Father Found by RM Johnson

Author:RM Johnson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon & Schuster

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Martin Carter rustled the papers on his desk together in an attempt to get out of the office quickly. He looked down at his watch and it read 5:35. He had to get over to the bank, and talk to one of the Weinman brothers. He knew they left no later than 6:00 P.M. They had called him and stated how imperative it was that he remit the payment for the chunk of money that he owed them. Martin didn’t get into the details, didn’t tell them that the organization just didn’t have that kind of money, and that the $3,000 they owed might as well have been $1,000,000.

Zale didn’t have it either, Martin was almost sure just by the way the man looked when he asked him to cover their usual expenses. And if he did have it stashed away, Martin was sure that it was to take care of his own living expenses. Martin couldn’t let this problem get to Zale. He had to take care of it himself, because knowing Zaleford Rowen, he would take that money and sacrifice food and shelter just for Father Found.

Martin cleared his desk and walked out of his office.

“I’m taking off,” he said to his secretary. “Is Mr. Rowen still in his office?”

“No, he left almost three hours ago,” she said.

Something must have been happening with him to drive him out of here this early, Martin thought. “Well, switch my calls to my voice mail, and if anything serious happens, it can wait till tomorrow, all right?”

Martin made his way downstairs and out the front door. He approached his car, opened the passenger-side door and was placing his briefcase on the seat when he was startled by a hand on his shoulder. He jumped and spun around to see a man standing behind him, wearing an orange suit jacket and pants, dark glasses, his hair slicked back in a ponytail. The man was laughing a bit as Martin caught his breath.

“Damn, man, you almost as jumpy as Ro. Where he at?”

“Who the hell are you?” Martin said, then, before the man could answer him, Martin recognized him. It was Mace, that drug-dealing bastard that through some strange association, Zale knew and seemed to befriend.

“I’m your boss’s friend,” Mace said, casually looking up and down the street, as if he was being hunted. “Where he at anyway? He still in his office, tracking down those bastards that don’t want to come off they child support?”

Martin just looked at the man, not saying a word, as if whatever he had to say, whatever questions he asked, were not worth Martin’s time to answer. He didn’t know him, but he knew of him, and his reputation was more than enough to make Martin think that he hated this man. The way he looked, the way he stood in front of Martin talking to him as if they were old pals that hung out and did drugs in his basement, only made Martin sure of his dislike for him.

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