THE CHARM OF REVENGE Read online

  “So, are you coming in?

  “Call me with what you find, and I’ll think about showing my face.”

  Lance clambered off the barstool, patted Donatello on the shoulder, grabbed his helmet, and headed out into the November chill.

  “Any chance of a refill Ronnie.”

  He grabbed the bottle from the shelf and poured. “That captain’s still got a hard-on for ya.”

  “Always.” Donatello lifted the glass to his lips.

  “Didn’t it start with your partner?”

  “Jonah’s death, yeah, Colby pulled the case from me.”

  “Long time to hold a grudge, eh?”

  “Six years. Let’s change the subject, Ronnie.”

  “Oh, sure.” Ronnie picked up a duster to polish the bar. “Weren’t Jonah and your wife related?”

  “That’s kind of the same subject, but yeah, half-brother.”

  “Did he know?”

  Donatello put the glass down and met Ronnie’s look. “Did who know?”

  “Captain Colby. I mean, your partner had some shady sidelines didn’t he?”

  “Where are you going with this, Ronnie?”

  “Nowhere. Just chatting; only it might explain why the captain’s still on your case. I mean, if he learned you and your old partner were family, maybe he's painted you with the same shady brush.”

  Donatello drained his glass and placed a twenty on the bar. “I’m heading to the precinct where I get to do the interrogating.”

  6. ALWAYS A LEADER

  Friday, 10:48 a.m.

  Lola’s battered pink VW Beetle rounded the final bend of St John’s Drive, bringing her father-in-law’s villa into view on the far side of the valley. The morning sun glistened on the white stone walls in the distance, highlighting the vibrant hues of the evergreen Cypress trees that lined the long sweeping driveway.

  Her mind had been racing since Brad had told her not to ask. But he was proud, and they had nowhere else to turn. To and fro her thoughts had gone, what if he says yes, but what if it’s no?

  Jack fidgeted in the passenger seat. “Mom, will Grandpa let me see his guns?”

  “I don’t know, honey, maybe if you ask nicely.”

  “Guns are wicked, and he’s got tons! Why won’t Dad let you get one, Mom?”

  “You know he has his reasons, and besides, I don’t know how to use one.”

  “That’s so lame! Half the kids at school have guns! Dad’s such a doofus!”

  Lola slapped Jack’s leg. “Don’t disrespect your father, and how many times have I told you not to cuss around your sister?” Lola glanced back at Lilly, who was watching the grand houses pass by as they reached the valley floor.

  Jack grinned at the rebuke. “Why can’t Grandpa teach you?”

  “Because of what happened to your grandma.”

  “What’s that got to do with him teaching you?”

  “Because he knows your father doesn’t approve of guns.”

  “So?”

  “Oh, Jack! Because he respects your father’s wishes, and if you don’t give it, you can’t expect it. Now, stop asking questions.”

  “You should just come out with it; when I want something, I say it straight out. Sometimes it works, sometimes not. Mostly it works first time.”

  “Thanks for the heads-up. I’ll keep it in mind.”

  “Well, I want to see them, so I’m going to ask.”

  The VW squeaked to a halt in front of the metal entrance gates. Lola wound down the window, pressed the call button on the security panel, and waved at the outer perimeter cameras. The buzzer sounded, and the imposing double gates jolted to life.

  The car juddered forward, tracked by the inner perimeter cameras as it rumbled up the cobblestone driveway to the front entrance.

  Lola shut off the engine and leaned around to unfasten Lilly’s seat belt. The three of them piled out as the black-paneled front door swung open. There stood Marcus, with his wavy silver hair, and classy clothes. Her eyes fell on his platinum skeleton watch. Holy crap that must be forty grand right there! This might not be so hard.

  “Hey, guys! No school today?” Marcus said.

  “Hi, Grandpa!” Jack said, high-fiving him. “Teachers are on strike. Can I see your guns today, please?”

  “Sorry, Jack. They’re not toys.”

  Lola watched Jack’s face slump. Works first time, eh? Yeah, right.

  “Hi, Popski!” Lilly said, giggling as she held her arms out for Marcus to receive a hug and kiss.

  Marcus crouched. “How’s my little Shirley Temple today?”

  “Great!” Lilly grinned.

  Lola pecked Marcus on the cheek as he straightened. “Brad sends his apologies, Pops.”

  “Oh, shame.” This time, Marcus’s face dropped. He closed the heavy door, pressed his thumb to the panel on the wall, and walked with Lola and the kids along the hallway. Behind them, steel bars slid into the door frame as the alarm sounded an extended bleep, confirming the re-arming of the front garden and perimeter zones.

  “Daisy’s birthday is coming up, so Brad is collecting the new charm, before working on the other house.”

  They entered the kitchen. Lilly and Jack raced off through the back door, into the garden, and Lola settled into the cream-leather button-backed sofa in the nook by the window.

  “Still buying the charms, is he?” Marcus said.

  “Ordered it months ago and this one’s the seventh. Three more will complete the circle.”

  “You mean bracelet?” Marcus filled the kettle.

  “Hm? What’d I say?”

  “Circle.”

  “Sorry, Pops. Don’t know what I’m saying at the moment.”

  “Something on your mind?”

  Lola managed a faint smile. “A few problems.”

  “This isn’t a social call then.”

  “Oh, it’s still social.” Crap. This was not a good start.

  Marcus sighed. “Let’s sit in the orchard.”

  “Oh. Sure.” She gazed through the window at Lilly chasing Jack in and out of the bare fruit trees, beyond the acres of lawn.

  “Go on ahead. I’ll bring the drinks.”

  Lola wandered out to where the teak chairs and table were waiting. Settling into the chair, she gazed up into the leafless wands of the weeping willow and remembered the gnarled old tree with the red swing in the orphanage garden.

  Marcus arrived with the tray. “So? Tell me.”

  “It’s nothing, Pops. Let’s not talk about it.”

  Marcus frowned. “Is it the banks?”

  “And the builders.”

  Lola took the cup from Marcus’s extended hand. “Brad has to redo things.”

  “Can’t you sell the damn thing?”

  “We’ve tried, but the agents say we need to finish the work first.”

  “What about the one you’re living in?”

  Lola shook her head. “It’s underwater.”

  “So hand back the keys and rent somewhere, I mean, if there’s no equity, why fight?”

  “We don’t have money to rent, Pops.”

  “And you came to borrow more?”

  Lola watched Jack and Lilly playing tag and took a deep breath. Time to try Jack’s way. “We’ve got bigger problems.”

  Marcus studied her for a moment. “But you are here for more money.”

  “Pops, the IRS is at it again.”

  Marcus’s face turned to steel. “For heaven’s sake, how many times is this?”

  Lola took a sip of coffee. “Five. Brad said there’s no money to fight them, and I wanted to ask if…”

  Marcus looked off into the orchard. “Did he put you up to this?”

  “No way! He thinks we’re at the park.”

  His jaw flexed. “Well, that’s something, at least.”

  Lola’s heart sank. “It’s because of that company, isn’t it?”

  Marcus shook his head. “Did you ever wonder why I lent him that money, Lola?”

&
nbsp; “To buy the business.”

  “No. To atone for having been an absent father, and to bring us closer, but it did the reverse.”

  She looked into Marcus’s sad eyes. “We were sinking. Everything was going wrong, and Brad couldn’t reach you when Daisy was dying.”

  Marcus rose. “Don’t even start on that road, Lola. I was in Europe when they made you homeless, and I’d been calling for months before I left. Neither of you returned my calls.”

  “It wasn’t like that, Pops.”

  “It was like that!” Marcus shoved his hands in his pockets as Lilly flashed past, giggling, with Jack hot on her heels.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way, only, it starts this way every time.” Lola looked at her tattered Nikes. “We can’t get them to leave us alone.”

  “Give them the keys, get a job and tell Brad to get a job. If he had stuck with med school, none of this would have happened, and he wouldn’t need to keep tapping me.”

  “He studied medicine? When the hell was that?”

  “Never told you, huh? Tens of thousands to become a surgeon, tossed down the drain.”

  “Why has he never told me?” Lola whispered.

  “No doubt something else he’s not proud of.”

  “Something else?”

  “Never mind,” Marcus sat beside her. “Look, Lola, I don’t care what anyone says. This IRS problem is personal. Someone’s marked Brad’s card and is pulling strings to bury him, so, find out who that is, then take your own action.”

  7. RANDALL’S PRIZE

  Friday, 11:00 a.m.

  “I want my prize, I want my prize, I want my prize!” Randall crackled with energy as he stormed along the grimy gray corridor toward the conference room. Three, two, one, bang! His palms slammed against the double doors, flinging them into the room. Thirty cheap suits scurried aside as he barged to the front, then faced them.

  “Where’s the money!” He studied their faces for signs of life. “Where is the money?”

  The group of tax investigators exchanged glances and muttered, what Randall suspected were insults.

  “Right! Now I have your attention the numbers are in, and they are an unmitigated disaster. That means they are shite, people!” He paused for effect, scanning the room for a sacrificial lamb. “We were in the lead! The competition was ours to lose if you had just kept your eyes on the prize!” He took a deep breath, held it, and exhaled. “Now we’re in third place. Why? Have we become a charity?” He willed someone to make eye contact. “No, we have not. Our sole purpose, people, is to take money from those who earn it! Think of them as battery hens; it isn’t personal, it’s an ecosystem: they make money; we take money; the government wastes money. Is it our job to question the grand order of things? No, our job is to take the eggs they lay and win that competition.”

  Another ripple of dissent as Randall smoothed his comb-over and forced a smile. “Oh, and in case you’re not convinced, Christmas is less than a month away, as is your end-of-year bonus. So if we’re not back in the top spot, I’m canceling both!”

  “Grinch!” Someone called out.

  A titter ran through the room.

  Randall paced among them, scrutinizing their faces. “That’s good! Keep going! We’ll see who’s laughing in a few weeks.” He returned to the front. “Right! Pep talk’s over. You got my memo. Who hasn’t got their hit list of new taxpayers to slaughter—I mean investigate?”

  No hands showed.

  “Good.” Randall locked on to the diminutive Indian-looking woman near the front of the group. “You. New person. What’s your name?”

  She stepped toward him, “Sangeeta Patel, sir.”

  “Hand me your list, please.”

  The woman held out the thin sheaf of papers. A tingle of pleasure washed over Randall as he noticed her hand trembling as a hush gripped the room. He took the pages and ran his finger down the names, flicked to the second sheet, and stopped.

  “This one,” he said, jabbing the page. “What’s he doing on your list?”

  Ms. Patel hesitated at the three-foot gulf between them but shuffled closer to see where he was pointing.

  “Oh! He is a nothing, sir, an anomaly. I found his name red-flagged for regular reinvestigation, but I do not—”

  “What was that? Speak properly!”

  The woman glanced at her coworkers. “Sorry, sir, but from his file, I cannot see why he has been getting so many demands or has been flagged.”

  Randall leaned forward so his cheek was an inch from hers and his breath wafted the hair around her ear. “He’s flagged because I red-flagged him, understand?” He handed back the list and gazed into her brown eyes.

  “Y-yes, sir.”

  “So, now you have his file, and since you’re new, I want you to serve him and his perfect little family up on a platter. Can you do that for me, Sangeeta?” He gave her a forced smile.

  The woman managed a faint nod. “I’ll try, sir.”

  Watching her discomfort, Randall considered the surrounding faces. They were enjoying the show, but their turn was coming. “So what have you got on him?”

  “Er, nothing, sir. Someone issued demands for several hundred thousand dollars.”

  “I know. I did!”

  “Sorry, sir, but why? He has no money.”

  Randall’s cheek twitched. “So take his assets.”

  “There are none, sir. His business is not surviving. He has two properties, but both are having high mortgages and no equity.

  “So, find the cash.”

  Sangeeta Patel shook her head. “What cash? I checked his bank accounts, and they are empty, but he has a wife with two young children.”

  Randall’s twitching intensified. “I don’t care! Visit the cheating maggot and tell him he owes us half a million dollars in unpaid taxes and instruct legal to issue recovery proceedings. Watch everything they do in their house. Access cameras, smartphones, landlines, credit cards, loyalty points, social media—hell, check their rubbish bins!”

  The woman’s eyes darted between the papers in her hand and her boss’s contorted face. “I can’t-”

  “Sangeeta!” Randall took a deep breath, counted to three, and exhaled. “Think of this as your rite of passage into Special Investigations. I know this Bradley Fairweather, and I want him buried alive, his business closed, his properties seized, and his charming little Hallmark-card family on the street by Christmas!”

  8. ALL LIES

  Friday, 4:39 p.m.

  Brad heard the key in the lock and watched from his study as Jack flashed through the opening front door and disappeared up the stairs. “Hey, Jack.”

  “Sup, Dad,” came the faint reply.

  Lola closed the door and strode toward him, with Lilly trotting behind. “Are you free, Hon?”

  Brad pushed his chair from the desk and swiveled to meet her gaze. “Sure.”

  Lola looked down at Lilly. “Sweetheart, go watch TV for a while, please, so Mommy and Daddy can talk.”

  Lilly trotted away, swinging her stuffed toy rabbit Mopsey by one blue cloth arm.

  Lola leaned against the study doorjamb and folded her arms. “I need to confess.”

  “That sounds ominous.” Brad tried to smile. “Shoot!”

  “Um.” Lola shuffled as though trying to get comfortable. “I saw your father this morning.”

  Brad’s chest tightened. “You said you were going to the park.”

  She shook her head.

  He closed his eyes to calm himself. “So, what made you go to my dad’s?”

  Lola dropped her head forward, letting her hair cascade in a dark curtain around her face.

  “Oh, Honey, tell me you didn’t ask him for money.”

  “Don’t get mad,” she said, keeping her head down.

  “Did you?”

  “I figured it would be nice for the kids to see him.”

  “So you didn’t?”

  “You’re getting mad.”

  Brad cupped h
is face in his hands. “After I said I couldn’t ask him and asked you not to?”

  “What else was I supposed to do?”

  “Well, not that, for heaven’s sake. Was he angry?”

  “Um, he wasn’t happy.”

  “Oh, Jesus Christ on a crutch, talk about pouring fuel on the fire!” Brad slumped back in his chair. “What were you thinking?”

  “You said you wouldn’t ask him, but I thought he might help if I did.”

  “Why would he, Lola? We only just got on speaking terms with the guy.”

  “But we’re sinking, and I wanted to help.”

  Brad scrunched his face. “Well, you didn’t. And what’s worse, you did it behind my back!”

  Lola pushed away from the wall. “You’re a fine one to talk, mystery man!”

  “What? Don’t turn this on me.”

  “Okay, how about med school, then!”

  “Oh. Father told you, did he?” Brad fought to regain the high ground. “Well, what of it? We hadn’t even met.”

  “Married ten years and you’ve never mentioned it once.”

  “It had nothing to do with anything.”

  Lola stepped toward him. “It’s got everything to do with it. I’ve been through hell with you, and I don’t know the first thing about you! What other little gems have you locked away, eh? Maybe a mistress, or another wife?”

  “Don’t be silly, Lola. I flunked out, and I’m not proud of it, okay?” Brad got up and tried to get past her.

  Lola blocked his exit and pushed him backward. “No, it’s not okay! Six hours before Daisy died, the hospital sent us away with pills for a fever, and you didn’t question it. When we took her back, they called the cops instead of the doctor. If you’d told them you were one of them, they might have saved her.”

  “It takes twelve years to become a doctor, and I dropped out after three! All I did was cut things up, now you’re blaming me for Daisy’s death?”

  Lola’s eyes darted around the room, avoiding contact. “I’m not blaming you. I blame those investors and that evil bitch in the hospital who called the cops, but you should have told them you’d studied to be a doctor.”