The Note by Natalie Wrye (urban books to read .TXT) 📗

And soon we are all staring.

But the foul-tasting flavor of the pizza isn’t our only problem. Because with one glance, I find myself gazing at a familiar face.

A face that’s too familiar.

The face of the man who had walked out of Al’s Pawnshop, my father’s watch in his hands. The hair is different, but there’s no mistaking him.

The sandy brown hair was now blonde, but the Benny’s Pizza polo was the same.

The man in the frame…is definitely the one who purchased my watch from the little known Pawnshop in the Bronx.

I may not have personal experience with the others, but I hate him on sight, the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end as I stare.

My voice is rumble when I start talking.

“Just who the hell is this Richard Slauson, anyway?”

Drew looks over. “Only the oiliest, sleaziest general manager to ever sliver his way into management, that’s who.”

Nancy cuts him off. “He’s my general manager.” She sighs, her eyes skimming over Drew. “And because of what my employees say, he’ll be my soon-to-be fired general manager.”

That explained why I saw the prick lurking in the background of The Alchemist.

But why had he bought the watch in the first place?

The question sours on the tip of my tongue. Along with the most important one:

“Where the hell could Sophia be?”

Nancy shrugs, her bob swaying. “The Alchemist isn’t open for another half-hour. But we could head over there.”

But I’m already ahead of her. In seconds, I’m out of the pizza shop, ferrying the rest of this motley crew to the next destination.

And this time? I’m driving.

I’ve been afraid of a lot of things in my lifetime. Abandonment. Losing my company. Tarnishing my image and everything that came with it.

But there’s nothing that prepares me for this.

There’s nothing like the fear of losing Sophia.

I gun it.

SOPHIA

“Rick, you don’t want to do this.” My voice is surprisingly steady. “Put the gun down, please.”

“Shut your mouth,” the blond animal snarls. “You can’t sweet-talk your way out of this.”

My eyes widen. “Have you met me, Rick? I don’t know the meaning of sweet-talk. Have you actually heard me talk to our customers? Sandpaper has more finesse.”

He ignores me, pointing with the pistol to a stool. “Sit.”

“Sure.” I perch on top of a leathered seat, my feet locked on the wooden foot rails. I inhale a deep breath. “Is that all?”

“No, that’s not all,” he sneers. “You and I are going to go for a ride in a little while.”

I freeze. “What kind of ride?”

“One to the police station.” He circles the room, situating himself behind the bar again. He keeps the gun aimed at my chest, and my eyebrows draw together in confusion.

“Why?”

“Why?” He repeats, mocking me. “Because once you tell the cops that you stole the watch you sold, then everyone will see the little liar that you are. The little liar that you always were.”

My stomach bottoms out, and nausea rumbles around inside. I glare at Rick. “Who are you?”

He grins, his toothy smile wide and sloppy. “Just a friend.”

I stare. “I don’t need any more friends.”

Rick pushes the gun closer, his hand jutting out. “I never said I was yours.” He starts pacing in the small space behind the bar. “No, my friends are a lot more…lucrative. Friends like Chris Jackson.” He angles nearer. “You remember what it was like to have friends like that? Or rather, your father sure does.”

“What does my father have to do with this?”

“He has everything to do with this.” Rick’s brown eyes burn with barely hidden anger. “Because if he doesn’t withdraw the testimony about Chris for his parole hearing, then his precious little princess…” He scoffs and I know exactly which princess he’s talking about. “Will wind up in prison right beside him.”

He glances at me, his blond hair falling into his face. He uses his free hand to smooth it back, ever the pretend-polished playboy he believes himself to be.

His thin lips spread into a crooked smile. “Don’t you know that Chris’s reach extends all around the world? Not to mention Manhattan.” He sniffs, sounding self-important. As usual. “This isn’t the first time I worked for C.J.”

It was C.J., all of a sudden? Now the over pompous bastard was using unprompted nicknames. It didn’t get more twisted than this.

‘Really?” I keep him talking. “Where did you work for him before?”

“Benny’s Pizza,” he harrumphs. “And don’t give me that look. It was a front for money laundering. And I made over half a million a year there when I was a manager.”

“That explains why the pizza tastes like a foot.”

But Rick can’t help but ignore me. On his high horse now, he boasts about working for the world’s biggest bastard, present company excluded.

But I’m not the lost kid I once was, no longer a broken child.

There was some good that came with my atypical Bronx upbringing. And that was knowing how to handle a hot spot. And it didn’t get any hotter than the one I was currently in.

I shift on the stool. “So, I’m assuming that you’re the person who bought the watch I sold?”

Rick’s eyes lock. “You assume correctly.”

“And I’m assuming you bought it from Al for more than the fifty thousand dollar price-tag?”

“I bought it for almost a hundred actually.” He smiles—smugly. “If you’ve been listening at all, then you know that I certainly can afford it.”

“Then I’m assuming that you know that particular watch is worth over half a million dollars?”

Rick’s smile slides off his face, replaced with a quick frown. He doesn’t know if I’m serious or not, but he stares at me just to be sure. Reaching beside the counter, he slips inside some hidden drawer I hadn’t noticed, retrieving Noah’s watch, the platinum piece of jewelry wrapped around his palm as he stares.

He doesn’t look at me now. “You’re lying.”

“Wish I were.”

“That can’t be true,” he asserts.

“But it is.” I sidle up closer to the bar, sinking back into the same deception mode