Reckoning by J. B. Turner

Author:J. B. Turner [Turner, J. B.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781503947979
Publisher: Thomas & Mercer
Published: 2018-08-01T16:00:00+00:00

Thirty-Six

Nathan sat down and ordered a glass of “whatever he’s having twice, please” and smiled across the table at the corpulent figure of Wilson. “I love this place, Clayton. I can see why you like it.”

Wilson looked at Nathan as if he’d seen a ghost, his face turning a sickly shade of gray.

“The thing is, being away from New York for so long, it’s great to see a nice part of the city. They say downtown’s where it’s at these days. But I don’t know. This is pretty good, right?”

Wilson leaned in close. “What the fuck is this?”

Nathan grinned. “Always liked the feel of the old-money side of town. Great access to Central Park, right?”

“I asked you a question.”

“Clayton,” Nathan said, his voice now a whisper, “here’s how it’s going to work. I’m going to talk and you’re going to listen.”

“I have no idea what this is all about, but you need to get out of here before I call the cops.”

“Really? And say what exactly, Clayton? ‘Yeah, there’s this guy, we hire him to kill people for us, and he seems like he’s ready to go fucking rogue again. Can you help me?’”

Wilson stared at him.

“So are we good?”

“What do you want?”

Nathan felt seriously crazy. “Why does everyone think I want something? I don’t understand.”

The waiter arrived at the table with two glasses. “Are we expecting your son for lunch, Mr. Wilson?”

Wilson looked up with hooded eyes. “He’s running late.”

The waiter gave a polite nod and left them alone.

Nathan put the glass of Sancerre to his lips and breathed in the fragrant bouquet. “Fine wines at lunch, Clayton, huh? What a great way to live. Bet they didn’t serve that at the Langley cafeteria. It’s a bitch trying to get executive chefs with top-level security clearance. But hey, someone’s got to do it, right?” He took a small gulp and savored the cool wine as it slid down his throat.

Wilson’s face flushed with anger. “What do you want? Do you want to get the conversation started?”

Nathan grinned and shook his head. “Do I want to get the conversation started? Is that the bullshit terminology that’s in vogue just now? I mean, Clayton, really, language like that!”

Wilson began to grind his teeth.

“Have we become, as a species,” Nathan continued, “so afraid to call a spade a spade that our language is now too warm, fuzzy, nonthreatening? Politically correct speech as opposed to free speech. You know what I’m talking about?”

“Sounds like you’ve been reading up on cultural Marxism.”

“Indeed I have. What a revelation that the Frankfurt School had such an impact on America via our once-great colleges and universities. Gender. Race. Ethnicity. Sexuality. We’re supposed to care about shit like that. Changing our actions and thoughts to make us afraid. Afraid to say what we think. What we want.”

Clayton sneered. “I want you to tell me what the fuck you want.”

“That’s better. That’s a whole lot better, Clayton. I like that.” Nathan knocked back the rest of the white wine and sighed.

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