The Black Sheep, Part 2: Greed (The Seven Deadly Kins #4)

Chapter Twenty-Seven

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Poker and Property

“G randpa, I will meet you at your house,” Roman rolled the dice in his palm as he leaned against the wall of the casino. “I can be there tomorrow at six PM.”

“I told you that you’re not callin’ any shots, and I will decide how, when and where. I’m glad that you called though.” He could practically hear the smug bastard’s smile over the phone. “I will meet you at your office, during business hours. Just like a regular client.”

Roman sucked his teeth as he watched machines light up, chime and bing.

“Okay.” He glanced at his watch. “I’ll see you then.”

Roman popped a piece of chewing gum in his mouth and leisurely walked around the casino. Finally, he was approached by two security guards.

“Mr. Wilde, Mr. Lee is ready to see you now.”

Roman walked with the casually dressed gentlemen down a long hall until they reached a series of doors. The area looked rather underwhelming with its low ceilings, strange yellow lighting, and sterile décor. Such a contrast from the gaming area. It smelled like wet newspaper, too.

He was led into a large room with long white columns and Greek style art. Now this is more like it. Two men in dark suits were standing at the front of the area beside a bald man dressed in a green coat and white button-down shirt. Roman wasn’t familiar with this sort of assembly, and that may have been for the best.

“Mr. Wilde, please have a seat.” One of the bodyguards pulled out a chair for him and he sat down. “After our phone call, I wanted you to come as soon as possible. After all, it’s not every day that we have someone admit to such a thing. Nevertheless, I didn’t expect it to be the next day.” Mr. Lee smiled, then laughed lightly. “I appreciate you wishing to move forward with this.”

“Yes, no need to drag it out. It’s been weighing on my mind.”

Mr. Lee nodded in understanding, though Roman highly doubted that he truly understood at all. “Would you like some water? Ginger ale? Maybe a cocktail?”

“No, thank you.” It began to feel particularly hot. He unbuttoned his suit jacket and undid the first button of his shirt. “So,” he sat straight and clasped his hands, looking the man in the eye, “I told you that I did some things. I gave you details as to what those things were. We both agree that at the time, some aspects of it were illegal. All of it was unethical. Now, I can’t go back in time, but what I can do is apologize, and write you an electronic check.” Roman pulled out his phone and opened up one of his online bank account apps. “I am going to refund the money, with ten percent interest.” He concentrated on the screen, but he could feel the tension and confusion in the room.

“I… I have never seen anything like this in my life.” Mr. Lee laughed nervously, tossing up his hands. “I honestly thought that you were bullshitting me on the phone! Someone just playing a trick. A game.”

“I’m a funny guy, Mr. Lee.” Roman smirked as he finished the transaction. “But one thing I don’t play about is money. The transaction is complete.” Roman got to his feet and refastened the top button of his shirt. “Oh, before I go, one more thing.”

“Yes?”

“Let’s be honest. A good majority of the people makin’ you rich don’t have the money to lose, and they are drowning in debt, drug and alcohol dependency, or being sold in some sex trafficking ring and here to pick up tricks. The good ol’ days of so-called harmless gambling joints is long gone.” Mr. Lee sat stone-faced, listening. “Addiction and places like this go hand in hand. I say all of that to say that I have a request. Please, if I may be so bold, I’d like for you to make a donation to families affected by addiction. There’s a group in my home state of Texas called ‘Family of Tears.’ It’s for spouses, parents, children and siblings of addicts. Addiction to gambling, drugs, sex, everything. I don’t think gambling within itself is bad. I think that the elements it attracts can be.”

Mr. Lee glanced down at his phone, his brow arched. He must’ve seen the deposit. “I will consider it, Mr. Wilde.”

“Thank you. I’ll be on my way now.” Roman glanced at his watch once again.

“You’re an interesting man. I feel like there’s something you’re not telling me that prompted this, but I appreciate it all the same. It was nice meeting you, Mr. Wilde.” He got to his feet, and they shook hands.

“Likewise.” Roman walked a few feet away, then paused. “Mr. Lee, I’m not a snitch, but I’m going to throw you a bone. I am offering you this not just as restitution but as an extra incentive to donate to the cause, if you will.”

“Yes? What is it?”

“At table eighteen, there’s a guy in a brown shirt, one in a black jacket, and another in a white shirt, who are colluding at the Poker table. They’re cleanin’ you the fuck out. At table thirty-two, a blackjack table, one guy changed his bet, and your dealer didn’t verbally check him. Out of sight, out of mind. You know the rest of that story. A dark-haired bartender with a small scar on his forehead is stealing cash from the register. He rings up the drinks a dollar higher each and every time, and then places that extra dollar in his back pocket. Look at the cameras when I leave. You’ll see I’m correct. One more for the road…” He held up his finger.

“Three of your waitresses are stealin’ liquor and sellin’ it. I have no proof on that one, just a hunch, but when you see three ladies in their little frilly uniforms whispering and carrying on, and then one disappears with an unopened bottle of Hennessy, the other two with tequila, and they walk past real stiff like—evidence that it’s jammed in their clothes—you can figure it out fairly quickly. Two of the three look like they’ve never had a drink in their lives. That shit is for someone else, and they grabbed the pricey stuff.”

“And you saw all of this in ten minutes?”

“…In eight. I was out there waiting for ten minutes, but not focused the entire time on your operation.” He pointed towards the closed door. “This is why I can come into a room and be spotted immediately if I wish, or blend in like ebony against black, ivory against white. I see what others don’t. It’s how I was able to get over in this casino as a young and desperate punk. I can make myself appear however I wish. Like a sheep. Sheep can bunch up together, obscuring their actual numbers, or step out from the crowd, to be truly seen. Trustworthy vs. sneaky. Calm vs. temperamental. Here’s the thing, though. I’m done gettin’ over. I’m done wearing a wool coat to hide the truth. I am done pretending to be great, when I in fact am . I could go on and on, but that’s enough for now. You have a good evening, and as Wilson Mizner said, ‘The only sure thing about luck is that it will change.’ I second that notion…”

And then, he walked out the door…

Grandpa made his way into the kitchen after being summoned by one of his assistants. She alerted him that a package had arrived for him, and she’d set it in the kitchen. A few of his men sat nearby, downing beer and talking. His chefs prepared lunch quietly as ‘Spooky,’ by Atlanta Rhythm Section, played in the background.

He turned the box to and fro, looking for a sender name or company information. Whatever was inside perfumed the air—obviously, it was a baked good. It had been dropped off by a courier, though neither he nor anyone at the compound had requested such a thing. Whatever this is, it smells delicious. He slowly removed the ribbon and allowed the sides of the box to fall open. Inside sat a large pie, perfectly baked to a shiny golden brown. A small hand-written card was tucked near it.

‘Something special, just for you.’

He read it one more time. His intuition kicked into gear, and he was no longer mesmerized by the delectable aromas brimming from the box. Cool air surrounded him, as if a ghost was breathing death into his ear. He snatched a knife from the butcher block and stabbed the pie, expecting to see something. There was nothing wrong—it was a moist apple pie, his favorite. But then, he saw a glint of metal. And another. And another.

He reached in and pried one of the gleaming silver spikes out of the crust, along with gooey apples. A razor blade… He picked up the pie, cursed, and tossed it with all of his might into the trash can. One of his many enemies was trying to send a message. He was about ready to laugh at such foolishness, when he noticed the pie had slid halfway out the pan when he threw it away, and writing could be seen on the bottom of the aluminum pan. He grabbed a spoon and scraped the pie and crust completely out into the trash, then read the message, crudely written with a black Sharpie…

Cyrus, you can’t silence all of us.

Leave well enough alone. You’ve bitten off more than you can chew.

I wasn’t always saved and sanctified. Holy ghost filled and baptized.

Bon appétit

Charlie was sitting in her living room eating a bag of spicy pork rinds, and downing them with an ice-cold Pepsi, when she saw the gigantic man with dark hair and beard approach her door. He was a big, hulking beast, and the sight of him had her lose her voice and gasp for a breath. He was handsome and scary at the same damn time. After ringing her bell, he waited a few seconds then knocked on her door, but she remained seated, simply staring.

The curtains were pulled closed, with the exception of one tiny slither of the outside world coming through. Just enough room that if she turned her head a little, she could make him out perfectly. Her gun sat on the coffee table, a mere two feet away. She’d heard rumors of break-ins in the neighborhood a few blocks over, and though she’d only had to use a gun once in all of her life, she hoped this wasn’t the day that she had to use it again. Nothing but a bullet would stop this walking freight train trying to pass as a human being.

“Ms. Charlie!” a deep voice rang out. “You don’t have to answer. I’m just leavin’ you something right here at your door. A present, as requested. You have a good evening.” The man waved to her closed door before walking away, but that did nothing for her worries. Was he still actually there, lurking at the side of the building? Waiting to ambush her? How does he know my name?! What type of present?! Is it a bomb or box of dog shit?

She heard his heavy steps getting softer and softer, but she wasn’t quick to answer the door. In fact, she sat there a good ten or fifteen minutes before she dared to even stand up and think about it. She approached the window with timid steps, peered out the curtains of her living room, and didn’t see him. No sign of him at all. It was like he’d vanished. Taking a deep breath, she said a fast prayer, opened her door, and looked down on the ground to see a small gold envelope with a tiny purple bow on it.

With a careful hand, she reached down and picked it up, then quickly slammed and locked the door. The front of the envelope read:

To: Ms. Charlie

From: Roman Wilde

Roman Wilde? That’s my Genesis’ boyfriend. Well, fiancé now. Why in the world is he sending someone my way and leavin’ this for me? She returned to the couch and sat down, feeling slightly relieved. Opening the envelope, she pulled out a letter…

Dear Ms. Charlie,

I hope that you’re in good health. I wanted this letter to be hand-delivered, but I’m in Las Vegas right now, so I asked my cousin Lennox Wilde to do it on my behalf. I didn’t want it to wait. For the last few weeks, a couple of my cousins have been looking out for Genesis when I can’t. I have this thing for wanting to make sure that the people I love are safe and well taken care of. I work a lot of hours and can’t be with Genesis all the time, so they drive by and make sure things look okay. It helps give me peace of mind. Now, that’s where you come in. You have given me peace of mind as well. For several months I have brainstormed on how to thank you for that. You may say, ‘Thank me for what?’

I want to thank you for being a true friend to Genesis. You’ve been feeding my fiancée when she was too tired to cook. Getting her mail when she forgot. I understand you both have each other’s mailbox keys and assist with that sort of thing. Thank you for looking out for her and listening to ensure she’s safe. You know her schedule and routine, and when that deviates, you follow up to ensure she’s fine. My cousin Phoenix saw you sweeping around her door one day.

I don’t think you understand just how rare that sort of thing is to see in this day and age that we’re living in. People showing actual concern and love for their neighbor. Genesis told me that when you sweep around her door, you sing and sometimes pray aloud. She said that you’ve prayed for her for years. Always wishing for her success, cheering her on, and even buying her jewelry when she knows you rarely wear such items. You just wanted to be supportive. She sometimes takes you to the store, and you insist on giving her gas money. She said you’re like the favorite great aunt in the family, and she loves you more than you know.

She paused, tears welling in her eyes.

Thank you for making her laugh and offering her your wisdom. I’ve known of Genesis for many years, but I’ve only gotten to truly know her this year, and to know her is to be blessed. Now, onto other business, and the reason for this letter. Genesis explained to me that she has told you that she accepted my hand in marriage. She will be moving from her apartment soon, and she and I will be purchasing a house together to start our new future together. I don’t know who your new neighbor will be, but I hope that they are as wonderful as Genesis, though I know that those are big shoes to fill. Due to all that you’ve done, as a token of my appreciation, I have tried multiple avenues to figure out how to give you a present, a gift of my gratitude for you being a bright light in her life.

I checked to see if you had a CashApp, PayPal, or Venmo, but had no such luck. Then I realized that like my mother, you’re old school. A check would have to do, if that was the route I wished to go. But then I thought I should get more creative than that. Think outside the box.

So, I bought the entire apartment building that you’re living in. I will be transferring it in your name next month. You will own it, lock, stock and barrel. Proof of purchase is enclosed.

A receipt fluttered from the envelope as she opened it with one hand. It landed on the floor. Many zeros… many, many zeroes…

“OH, JESUS!”

She almost dropped the letter, her hands shaking so much and her heart pounding. Her eyes strained as she struggled to read the rest of the note.

You won’t have to worry about landlords, repair requests, tenant complaints, property taxes, evictions, maintenance, late rent citations, pest service, lawn care and upkeep, and the like. I’ve hired a company to take care of all that for you. All you have to do is own it, attend an annual meeting, and collect the money. I also have a tax preparer for you who will assist you each year, and also file your personal taxes on your behalf, if you wish, free of charge. With the rent money you receive, which will come as a monthly disbursement in your name after all other property related salaries and invoices are cleared, you can move out and get you a private home or stay there.

The choice is completely yours. I would advise however that you have a manager live on the premises in case of emergencies. Genesis has told me repeatedly that not only are you a great person and neighbor, generous to a fault, but you are always at the apartment tenant and board meetings trying to find ways to improve things and make this world a better place. She said you’d be a great administrator, too. I wanted to take it one step further. Generosity is the opposite of greed. You, Ms. Charlie, are big-hearted and kind to a fault. It’s time that you were shown the same in return.

Sincerely,

Roman Wilde

P.S. I do expect a plate of that good food that you cook for Genesis, as compensation. She shows me pictures to try and rub it in my face. I want that plate of food in thirty days or less. With your famous cornbread. I’m not kidding.

She burst out laughing, and then burst into more tears, too…