Chapter Seven
CHAPTER SEVEN
A Tough Act to Follow
T he white Jeep Wrangler disappeared down the street. Once the vehicle was out of sight and Genesis was nothing more than a beautiful memory, Roman turned his attention to the man watching him from across the road. He didn’t recognize the guy: five foot ten or so, short dark hair, thick beard, talking on his phone while smoking a cigarette. He’s not family.
The man had been inside the restaurant for a brief time, and now stood by an older model gray Honda with Michigan plates. Roman thanked the valet once again and told him to keep his car on ice. He’d be back in a little while. He made like he was going back into the restaurant. As soon as he entered, he took a glance over his shoulder and saw the same watchman crossing the street towards him. Roman moved slowly to where he and Genesis had dined. He stood there for a bit, the table now cleared of any evidence that he’d just had one of the best dates ever. He looked towards the front of the restaurant and saw the guy now loitering, but not looking directly at him.
Patting his jacket pocket, he made his way towards the back of the restaurant. He waved to a few of the patrons he recognized—bankers and the like—then entered the kitchen. The large doors swung open like those of an old western saloon. The staff looked at him in surprise, some of their faces covered in beads of sweat, with steaming pots and fire popping skillets ruling the area. Everyone seemed to stop in their tracks as he casually walked through, explaining that he was exiting out the back, and to ignore him. Head Chef Damarko, a famous cook who ran the line, had peepers wide as saucers as their eyes met. They knew one another due to a few company functions catered by the place. Roman cast him a big, warm smile.
“Chef, I’m Roman Wilde. You may or may not remember me, but I’ll be out of here before you can get those lamb chops on the grill. I’m a ghost, vanishin’ before your eyes…”
The man nodded, grunted, then began speaking to another cook about timing for a dish.
Once Roman had reached the back door, he unlocked it, then shoved it open and made his way back with a determined stride towards the front of the restaurant. His heart galloped with each tread, and cool elation flooded him like torrential rain. Every cell of his being swelled with delight. A soothing, comfortable, yet at the same time heavy darkness cloaked him from the inside out. His midnight black sheep wool thickened as his fingers wrapped around his Glock-18. The black sheep was being counted…
Adrenaline soaring and his mouth filling with the taste of a troubling, good time, he kept his eye on the prize. He crept around the side of the building and saw the guy looking confused—his nemesis seemingly having realized he’d briefly lost his target. Then, the man turned and made his way back across the street towards his old car. Stealthily, Roman was on him like fog rising from a fucking sewer and jammed his gun into the bastard’s back. The man gasped and stiffened, stopping dead in his tracks. Then, slowly, he raised his hands higher in the air. Roman stood behind him and whispered in his ear.
“Finish walking to your car. Go to the passenger’s side, out of view. NOW.”
The man did as he was told until he was at the passenger’s side door. Roman lodged his hand in the bastard’s jacket pocket, removed the guy’s car keys, then searched the man’s body, removing his gun. He stuck it in his back pocket for safe keeping.
“Get in!” He marched the bastard into the passenger’s seat, removed his necktie with one hand while he kept the gun on him, then tied his wrists behind his back. Once they were cinched good and tight, Roman jumped in the driver’s seat and hightailed it, until he found a suitable spot: a dark alley between two office buildings. He slammed the sedan into park, turned the engine off, walked over to the passenger’s door, yanking the man out and marched him to the front of the car.
“I know that the old man sent you. Who are you?”
“What? I’m waiting for carryout from—”
“CUT. THE. SHIT. What is your fucking name?”
“Fred.”
“Fred Flintstone, Freddy Krueger, Fred WHAT?!”
“…Fred Davis.”
“So, Grandpa is not usin’ family this time for his little tryst, huh? Must’ve learned his lesson after going after Lennox like that, and it backfired.”
“OWWWW!” the man hollered. He’d tried to headbutt the gun out of Roman’s grasp.
“Do that again, and you’ll have no skull. I’ll shoot that pea brain of yours clean out, let the rats gnaw on it. Your new name will be ‘No-Head Dead Fred.’ Now you keep fuckin’ around, and you’re gonna find out!” Roman wrapped the collar of the fucker’s jacket around his fingers and slammed him hard into the vehicle hood. The man groaned, and his complexion deepened with pain.
“You have no fucking idea what trouble you’re in. I could kill you in two seconds. But first, let’s have a lil’ conference call. Just the three of us. CALL HIM. FaceTime…”
Roman placed Fred’s phone that he’d confiscated during the search, onto the hood of the car. Right next to the dent where his cranium had crashed.
Fred looked at Roman from the corner of his eye, then, as he instructed, the idiot phoned dear ol’ Granddad via Siri. On the third ring, they were in business.
“Nice to see you, Grandpa!” Roman smiled big and wide as the FaceTime camera captured him and his new friend in the frame. Grandpa was standing in his study, wearing a white robe with matching fur trim, and listening to what sounded like ‘At Last,’ by Etta James. The old man ran his big claw down the side of his face, caressing a faded scar, then cloaked his concerns with a wretched grin.
“My grandson… what a delight to see you, Roman. I hope you had a nice dinner tonight.”
“And I hope you choke on a pair of pig balls. Bon Appetit. Looky here, you raggedy sack of shit. Keep your dog off me. Stay the fuck out of my way, out of my business, and out of my life. First the jail shit, now this. This weasel is going to deep throat some metal.” Grandpa’s face twisted as he watched Roman shove the nuzzle of his weapon into Fred’s mouth. Fred moaned, trying to press his weight against Roman to break free, but it was no use. “Keep squirmin’ like some gotdamn worm on a hook doing that damn TikTok Swagg Bounce, and it’ll be the last dance move you do, Fred Astaire,” Roman stated between gritted teeth.
Grandpa coolly looked on, then insouciantly lit a cigar.
“Roman, settle down, little black sheep. Stole anything lately?” he snickered.
“Yeah. Your will to live if you keep trying these little stunts. I know Fred’s full name, and I have his address. With that, I can find out everything about him, down to the last time he took a shit.” Fred’s eyes widened in astonishment when Roman waved the jerk’s wallet about. “That’s right. You thought you’d hid it well. Once a thief, always a thief as far as the education and the lessons learned.” The wallet had been in Fred’s sock. “I could lift a hair off an ant’s ass without it noticing.” Roman slipped the wallet into his jacket, then slowly ejected the gun from Fred’s mouth. The man immediately began spitting, sputtering, and damn near vomiting. “Oh, settle down! You act like you’ve never sucked on somethin’ long and hard before. That’s nuts! Relax.” Roman laughed, then snatched the phone back up. Grandpa had hung up.
“Well, would you look at that? The deserter got bored of the show and left you high and dry. You’re expendable, just like everyone else in Lucifer’s life. Fred, from that wedding band you’re sporting, you’ve got a wife, and from those loafers you have on, you have kids.” Fred gave him a confused look. “There’s a fucking green marker scribble on the side of your shoe.”
Utter defeat registered on the man’s face.
“I will come to wherever you are—your home, hotel, a flat in London or a high-rise in China—and pop your wife in the heart without blinking an eye, knock off those brats of yours with a machete, and poison the family dog, too. Don’t make me do that.” Roman tossed him a faux sad face. “I like dogs. Kids ain’t so bad either. But that’s exactly what will happen if I even think you’re sniffin’ around me again. This is a gift from me to you. A one and only warning. I’m letting you live, but only because I don’t want blood splatter on my damn clothes tonight. I happen to like this shirt a lot. If you do your research and look me up, little dark web investigator, you’ll discover that I’ve done some shit in combat, and just my general life, that would put you in a mental hospital for the rest of your days if you even thought about it. Don’t make me prove to you just how serious and outlandish I am. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes. Yes!” The man’s complexion was splotchy and blood red.
Roman did a quick search of the guy’s car, looking for additional weapons, keeping his gun trained on him the entire time. He found a knife in the glove compartment, and another gun under the driver’s seat. He quickly pocketed those.
“Try anything slick, and your plan will flop. Like any ideas you might have of tryna run me over before I blow your back tires out and then strangle you to death. Not to mention, if I’m killed, I already sent a picture of your license to someone who will take over where I left off.” Roman jammed the car keys in the ignition, then walked back to him and untied the man’s wrists. “GET THE FUCK OUTTA HERE.”
Fred quickly jumped onto the driver’s seat, sparked up the engine, and hightailed it out of the alley, tires squealing all the way. Roman stood there watching him fly like a bat out of hell. Taking a deep breath, he walked back to the restaurant. It took about twenty-minutes but felt like twenty seconds. Then, he summoned the valet for his car. Once he was in his black Camaro with China red interior, he turned on his playlist. Hanumankind’s, ‘Big Dawgs,’ featuring Kalmi blasted through the pulsing speakers. Roman bobbed his head to the music as he zig-zagged through the streets, flying like an airplane.
After the song was over, he turned the music down and played his voicemails over the Bluetooth that he missed while on his date and his meeting with Fred. Genesis had turned her phone off… He smiled as he played that over in his mind. Loving that she wanted to give her full attention to their time together. Respect. He’d already turned his phone off before she’d even walked into the eatery. He didn’t want to miss a word she said, or a move she made.
He listened to the voicemails one after another. There were a few work-related ones, and then, there was one from Tony.
“Hey, man. It’s me, Tony. I thought about our last conversation, and uh… I spoke to Gen yesterday, too. She said y’all were going out tonight. I was mad all day, but then I thought about it… and uh, I was wrong for how I reacted. We’re not the same people we were all those years ago, Roman. I wasn’t being fair to you when I brought up your family, either. That doesn’t mean you’ll be like that to my sister. I was… I was wrong. She’s not a kid. I’m protective of my family, man, and I know Genesis is strong and can handle herself. Besides, your family, too. You’re my friend… I love you just like a brother. I believe you when you tell me you would never intentionally hurt her, man. Maybe this time will really be different because of who I am, and because of who she is… but mainly because of who you are now in life, and who you are tryna become. Just treat her right, man. If it’s just one date, or a million, just treat ’er right…”