Chapter 9
HYDE
Awell-dressed gentleman of taste among a sea of off-the-rack polyester approached me.
I raised my glass of Pappy Van Winkle aged bourbon in greeting. “You must be Dorian Gray.”
He bowed his head in acknowledgement. “And you must be Edward Hyde.” He unbuttoned his tailored suit coat and took the upholstered seat beside me. He then gestured to a passing tuxedoed attendant and ordered a bottle of William Fevre Chablis Vaulorent.
I raised an eyebrow. “A man of taste,” I sighed. “Such a rare commodity.”
Dorian smoothed his silk tie before responding. “Agreed.” He surveyed our surroundings. “Interesting choice.”
Barrington’s, the public gentlemen’s club, had delusions of grandeur.
The owners were attempting to emulate the great private gentlemen’s clubs of London like White’s, Brooks’s, and Carlton Club but failing miserably.
Unable to be located on the infamous St. James’s Street, Barrington’s was off the more unfortunate Piccadilly Square, among the rabble and tourists.
Alas, with Jekyll’s meager salary as a university research scientist, this was all his bank account could afford me.
I’d practically bankrupted him the other night with the purchase of a few tailored suits.
Hence my meeting with Dorian.
Uninterested in discussing my strained circumstances, I shrugged. “I occasionally like to go where the product sells.” I smirked as I lifted my glass to my lips. “Call it market research.”
Dorian accepted his full glass of Chablis from the attendant and frowned. He cast a glance at me. “I suppose it was enough that they had the vintage I wanted. It would have been asking too much to approve the bottle.”
We clinked glasses.
I surveyed the room. “So where is your man?”
Dorian checked his watch. “He’ll be here.”
“I never caught his name.”
Dorian smiled. “That’s because I didn’t give one. He prefers to be addressed as The Count.”
I chuckled. “The Count? As in Dracula?”
Dorian’s lips lifted in a smirk. “Temper your amusement. The man is the real deal. Ancestors go back to good ol’ Henry the VIII. Unlike you and me, he still gives a damn about his reputation. Legitimate business interests and all that.”
“How tedious.” I raised my glass. “To not giving a damn.”
Dorian nodded. “Cheers, mate.”
We drank.
Dorian checked his watch again.
“Am I keeping you?”
Dorian shifted in his seat. “As a matter of fact, you are. I have some business of my own to attend to at home.”
I winked. “Should have taken care of business before coming, as I did.”
“Did you bring what he requested?”
I reached into my inside coat pocket. Lifting up the crimson vial of Bl88dX and a small piece of paper with the current formula just high enough for him to see it.
Dorian nodded.
Dorian had reached out to me after learning it was I who’d provided several—shall we say street—entrepreneurs with copious amounts of the high-quality pure benzoylecgonine. He had inquired on behalf of his friend, The Count, if I had anything more exclusive.
Several minutes later we were joined by another well-dressed man.
The Count surveyed the room before waving his bodyguard off and sitting down. “Interesting location.”
Dorian smiled. “Hyde likes the ambiance.” He gestured between us. “The Count, meet Mr. Edward Hyde. Hyde, meet The Count.”
The Count waved away the attendant as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I have other meetings this evening, gentlemen. Shall we get straight to business?”
I nodded, at which time Dorian rose. He bowed his head to both me and The Count. “Introductions having been made, I hope you will both excuse me. I have a more pressing engagement.”
I sipped my bourbon as I took the measure of The Count as he and Dorian exchanged a few words before Dorian departed.
The Count was clearly a man of distinction.
Not some low-life criminal likely to flip on me if he got pinched.
As much as I needed the money to engage in the type of luxurious lifestyle I preferred, it would do me no good if I got Jekyll locked up in prison. Where was the fun in that?
The Count turned his gaze on me. “You have what I came for?”
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the vial and a piece of paper. I held them aloft. Just as The Count reached for them, I pulled my arm back. “Business before pleasure.”
The Count smirked. He raised his hand. The subtle gesture brought his bodyguard scurrying to his side. Another infinitesimal gesture had the bodyguard carefully opening a black briefcase and lifting the lid just high enough for me to see the neat stacks of pound notes. “One million, as agreed.”
I handed over the vial. “And now to the pleasure.”
The Count examined the dark crimson liquid. “What is it called?”
“Bl88dX.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Fitting. And the results?”
I drained my glass and rose. I buttoned my suit jacket and took the handle of the briefcase from The Count’s goon. “Let’s just say anyone who takes it will feel like a different person.”