Page 91 of Moonlighter
Max prowls around his space, turning on some music. Ella Fitzgerald’s crooning starts up from speakers hidden somewhere nearby. He pours a bit of whiskey from a crystal decanter into two glasses. He crosses the room and hands one to Eric, who is seated beside me. “Just a nip. The night isn’t over yet.”
“Whatever you say.” He takes the glass and inhales deeply. “How many decades old is this one?” He sips carefully.
“Four,” Max says, settling into a leather chair. “Life is short, so I only drink the good shit.”
“Oh, I’ve noticed.”
There’s a low chime from the direction of the elevator. Max sets down his drink on a dark wood table and crosses to a small control panel. He glances at the screen, then places his palm onto it before walking back to his seat again.
A moment later the doors slide open. Scout strides out in leather pants and a form-fitting sweater. She marches over to where Max sits and slaps a piece of paper down onto the table beside him. “Here’s his license plate number.”
“Nice work, as always.” Max lifts his chin and takes her in, a smile playing at his lips. “Feel free to reward yourself with a nip of this Glen Keith. Not too much, though. You’ll be driving again tonight.”
She doesn’t cross to the decanter like I expect her to, though. Instead, she takes Max’s glass right out of his hand and gives it a sniff.
“Hey, I’m drinking that.”
Scout takes a sip, as if he hadn’t spoken. “Nice.” She hands it back to him, and then disappears toward the sleek kitchen in the corner. I wouldn’t actually be able to tell that it’s a kitchen except for the tea kettle sitting on one of the sleek surfaces. And because when Scout tugs on a panel, it opens to reveal a refrigerator. She pulls out a bottle of Mexican soda and opens it with a tool that’s hanging off the set of keys on her belt.
She is riveting, honestly. She reminds me of a black cat—quick and graceful and wholly at ease in her body. If I ever felt like that, I can’t even remember it now.
Whale mode is my new normal.
Max taps his watch and speaks to someone. “Trace this Jersey license plate: 2 Alpha Lima Quebec 3.”
Ella Fitzgerald sings on as Scout joins us in the main seating area, taking the leather chair beside Max’s, tossing her short legs over the arm of it and swigging her soda.
“Okay, debrief,” Max says. “Where did the motorcycle find you?”
I explain Duff’s Brooklyn sighting, and the subsequent events. “The kid can drive.”
“His dad is a NASCAR champion. And he has the best eyesight of anyone on my team. I talked him out of becoming a Navy SEAL.” Max sips his whiskey. “So what do we know?”
“Motorcycle man has a trimmed black beard and a small stature,” Scout says. “He wasn’t Jared Tatum.”
“I could have told you that,” I hear myself offer. “I never heard him mention a motorcycle. Golf is more his speed.”
“He’s at home watching golf right now, as a matter of fact,” Max says. “It’s the first thing I checked.”
“But wouldn’t Tatum hire someone to intimidate Alex?” Eric asks. “Cowards outsource.”
“Maybe,” Max says, and his tone makes me think he isn’t a believer. “It’s not as easy to pull off as the movies would have you think, though. You can’t go to goons.com and order up a guy in creepy black motorcycle goggles. And it’s only been ten hours since Alex’s lawyers dropped their bombshell on him.”
“Maybe he has a crazy little brother, too,” Eric says.
Max shakes his head. “Only child. Besides, I’ve been monitoring his phone. The first person he called after the lawyers left was his mom.”
“Oh,” I say quietly. He called his mom for advice. “That’s not what a deranged man does.”
“Not generally, no,” Max says quietly.
We all sit with that idea for a second. And then I ask the obvious question. “If Jared Tatum isn’t trying to scare me, then who is?”
“I don’t know, but I intend to find out,” Max says. “What if this has more to do with your factory fire than with your baby?”
“But…” A factory burns down in China. What does that have to do with me? “I still don’t follow the logic. Intimidation would be a ridiculous idea. I’m never doing business with anyone who tries to frighten me.”
Max drains his scotch. “It doesn’t all add up yet. But I’m going to figure it out.”
