Chapter Eight
CHAPTER EIGHT
Money and Books for Crooks
G randpa Wilde walked inside his expansive greenhouse, placed his black and gold cane with a handle shaped like a goat head with sapphires for eyes, against a glass-paneled wall, and inhaled the fresh air. Flashes of light streamed from east, west, north and south, creating prisms of color. He walked slowly down the narrow aisles. Many of the plants were covered in a fine mist from the timed interior sprinkler system. He could smell the scent of wet earth. His groundskeepers had created the greenhouse to provide him with fresh flowers in many of the rooms of his mansion, as well as various herbs for the chef prepared meals. He stroked a cotton candy pink dahlia with a creamy yellow center. This was her favorite flower…
He gently caressed the soft green petals. He bent down to smell the beautiful flower. Sweet and rich. I’ll find you one day and bring you back home. No one can fill your shoes. Yes, I will, darlin’… In the near distance, the curled and spiked screams of a man who’d disappointed him rent the air. He leisurely exited the greenhouse, closing the glass door, cane in hand, and walked several feet in his backyard, then stopped. There, like a scarecrow in a cornfield, with his arms extended along a wooden post, legs bound, dangled Fred.
“How’s it going?” Grandpa asked as he investigated the bloodied and swollen eyes of a soon-to-be dead man. Fred remained quiet, blood dripping from everywhere it possibly could. No inch of exposed flesh unharmed. “Now, Fred, you’re not the only man to let prey get the better of you.” Grandpa shrugged as he briefly turned away from him. “That’s not necessarily a reason to die… Sometimes the cat becomes the mouse. We’re human after all. Naw, that’s not it at all.” Grandpa shook his head. “You mighta lost a finger, somethin’ small like that. A consequence to learn by, but nothin’ more. I sent you to do mere surveillance. Not confront my grandson, Roman. Unfortunately, he spotted you and dealt with you how he saw fit. Roman is a chameleon. He looks one way but behaves a complete ’nother. I have to remind so many of that fact.
“He’s a pretty boy with a killer instinct, and he’s a fuckin’ con artist, too. Tricky. One of the more surprising elements about that boy, is that he was a damn good Marine, and a mathematical prodigy. When he was merely seven years old, he was doing complex mathematical equations in his damn head. The man’s I.Q. is off the fucking charts. He was a terrible and rebellious child, but much of that wasn’t his own fault.
Make no mistake about it, he’s my black sheep. He sits in the shadows, away from the moonlight, and he plots his next move on how to attack the wolves and gobble them whole.
He maneuvers his life in the same way that he plays professional Poker. To perfection. Now I hope that you understand why I want him so badly. Regardless of how you ended up with a fucking gun shoved down your throat, it wasn’t all a wash, though. Your efforts weren’t wasted, or in vain. I wanted to test Roman’s temperature, and now, I know that he’s on full alert. That brings us to today…
“The reason you’re here, and my boys brought you to me giftwrapped in blood, is because you’ve been dodging my calls, and I know why. I have reason to believe that you stole from me. I can’t stand a thief, Fred.” Grandpa lifted his cane high and swung it hard, whacking the man in the gut. Fred screamed—more blood and slobber oozed out of his mouth.
“…I… I didn’t steal nothin’, Mr. Wilde. I swear,” the man cried, tears streaming down his face.
“I have a small group of non-blood boys now that do good work for me. My extended crew. They’re well vetted, but not in the family business. I watch ’em. I train them myself.” He began to slowly pace back and forth. “You were one of those people, until today. When Brach went to your house to get information about my grandson, Roman, details of the little visit if you will, he also had instructions to search your house. During that visit, he found a small box with the cash I’d been missin’ from our last meeting.”
“That money was mine, Mr. Wilde. I swear. Me and my wife were savin’ it up to use for a European vacation for the whole family.”
“Mmmm hmm. ’Member when I handed out bonuses? I explained that there was a bit extra, for whoever could take care of a couple side jobs for me. Bruno and Torrence volunteered, but after that meetin’ I checked the box and lo and behold, my damn money was gone. My boys got paid nevertheless, but it was the principle. I don’t care if it’s a measly five dollars. NOBODY STEALS FROM ME! If you need somethin’, you ask! I couldn’t figure out how you got your hands on that cash that quickly.
“I turned my back for just a second. I mean, everyone knows that those are closed circuit meetings. Meaning, no cameras. Low lights. No phones. Nothin’ but a little liquor and a lot of ideas and brainstormin’. You were sitting close to the box. You were the last one in the room. I’m not a spring chicken, but my memory is like a child’s.”
“I didn’t take that money! I promise!”
“You did! LIAR! THIEF! It was marked.” Grandpa pulled out a wad of cash wrapped with a white paper band. He snatched a one-hundred-dollar bill from the bundle and held it up to the sunlight. “In the far-right corner is a tiny, tiny snake. My little signature.” He smiled at the embossed snake that was wrapped tightly around a rifle, barely visible to the naked eye. “You can hardly see it, but if you wet it, hold it at the right angle, with just the right amount of light, it’s there sure as day. Whenever I pay for a special kind of job, I usually pay cash. I make it traceable, too, BUT ONLY TO ME, just in case. Crafty, huh?”
He turned to Fred and grinned. “This is mine.” He waved the money angrily in the air. “I never gave it to you.” He shot a sharp look at the bloodied body before him. “You didn’t earn this bonus.” A wave of heat began at the top of his head and raced to the soles of his feet. “You stole it from your crew. From two hard-workin’ men who proved to be warriors. Never having the honor of being born into the Wilde family, but willing to prove themselves through and through. You’ve disappointed me, Fred.”
“…Please… please!” Fred begged for his life.
Grandpa leaned slightly forward, hiked up his black pant leg, and slipped a dagger from a holster secured to his ankle. It sparkled in the iridescent sunlight as he held it high… sparkled like rose, lily, and daffodil petals covered in fresh dew. Like a vibrant tear from a baby’s eye. Like bright crimson blood on the Sabbath from the Lord and Savior’s crown of thorns.
“Proverbs 20:21 says, ‘An inheritance claimed too soon will not be blessed at the end.’ The greedy man reaches for more, but spills what he has, Fred. That’s an old sayin’. You’re about to spill, too…”
Gripping the wooden handle firmly, he smiled at Fred, then struck the sharp tip into the center of the bastard’s neck like a matchstick across red phosphorus and powdered glass. Watching him bleed out of the deep, perpendicular wound gave him pleasure. Watching him slowly die in so much pain was a joyous occasion, indeed…
Roman looked at his phone and sighed. Undoing his tie, he flung it onto his bed as he prepared to meet Genesis for an after-work nightcap. Jonathan Roy’s, ‘Keeping Me Alive,’ played throughout his penthouse. He yelled for Alexa to stop. The music halted.
“What do you want?”
“Sheriff Gonad, as he told me you call him,” Grandpa chuckled, “has been checkin’ you out. I never told him to do such a thing. Just wanted to let you know. Lookin’ out for ya, boy.”
“Well, that’s mighty kind of you, Scar from The Lion King. My father already made a monkey out of him some years ago, when he escaped from his jail. I’m sure you recall. It was public intoxication charges and receivin’ stolen goods. My daddy broke out of there and was on the run, and when and where did the law finally catch up with him? Three days later in bed with the sheriff’s new wife. Said my daddy was in mid-stroke, blowin’ her back out like a tuba. Ol’ Gonad had an axe to grind when you got me tossed in that same jail, so he was more than happy to oblige. The whole shit show regarding my father embarrassed him somethin’ awful was too much to bear, so much so, he ain’t never got over it, and you knew it. You ain’t doing me no favors by calling me about this man. Y’all are in cahoots. Besides, I’ve already seen his little Hot Wheels cop car sniffin’ around in places it doesn’t belong. He’s gonna end up in some six-foot-deep ditch with a big concrete slab above it, if you don’t tell him to mind his fucking business, or better yet, his latest wife can get fucked by a Wilde, too. I’ve got over fifty first and second cousins. Many of them are single, so I’m sure it can be arranged.”
“I don’t care nothin’ much ’bout Sherriff Gomes, Roman. All that stuff with Reeves and the sheriff’s now ex-wife is water under the bridge. She was a whore, anyway. My son wasn’t the first to take a turn, and sure as hell wasn’t the last. I’m calling you about business.”
“We ain’t got no business for you to call about.”
“Oh, I think we do… See, it’s about your contract. About my proposition. Because of the stunt you pulled at the jail house, threatin’ to sic your bloody thirsty attorney on the family, and this final act of what you did to poor ol’ Fred, I need to add something to your contract. An addendum if you will.”
“You didn’t give a shit about that man, or you wouldn’t have sent him to babysit me. You know full well what I’m capable of.”
“Well, he won’t be doing any babysitting of you again. You have my word.”
“I’m sure I do, old man. I have a feeling you killed Fred, so you can cut the shit right here, and right now. He’s not family, so you would never show him any loyalty or concern, and he didn’t complete the assignment, which automatically put him on your shit list. I know how you think, old man.”
“I’m glad that you brought up how you believe that I think, because I’ve been brainstorming.”
“I hope you didn’t hurt yourself.”
“Not only do I want you to let me in on some of the trades, help your ol’ grandfather invest a little wiser, I want some additional information.”
“What? You want to know where the nearest crazy house is for old kooks? The address is 4747 Hell Street. I’m sure you’re familiar with that part of town. All your demons are waiting. Better get movin’.”
“Funny boy… No, that’s not what I want. Ya see, word is you have a new customer. The Bierman Corporation.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Ohhhh, Roman! Come on.” Grandpa sneered. “Don’t play coy with me. You’re big time now… Anyone in the traders, stocks and bonds business, Wall Street and the like knows that your company landed that contract, and what great luck I have that the head man in charge is my very own grandson!”
“Well, your luck just ran out because nothing is going on at my job that concerns the likes of you. I told you once, twice, three times a felon, that I’m not doin’ nothin’ illegal on account of your threats. That’s fraud. Illegal insider trading. Folks could easily get twenty, forty, hell, sometimes even a life sentence for somethin’ like that. I don’t do any thievin’, scammin’ and schemin’ anymore. I use my powers for good now, not evil. I worked too hard to get this damn job to let you ruin it.”
“It’s not fraud if we all benefit. It really just depends on how you look at it, son. Harvey Bierman was an associate of my great grandfather.”
“I don’t give a damn if Harvey Bierman was great grandpapi’s personal tongue scraper, nose picker, and ass scratcher. That changes nothing. You don’t give a shit about anyone but yourself, Grandpa. I know you’ve heard this a million times, and it goes in one hairy ear and out the other, but this is despicable behavior—and if I think somethin’ is despicable, it must be pretty damn bad.”
“Yes, I understand that you feel you must be above this all now… with your donations to boys’ clubs, speaking engagements, and pretendin’ to be a real stand-up man. You’re a fox. A beady eyed, sneaky, tiptoeing, black sheep! A slippery, underhanded, greedy fucker who doesn’t know the meanin’ of remorse.” Grandpa’s voice had rough pebbles and hard grit in it. Sticky dark tar and reedy feathers covered the words. “Now, let’s get back on track. They should be honored that I’m interested in their success at all, to tell ya the truth. All I want to know is a little about their portfolio,” he stated in a light, airy tone. “I also want to know about their secret investors, clandestine mutual funds. Insiders, you know, things like that.”
“And I’d like to be the King of England, Egypt, and Timbuktu, and watch a gang of zombie rabbits chew off your lying nose like it’s a fuckin’ carrot, but it’s not going to happen, now is it? I gotta go. Goodbye.”
“Wait! Before you hang up, young fella, I just thought you might wanna know that though you have that fancy job, and got those fancy degrees, and wear those fancy suits and drive those fancy trucks and cars, your world can come crashin’ down like a fancy deck of casino cards with just one phone call.”
“A call that you make from your jitterbug phone?”
“Make all the jokes you want, you condescending, snotty prick. See… I know it was you who robbed that Sin City casino them years back.”
Roman’s stomach flipped.
“MGM Grand. Whew weee! What a summer heist. The great mystery… all those cameras and what not. All that security, and it didn’t stop the black sheep! No sirree Bob! They knew you were a conman from prior dealings, but they just didn’t know how good! Nobody suspected the disgraced ex-Marine, Mr. Roman Wilde of Houston, Texas to have been behind such a thing and pull it off so flawlessly. You’re a damn magician. Boy, you’re good! You managed to take off with over three million dollars! Then, over the years, you invested it. You made some good deals, some damn good deals! Helped your little friend open his coffee spot. Went to college, paid off your bills… did some charitable work and really made up for lost time. Even helped your mama out I heard, too. Speakin’ of which, how is that mother of yours?”
“Hopefully making some biscuits to be served after your funeral soon.”
“Yeah, I heard Bonnie likes to eat! Somebody said she’s so big now that when she steps on a scale, it reads ‘ to be continued. ’” Grandpa chuckled so hard; he fell into a coughing spell. “…She was a nice lady. A little soft in the brain, but nice. Too good for the likes of my son, I tell ya that much, but they both messed all three of you boys up, royally! Jordan is about as dumb as a box of rocks, and Dakota seems like he’s walkin’ in his daddy’s footsteps. Well, at least you and Dakota got good looks. Your mama was a real looker back in the day… pretty little thing. Then she got large. Swole up like a tick. I wondered how my son was even able to lie down with her after a while. Like a stick of uncooked spaghetti tryna fuck a meatball, right?”
“Pot, meet kettle. You’re one to talk. I bet the back of your ass looks like a smooshed, white raisin. You’re an ancient, repulsive, soul sucker. An energy vampire who pops Viagra and downs prune juice shots. Your memories are silent and in black and white, and if you walk into an antique shop, you’re liable to have a price sticker slapped onto your forehead, and you placed on a clearance rack. Bonnie is my mama, Reeves is my Daddy, and you ain’t nobody. There’s more where that came from. Don’t go there with me.” Grandpa’s loud laugh made his ears ring. “Seein’ as how women the same age as your great grandchildren are lyin’ down with your dusty, cobweb-covered balls, you need to watch your mouth. You fart out fog, and shoot dust from your dick hole, so I think you have no room to judge or discuss what goes on in another man’s bedroom, especially your own son’s.”
“Well, the only bedroom your papa has now is a six by eight prison cell down in the Pelican State. Serves him right. Fucking drug addict. My own blood tarnished the family name. Another black sheep in his own way. You definitely didn’t get your smarts from him or your mama.”
“Grandpa,” Roman sighed and briefly closed his eyes, “sayin’ dumb, childish shit about my father or mother won’t make me go apeshit. I’m not Lennox. I ain’t got no bleedin’ heart. I don’t give a flyin’ fuck. My pulse is the exact same as it was before you called, and it’ll be the same rate after we end this conversation. I’ve heard it all before. I heard it from kids when we were growin’ up. We’d say mean stuff to each other to get a laugh. We had an excuse back then though.”
“And what excuse was that?” Grandpa managed between chuckles.
“We were children way back then. You’re a grown, decrepit man crackin’ jokes about a woman who showed you nothin’ but respect, even when you damn sure didn’t deserve it. She’s beautiful regardless of what you say. Weight can be lost. Ugliness of the heart is forever. That makes you the homeliest motherfucker to walk God’s green Earth.”
“You know what? You’re right, Roman. It’s a mystery though how she got so big… then so small… then so big again… Just like another mystery I know about. An unsolved mystery that is an open case ’til this day.”
“The mystery of how Moses was your best friend in high school, and you sailed the Dead Sea when it was only sick?”
“You know what’s really funny, Mr. Comedy Central? I knew you were in Vegas around the time when that shit happened, and I knew Wilde blood was probably involved. It was just my intuition. And before you go sayin’ I have no evidence, little black sheep, that’s where you’re wrong. Ya see, when I had my boys come round up you and your other fucked up, derelict, no good cousins, they did some diggin’ around in your home.” Roman swallowed. “Found your little book from back yonder.
“My instructions were to look everywhere, but not in obvious places. Also, look in his safe. I knew the code wouldn’t be easy to crack, but one of my guys is a specialist in such matters. It was really hard to dig up dirt on you, seein’ as how careful and sneaky you are, but with this? Well, you slipped up, and that book of yours landed in the right hands. Now what do you have to say for yourself?”
“You want me to plead or somethin’? Beg you?” Roman laughed. “I fight fire with fire. Man, fuck you.”
“If you were in my face right now, I’d put a bullet in your damn leg and make you walk it off. I know you’re angry, boy, but this is how we play ball. Gotta fight fire with fire, remember? Your own words are now doing a two-step. See… you and I are so much alike. I know how you think, too. Your greediness made you proud of that little feat. So much so, you kept that plan book like a little memento.”
That wasn’t the reason why I kept it at all… but I’m damn sure not in the mood to correct the bastard.
“You were always so meticulous and anal about your charts, graphs, and ideas. Very thorough, indeed. Calculating. No one would eeeeeeever think that a pretty boy like you, so innocent, so sincere, such a nice smile ’nd all, and he served our country, damn it, could pull off such a thing! You don’t look like you’d be so gotdamn smart, but looks are deceiving. You don’t like what you are: brilliant. But I know you, Roman. We’re cut from the same cloth. You’ve got a marvelous mind, but you’re tricky. Dastardly. Devious. Pretending to be chummy with Little Bo Peep, when really, it’s you and the Big Bad Wolf who are the best of friends, plottin’ to eat the flock.”
“…Just a minute ago you said I was basically plottin’ against the wolf. Which is it? If you’re going to use these nursey rhymes, children’s stories and metaphors, at least be consistent.”
“I will consistently put my size 11 boot up your narrow ass! Now you listen here, fucker. I want that information, and I want that to be your job in this family business. I don’t wish to take you away from your nine to five! Ohhhh no! I expect you to stay right there and do what you do best—only better. And for me.
“I want you to tell me in advance about what is about to start risin’, and what’s about to start crashin’. Stocks and trading information. I want someone right there in the thick of things. I need that money for this family enterprise to keep goin’. Keep chuggin’ away. In order to make money, you have to invest money. Everybody knows that. You’re the stockboy, Black Sheep, and your word is your bond.”
The call suddenly went dead.
Roman held his cellphone for a few seconds, then tossed it angrily on his bed. He walked to his safe that was built into his wall, opened it, and looked inside. After pulling out several pieces of jewelry, documents such as his passport and birth certificate, he saw the empty, vast darkness way in the back. The spot where a small notebook with water stains used to be.
Shit.
He’d kept it there to remind him to never become that person again. To never fall into the old traps of greed. To not turn into his father. Sure, he used the money to advance and help a few loved ones out, but he also bought flashy things, indulged in perverse sexual trysts, drank pricey wines and liquor, smoked expensive cigars, took international trips, and had frivolous fun with it, too.
“Alexa, play Derik Fine’s, ‘Gaslight.’” The music began, and he finished removing his clothing. He stood naked and looked at his reflection in a large, round mirror. Anger colored his eyes as he mouthed the lyrics. Then, he stepped into his master suite bathroom and started the shower. He was going out with a beautiful woman. Genesis captivated him the way no other woman had before. They’d been talking on the phone, and texting back and forth daily. The connection was deepening, and he wanted to explore just where this could go. He smiled as he realized that tonight would be their fourth date. He was becoming attached to her, and he didn’t mind it at all. That thought alone put a smile back on his face…