Vulture Capital: Fear and Funding in the Silicon Valley (August Riordan Series Book 2) by Mark Coggins

Author:Mark Coggins [Coggins, Mark]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Philodox Press
Published: 2018-06-10T11:00:00+00:00

“Question of the day: if you wear the Pets.com sock puppet while masturbating, is it bestiality?”

—Posting on an Internet news group

Penile Projectile

TED VALMONT STEPPED through the door of his Woodside home carrying a speeding ticket for $300. He went immediately to the exercise room, where he shucked off his clothes—not bothering to fold or hang any article—and changed into his boxing gear. He walked up to the heavy bag and regarded it with a ruinous gaze. He swung—then swung again. The heavy bag danced on its chains like a demented puppet. Ted Valmont expelled a roaring noise from deep within his chest and leaned into the bag to deliver a ferocious combination of punches that tattooed it to the wall.

The punching frenzy went on for a long time. When Ted Valmont could barely muster the strength to lift his gloves, he ended it with a rubbery left uppercut and fell into the bag, his chest heaving as he hugged the stitched leather to retain his balance. “Bastards!” he yelled at the top of his lungs. In the comparative silence that followed, the chime of the front doorbell could be heard.

Ted Valmont frowned at the insistent ringing—someone was working the button like pinball flipper—and stumbled out of the room. The knob of the front door was hard to manipulate with his gloved hands, but after jiggling it ineffectually for several moments, he managed to pull it open. August Riordan stood on his porch with a stout Latino woman whose gray-streaked, iron-colored hair was pulled back in a tight bun. She wore a shapeless dress of rayon with black polka dots on a field of green, industrial strength hosiery of a too-dark brown and clunky shoes that needed polish. She smiled uncomfortably at the panting, half-naked young man who appeared before her.

Riordan grinned unabashedly. “Whoa,” he said in mock surprise. “Been sparring a few rounds with a Campfire Girl?”

Ted Valmont brought a forearm up to wipe his cheek. “Shut up, Riordan,” he said harshly. “Unless you want to go a few yourself.”

Riordan arched his eyebrows. “Pretty feisty today, aren’t we? Someone put Ben-Gay in your jock?”

“Lay off. What are you doing here?”

“I called your office repeatedly. First you were taking a day off, then the whole week. Pretty cushy for you.”

“Cushy? I don’t call being attacked by a suicide bomber cushy. My question stands. What are you doing here?”

Riordan gestured to the Latino woman. “Meet Mrs. Salaiz, formerly employed as a maid at the Appellation Inn. Since you were so keen on speaking to hotel staff, I thought I would bring her over here directly.”

Ted Valmont pinned one glove under his arm and yanked out his hand. “Formerly employed?” he said in a disinterested tone. “Where’d you find her then?”

Riordan ran a broad tongue between his lower lip and teeth. “Look, Valmont, did you hire me or did I dream it? And weren’t you the guy that wanted daily status reports? Why don’t you show a little common courtesy here and ask us in?”

Ted Valmont blew air through his lips.

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