Bad Influence by Julianne Reyer

Author:Julianne Reyer
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2012-11-23T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

THE red Corvette zipped and spun around the track. With a high-pitched roar, the engine screamed as it passed by, and the squeal of tires echoed across the club grounds.

Tony bit down on the thick cigar in his chubby hands as he stared out the window. Puffs of smoke filled the office and Frank subtly coughed into his fist.

"The kid's good." Tony turned back to his desk. "A chip off the old block, I'd say."

"He's my girlfriend's boy," Frank said as he folded his arms behind his back. "But I love him like my own."

"That's good." Tony jabbed the cigar in the air. "We need that kind of loyalty around here."

"Thanks, boss."

"Speaking of which." The overweight man dropped into his leather chair. "Joe got himself nabbed by the cops and Ricky's out with a broken leg. I need you to do the warehouse run."

Frank shifted in his coal-black suit. "Sure, boss. But without Ricky, I don't have a driver."

"Drive yourself." Tony stuffed the cigar back in his mouth and started flipping through stacks of papers.

Frank cleared his throat. "Is that wise? I mean, the warehouse is good money but I don't trust those guys. After that last bust, there's been rumors. Like they think we ratted them out."

"So you're saying they'll pull a fast one on us?" Tony leaned back and he rolled the cigar in his teeth. "You're not getting cold feet on me, are ya, Frankie?"

"No, sir." Frank put his hands in front of him, palms out. "Things go much smoother if you got a driver and a pickup, is all. Like safety in numbers, you know, boss?"

Tony blew out a puff a smoke. Then he gripped the cigar and pointed it out the window. "What about your boy? He's better 'n Ricky on the course."

The blood drained from Frank's face. "He's just a kid, Tony."

"He's older 'n you were when you started." He jabbed the smoky stub in the ashtray, smashing the embers into oblivion. "It's about time you brought him into the business. Now get the job done." He waved his hand and returned to his papers.

Frank glanced out the window as the car screeched around a corner, the rear sliding as it maneuvered back onto the straightaway. Then he swallow and ran his hand through his neat, black hair. "Okay, boss. I'll give you a call when it's done."

***

The dream wasn't so bad. It was a comfort, in fact.

I'd fantasized about hundreds of scenarios involving Frank, but the lead up to him choosing me was my favorite. Like being called off the bench in the last half of the game. The unexpected hero, wrestling victory from perceived defeat. It always worked out great in my mind, with him giving me a big hug at the end and saying, "I couldn't have done it without you, Brad."

Of course, reality was a bitch. It was messy, chaotic, unforgiving. And instead of being the hero, I was the terrified little kid, sitting on a stiff chair in a gray-walled interrogation room, suffering through hours of questioning.

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