Cashed Out by Michael Rubin

Author:Michael Rubin [Rubin, Michael]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Endeavour Media
Published: 2018-12-25T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 44

“You can’t imagine how pleased I am to have an attorney like you representing one of my investments.”

I didn’t understand what the fat man was getting at.

Ribeye and Frankie stood behind my chair, looming over me.

He shoved a wine glass across the table toward me. “Here. Pinot Grigio. Very nice.”

“You have something stronger? My arm hurts like hell.” If I was going to be killed, I didn’t want to end it with a glass of white wine.

“No doubt. Frankie sometimes gets a little too eager. Try this.” He reached up to a high shelf and pulled down a bottle. “Lagavulin. Islay single malt. You’ll like this. Sixteen years old.” He filled a tumbler and put it in front of me.

The scotch was peaty and smoky. I gulped it down. Anything to quench the pain in my arm.

He refilled the tumbler to the rim. “I have read through the corporate documents on the five new corporations you formed. Fine job. Very complete. I’ve also looked at the Camellia Industries books. Everything is in order.” Why was he playing with me?

“Did you draft the Camellia Industries papers too?”

“No.” That was all I needed to say. When faced with cross-examination, answer only the specific question and nothing more.

“But, you represent Camellia Industries, right?”

I shrugged noncommittally. At this point, what the else could I do? I had planned to take the money and leave Camellia and Taylor behind, but now these guys had the money and I had nothing.

Frankie jabbed his elbow into my bad arm, sending an electric shock of pain up my nerves. Everything ached again. My arm. My head. My whole body.

Frankie raised his hand, ready to strike me again if I didn’t respond. “Mr. Micelli expects an answer.”

Micelli! Confirmation that my situation was hopeless. The fat man had to be Carmine “The Snake” Micelli’s son, the one Taylor had mentioned. “The Snake” had been brutal and merciless.

Frankie flipped open a switchblade.

“That’s not necessary, Frankie,” Micelli commanded, adjusting his Saints cap. “Go sit over there.” He pointed to one of the red bar stools.

Frankie took a seat but did not put the knife away. Ribeye backed away from my chair and lounged near the cabin door.

“Come on, Schex,” Micelli said pleasantly. “You might as well have a drink. We’re out beyond the 12-mile limit. Blue water. International seas. Beyond state borders. Therefore, I feel perfectly comfortable in asking how you like representing Camellia Industries.”

How did he know my name? What was the purpose of his questions? He had everything now. Why did he need to ask me anything?

“It’s really not a hard question. Either you do or you don’t represent the corporation. Surely, you seem to represent Camellia Industries. You watched it from a boat in the bayou. You attended the meeting at the St. Bonaventure Gym. You were at Wholesale Flesh and Fur with Trey the day that Spider’s body was found. You were married to Taylor and were with her at Poirrier’s.

He sure knew a lot about me.

Micelli leaned forward.

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