Cadillac Payback: Rising Tide by AJ Elmore (grave mercy .TXT) 📗

fun. Fun like putting my hand in a wood chipper. Still, I have to be on point, whether I want to or not.

I catch Mona checking herself in a decorative mirror, and I make the same face she had given me over the stairs. She just spent an hour and a half getting ready, and I wonder what could have possibly changed from her room to the elevator. Probably she just likes looking at herself, because she’s a vain cunt at the very least. No one will ever love her more than she loves her.

The elevator opens, and we step in. I stand as far away from them as I can, which is really only a few feet. We haven’t even made it out of the air conditioning yet, and already these charcoal slacks and this pale yellow button-up are stifling. She explained to me that pastels would complement my tan, and I told her to fuck herself.

She’s been a little less brave about what she says to me since I banged her like a horny frat boy. It hasn’t stopped the shade completely, but hearing her less has been a nice change. It will be interesting watching her stomach Jorge. He’s slicker than a grease trap, and this will be their first meeting.

We exit into the lobby, and file out into the morning. Already the air feels sticky, and I’m over it. I light a cigarette on the walk to the car. Mona gives me an aggravated sigh, but she doesn’t say anything. I give her a shitty smirk, which she fields with unexpected grace. Likely, she doesn’t want to give me a reason to tell Prince Cardigan that I fucked his princess.

They turn the AC on blast in the rental Lexus as they wait for me to smoke. By the time I climb into the backseat, my mind is on the game ahead. Charlie used to handle negotiations with a charisma level unmatched by anyone I’ve ever met. He would charm the hell out of anyone, unless things got ugly. Then he was a menace.

I don’t have that kind of personality. I’m not a salesman, or a threat, and if I’m honest, I’m not exactly invested in seeing the deal succeed.

The drive over is halting, and it gets worse the closer we get to the Quarter. Neither of them bothers to turn on the radio, so I suffer in silence. I watch buildings and streets roll by, and I wish there weren’t memories attached to so many of them.

Fucking finally, we pull up to the valet, and turn the car over to him. Inside, Mona gives her name like she expects a parade to greet her. The host checks the book without even cracking a smile. The corners of Mona’s mouth turn down as the host leads the way without pomp. I guess she’s not used to the apathy of the service industry of New Orleans.

Deeper inside, we come to a door, which the host opens and steps aside. I swear he looks down his nose at her when she walks by. He gives me a disinterested glance, but there’s no way he doesn’t notice the grin flash on my lips, because then he gives me a curt nod.

Inside is done in earth tones and dark red accents. There’s a table big enough for ten people. The two people present stand when we enter.

Jorge’s eyes land directly on Mona. My gaze skips over him, and my heart feels like it plops far down into my gut. It seems Jorge has a new security detail.

Freddy holds my eyes with his, without so much as a facial twitch. It’s just what I would expect from him, but I wasn’t ready for this to be the context in which I’d see him in action again. Just when I thought things couldn’t get any more fucked up.

I hear Mona’s breath quietly catch, and I know she has recognized Freddy. My attention slides to Jorge, and I find him watching me. As slimy as he is, he’s not stupid. I can tell he’s trying to gauge the dynamic between Freddy and me, and whether there’s a possibility of violence. No doubt he’s thinking of the scene in the mansion hallway.

I reach out to shake Jorge’s hand, and say, “Jorge, meet Mona.”

As a silent jab, I don’t mention Lucas.

Jorge shakes my hand. His palm is clammy. He’s nervous. Then he sticks his hand toward Mona and says, “Pleasure.”

I check her sidelong, because this will be good. She barely keeps the disgust from ruining her resting bitch face, and accepts the gesture. A ghost of amusement flickers across my lips that I’m certain Freddy catches. Nobody else does. Jorge ignores Lucas as well.

As we take our seats, I glance back at Freddy. He’s wearing his glasses, a short-sleeved black button-up that reveals the tattoos on his forearms, and khakis. My gaze skids to a stop on one of those tats, one he didn’t have before I left. One I didn’t notice in the darkness of the patio. It’s a sniper rifle. My stomach turns.

He’s watching me again. I can feel it. There’s a light knock, then the server enters with a tray full of glasses and bottle of mineral water. It’s a perfect distraction from meeting Freddy’s eye again. Doubtless, he’s already measuring up the server anyway, as if the woman would be a threat.

Mona scrutinizes the wine list, then orders a Prosecco split. The only dark beer they have is an amberboch, so I order that. Lucas asks for an unsweet tea, because he’s that exciting. Jorge sticks to the water, and Freddy doesn’t speak.

The server, in her early forties, I’d say, is as unimpressed by us as the host was. She leaves with the drink order, and without small talk or pleasantries.

I look to Jorge, and say, “My” – dramatic pause – “clients have reviewed your first offer. They wonder if you might be” – another pause – “lowballing them on the price