, then. ‘Cause it’s ours, now.”

Abacus’s jaw and throat worked a moment, before he finally said, “I can’t help but feel you aren’t taking this meeting seriously, Mr. Teague.”

“You’re right. I’m not.”

Abacus drew a breath through quivering lips to respond, his droopy eyelids lifting so that his forehead was nothing more than a liver-spotted stack of wrinkles.

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