Chapter 9
It was Cisneros’s sixty-fifth birthday, and he was throwing a party in a posh golf club owned by Max MacGowan. He flitted around, shaking hands with his guests, giving hugs, calling for more champagne, and laughing louder than ever. I stood next to Sayer in one of the verandas, both sipping champagne. It was early in the afternoon and the sun made the grass of the golf course gleam. He was wearing jeans and his favorite linen jacket, which bothered Helga a bit; she would have preferred him to wear something more formal, she said.
And not to mention when she figured out I wasn’t wearing the dress she had bought for me. “All my clothes are designer, I don’t know what all the fuss is about,” I had told her, and she started fuming like a raging bull. Sayer and George laughed all the way to the club, while she kept complaining about my unruly ways and how they didn’t seem to care about it, even if they should.
“She’s enjoying her conversation, isn’t she?” I elbowed Sayer, nodding towards Helga.
“Perhaps,” he studied the faces of the women that were around her. “They might as well be ripping you to pieces.”
“But my blouse has this pretty bow in the front, I thought she would like it,” I pouted sarcastically. “Besides, I need the jacket to conceal the gun. She didn’t think about that when she bought me that dress, did she?”
“Most probably. You know, she wanted me to take all your guns and hide them.”
“What the fuck?!”
Right then Cisneros came to greet us.
“Armand, my friend!”
“Rafael, happy birthday,” they hugged, patting each other on the back.
“Thank you for joining us, I know you haven’t been out much. Are you having a good time?”
“We are.”
“Scarlett,” he turned to me, taking my hand, “always a pleasure to see you!” and kissed it.
What a buffoon. “Happy birthday, Rafael. How do you feel?”
“I, my dear,” he draped his arm around my shoulders, a clear sign by which I knew he was already tipsy. “I feel as if I were in my twenties, full of life, full of want.”
I held onto my smile, even though Sayer was frowning.
“Great, don’t go so hard on the champagne.”
He gave me a sloppy kiss on the cheek and was on his way to greet a couple that was arriving.
“That was… uncalled for,” Sayer drawled.
“He’s always been like that,” I fumbled for something to clean my cheek with, and Sayer produced a handkerchief from his back pocket, “when he’s, you know, tipsy.”
“Hello there,” this time it was Ferdinand, “I see you ran into Rafael already.”
“Yeah,” I shifted my eyes Sayer’s way so Ferdinand wouldn’t overlook him.
“Mr. Sayer,” they shook hands, “always a pleasure to see you.”
“Same here,” Sayer answered, then turned to me, “I’ll be around. Are you good?” He gestured at my drink, and when I said yes, he walked away.
“Jimmy is here also, with MacGowan.”
“We’re not talking about that here.” Fuck off. That was what I really wanted to say.
“You’ve been out of contact for some time. What’s up?”
“I keep sending my reports with that new code they gave me.”
“I mean me. You haven’t been talking to me.”
“We’re not talking about that here either.” I kept surveying our surroundings for eavesdroppers.
“What is wrong with you, Scarlett? I need to know what’s happening.”
“Since George got hurt, Sayer has started using other guys to do his errands. He doesn’t allow them in the house, so I don’t really know most of them. I’ve stayed indoors most of the time.”
“There’s something else, isn’t it?”
“Where?”
“With you and Sayer.”
He was being a dickhead again.
“No, nothing else.”
“You look pretty with that bow.”
“Thank you.”
“You still remember we weren’t going for pretty in this mission?”
“Shit, Fer, you should’ve seen the dress his sister wanted me to wear.”
“I’m warning you, that is all. We are going after him. Don’t get too attached, or rather, don’t let him get attached to you.”
“He’s married, and our records show no info about mistresses.”
“Our records. You said it. Ever wondered why he never legally married her? Ever read his record thoroughly?”
“What’s the fucking deal with you?”
“The fucking deal with me is that I didn’t like what I just saw in his eyes. I swear he was going to bark at me for getting close to you.”
“Champagne?” A waiter in a tuxedo holding a tray appeared behind Ferdinand.
“Yes, thank you,” I exchanged my empty glass for a fresh one. “Take one, Fer. Maybe a drink will lighten up your mood.”
He took one, gave me a menacing glare, and left to search for Cisneros.
“Everything OK here?” George approached me and we walked over to the railing. “Was that guy bothering you in any way?”
“No.”
“Sure?”
“Well...” I started and George made a movement as if to start following Ferdinand. “No, not an issue. I ... how do I put this? We dated, way back.”
“Oh,” he breathed in relief and relaxed, resting his forearms on the railing.
“Some people can’t get over things. It’s sad, really.”
“Takes a lot of willpower to get over some things. Love is one of them.”
I twisted my head slowly, was this the start of a heart-to-heart conversation with him? With the once unreadable and unwelcoming George? It must have been the champagne.
I took the plunge, “have you ever been madly in love, George?”
“Truth?”
“Yeah, truth.”
“Yes. Once. We were young and we thought the world was ours.”
“Was it?”
“She got killed in a shooting. That was before I started working for Sayer. I’ve always thought that if I’d been with Sayer, she would still be alive. He takes good care of his people.”
“So I’ve noticed.”
“What about you? Have you ever been madly in love?”
“You just saw him. The only man I’ve been madly in love with, and it all fizzled out due to work and earthly duties.”
“I guess it’s true. You don’t know what you have until you lose it.”
“That’s truth right there. I see Sayer is the only one of us with some luck.”
“Luck?” he scoffed, “if you had seen how his wife left after the night they were attacked, you wouldn’t say that.”
“Why is that?” I wanted to push him until he told me all he knew, or at least what I wanted to know.
“She stormed out of the house and, sadly, his life.”
“That’s bad…”
“She couldn’t take it anymore. To be shot at, not a thing to take lightly. She was scared, tried to convince him to go with them, but he wouldn’t yield. He needed to stay and find out who did it.”
“Understandable on both parts.”
He chugged the last of his champagne and turned his eyes to me. Right then we heard a voice behind us.
“George. Scarlett.” It was Sayer. He had brought us fresh glasses of champagne.
“I’m being nice to you,” I told George when he took one, “but you know you can’t drink while you’re on your meds.”
“Didn’t take them today, feeling better already,” he smiled, clinked his glass with mine, and disappeared into the sea of people.
“I really don’t know what you’ve done. It’s admirable to say the least. He even smiles at you!”
“Never underestimate the power of a woman with a gun under her jacket. He smiled because I said I’d shoot him otherwise.”
“Yes, yes, sure.”
“Sayer?” Max
MacGowan was making his way towards us. “There’s someone that wants to talk to you.”
We followed him in and were joined by George, Cisneros and Ferdinand. Some people tried to stop Cisneros, wanting to talk to him, but he dismissed them with a smile and the promise to return once he sorted some things he needed to.
“Be nice,” Cisneros whispered in my ear before we got to where Max was leading us.
When Max opened the door to an office, I understood why Cisneros had advised me so. The surfer boy was there, waiting for us.
“Patrick,” Cisneros shook his hand first.
“You again?” Sayer hissed.
“I’m aware of what happened last time,” Max patted Sayer’s back, “we took care of it.”
I glanced up at George, who saw me and nodded discreetly, scratching his nose. Of course, it made sense now: Sayer wouldn’t have George kill the guy. He just picked up the phone and called his old chum Max to send his boys. That explained why the sorry sod had disappeared, only to be found a week later with a gaping hole between the eyes, and his arms and legs cut off.
Suddenly, Desmond’s hand was on my upper back and he was winking at me. I shuddered, god that Desmond guy was creepy! Like most of Max’s men, he was – unlike Sayer – keen on chopping people up after they were dead. George’s words rang in my mind: Sayer did take care of his people.
“Mr. Sayer, I’m very sorry for any grief we may have caused you in the past,” the surfer boy didn’t look like a surfer anymore. He was wearing a striped shirt under a black jacket, his hair was neatly combed back, and he had lost some of his tan. Also, he had the black guy with him, but there was a new bloke, a clean-cut looking man with a dark beard. “We are all sorry,” his gaze met mine and I looked away. “I’ll work hard to make amends, Mr. Sayer.”
Sayer raised a hand, “We can all forget it then, and move on to business.”
“Great!” Max put his arm around the young man’s shoulders and half-hugged him, “He’s serious about business, Sayer. The best there is,” and vigorously patted the boy’s chest a couple of times.
The poor boy had to recover his breath after that.
“We’ll be seeing a lot of you, boy,” Cisneros put a hand on his neck. “You’ll lead your generation.”
As we started for the door, Sayer pulled the young man aside.
“Thanks for losing the beach boy look.”
“If I want to be among the best, I should look like the best.”
Sayer contemplated on this for a moment. “That’ll take you far, my boy. Expect my call.”
I swear I saw the guy glow when Sayer said that, and his smile stretched wide from ear to ear.
We crossed the main hall, through the throng of half-drunk people, men either holding beautiful young women at their side or being trailed by nagging wives intent on controlling their husbands’ drinking. Sayer wasn’t in the mood for mingling. He had barely a few words with whoever stopped him before breaking off the conversation and heading for a quieter place.
George went to check on Helga while Sayer and I stayed together.
“Worried about something?” I dared ask.
“It’s probably nothing.”
“He did clean up his act.”
“He did, yes,” he kept walking absentmindedly until we reached the veranda. “What do you think about it?”
“About what?” I was surprised he would ask for my opinion on such a thing.
“About dealing with him.”
“I think he has potential. If he keeps listening to you and applying what you teach him, he could very well turn into someone.”
“I’ll give him another chance, then.”
It was dark outside. Night had fallen while we were indoors. Sayer placed most of his weight on the head of the cane.
“Don’t take my word so quickly.”
“I have trust in you, in your instincts,” one of his hands found the small of my back. “I know you will never fail me.”
He stroked my back and then retrieved his hand. Deep inside me, I wanted his warm hand to stay there, to keep stroking my back just as tenderly.
George returned and told us Helga had decided to go home with someone else.
“I’ll do one more round before we go,” Sayer gazed at me.
I nodded, and he was off.
“Go on, George, have another look around before we head back.”
He hesitated, as if he didn’t want to leave me alone, but thought otherwise and left to follow Sayer.
I inhaled some of the night air, enjoying the cold and how it made its way into my chest. The music coming from the party sounded distant against the vastness stretching out in front of me.
“Excuse me,” it was Patrick, “would you like another drink?”
“No, thank you.”
He cleared his throat before speaking, “I’m Patrick Humberts.”
I gazed at his outstretched hand before shaking it, “Scarlett Lang.”
“I wanted to tell you I am sorry about what happened that–”
“Hey, no need to apologize. It’s all forgotten.” The bastard got what he deserved, so let’s leave it there.
“Just wanted to make sure you knew.”
“Is that why you are here?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
“Well. I’ve heard Sayer listens to you.”
“Ah, I knew it. I’ve already put in a good word for you.”
“You did?”
“Told him you have potential. That is, of course, if you keep listening to him.”
“I would like nothing more than for him to take me under his wing. If there’s anything I can do, tell me, I will do it.”
“Actually,” an idea popped into my head. Maybe the little wanker could prove himself useful. “I need information on who sent the gunman that attacked Sayer and his wife. I’ve been collecting some names but I need to be certain.”
“Count me in,” he smiled, unable to contain his enthusiasm.
Even if he didn’t get any information, at least I made his night.
It wasn’t long before Sayer came back and we headed home. I could tell he was worried, thinking hard, his eyes lost somewhere far. I sat in the back with him, my head leaning back on the seat. He reached for me and pulled me to him so my head would rest on his chest. I liked that. Too much if you ask me. I felt his heart beating fast, sending signals through his ribcage, his skin.
Once we were at the house, I made sure all the doors were locked before going into the kitchen to make his nightly tea.
“Still dressed?” He stepped into the kitchen, already in his robe, “I’ll do it so you can…” he stood beside me, so close I could feel his robe brushing against my jacket, “undress.”
He helped me off my jacket.
“Did you enjoy the party?” he asked as he folded it and put it away.
“I feel like all I did was talk.”
He chuckled, helping me out of the shoulder holster.
“In those parties, you either talk or you drink. No science to that,” he grabbed the kettle. “Go on, I’ll take it upstairs for you.”
It was obvious he didn’t want me making the tea, so I took my things and went upstairs, took a shower, and changed into my pajamas.
Sayer knocked on my door. “Tea’s ready in my office.”
I was welcomed with a cup of the hot liquid and a smiling Sayer. He went to stand by the window, looking down, while he took the cup to his lips in a graceful manner.
I, on the other hand, sat in the same chair I did every night.
“I saw that young man talking to you. Cisneros’s guy.”
“Ferdinand.”
“That one.”
“A nutjob.”
“Is he?”
“Completely mental.”
“Are you taking the piss?”
“Yeah... He’s nice. Thing is, we go back, dated for a while.”
“Oh,” he breathed, “don’t want
to hear about it then.”
“Don’t want to talk about it either.”
He set his empty cup on the tray. I took the last sip of mine and put it next to his. Then he took my hand in his, looking intently at it. I knew what he was thinking, I was thinking the same thing. I closed my fist over his hand, rose from my chair, and kissed his lips.
He held my neck with both hands, his lips pressed to mine without parting them until I pulled back and lowered my eyes.
“Is that how you feel?”
What kind of fucking existential question was that?
“Yes.”
“There’s no shame in that,” he pulled my chin up.
Yes, there was. A lot, actually, or I wouldn’t be fucking trembling. I was betraying everything and everyone I had ever stood for, including myself.
He pulled me into a hug, into another kiss. As he slid his tongue into my mouth, I sent every warning, every lecture Ferdinand had given me, to hell. The fuck I was giving this up for him!
Sayer took my hand and led me to his room. The room I knew so well, and now I was seeing it in another light, the one that gleamed through his gray hair.
He was sweet, gentle. I couldn’t care less if he had to take a pill to make it happen. Of course I had seen them. They weren’t stored in the cupboard with the rest of his meds, but in his bedroom, inside a drawer on his night table. If that was ever a turn off for anyone, let me tell you: the full-body kisses, the tenderness of his hands on my skin, the things he whispered in my ear... no pill can give you that.
Ever.