DeVille's Contract. Scott Zarcinas

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СКАЧАТЬ however, to create another vacant seat, another annulled vote. Once the dominos had started to tumble, who knew how many would fall? Then he summoned his most pleasant I’m-really-your-best-friend smile, and said, “Gregory, come and sit at the table.” He almost felt sick saying it, like telling Lady Di he loved her, but he needed the tax whiz like never before. “You don’t have to vote if you don’t want to. No one’s putting a gun to your head.”

      Relief evaporated from Gregory’s shoulders like waves of heat above a desert road, and the faintest smile brushed his lips and eyes. “You… you’re sure?”

      Louis nodded. Gregory stared back at him as if he were Jesus Almighty, the goddamned savior of the entire universe, and took his seat back at the table. Louis suppressed the urge to laugh, then glanced at Johnny. The lizard-kid’s nostrils flared almost imperceptibly, the only sign belying his coolness. The dominos had started to tumble; and to add to his woes, Wendy knocked on the door and entered with a note for Louis. She barely glanced at the others, seemingly unaware of what was happening, then left with a wiggle of her curvy hips, a subtle invitation for Louis that they were available whenever he wanted. It was an offer he would certainly take up. Tonight even, right after this sordid little affair was dealt with.

      Still standing, he glanced at the memo. “Ha!” he blurted, and chuckled with surprise. The whole situation just got better and better.

      He reread the memo, just to be sure. It was a message sent straight from heaven (if you believed in that bullshit), delivered by an angel with a great set of jugs and butts of steel. “It seems, gentlemen,” he said, making no attempt to hide his glee, “that your glorious leader will be unable to come to your rescue.”

      He glanced at the traitors, letting them know he had them by the balls. They were all staring at the note in his hand, even Johnny. Gregory was the only one who wasn’t anxious. He was leaning back in his chair with an expression of a passenger smug enough to believe he was the only one safe in a plummeting aircraft because he was the only one wearing his seatbelt. He was smiling. He was actually smiling.

      “It says here that Herbert Grimsby has been struck down with a mysterious illness and is currently in a coma in Intensive Care at St. Mary’s Hospital. The prognosis isn’t good.” Louis now let Johnny have the full intensity of his glare. “And the prognosis isn’t good for you, either. The game’s over. I accept your resignation, effective immediately.”

      Johnny’s hooded eyelids lifted slightly. His nostrils flared, and for a horrid moment Louis thought he saw a forked tongue flick out and lick his lips. “The game’s not over, yet,” he said, cool as ever. “As you’ve said, we have to follow protocol. There’s still a vote to be taken.” He scanned the faces around him. “We don’t need Herbert. We can still do this.”

      The suit and tie two seats up from Johnny’s right fidgeted with his cuffs and scratched his balding scalp. “I’m… um… going to abstain,” he said.

      Johnny stared in disbelief, his cool now rapidly thawing like the ice cube in the seat next to him.

      The VP on Gregory’s left spoke up next. “Me too. I don’t know what we’re voting for anymore, now that Herbie’s in ICU.” He made the sign of the cross on his chest.

      Louis now beamed. That was four, five including himself. Johnny had just lost his two-thirds majority. The dominos had fallen quicker than he had expected.

      “As I said, I accept your resignation, effective immediately,” he said.

      Glaring at the two who had just betrayed him, Johnny stood, sniffed contemptuously, and headed for the door. Before he left the boardroom, he turned and fired one last parting shot. “This is not the end. You haven’t heard the last of me.”

      Louis laughed in his face. “The goddamn sky will fall down before you’re ever a threat to me again.”

      Johnny’s eyes hooded over. Then he was gone.

      CHAPTER THREE

       No More Problems

      LOUIS chuckled at the memory. History was written by the victor, no truer words had been spoken; and victory was sweet, as sweet as revenge, no matter what anyone else said, almost sweet enough to douse the burning inside his chest. Surprisingly, he hadn’t seen nor heard of the lizard-kid since he slinked out of the boardroom and was escorted by security onto Broadway. He had just disappeared. Not that it wasn’t hard to meld into the New York shadows, but to completely vanish without a trace was a little surprising. He would have thought he’d have heard something from someone, maybe another CEO who had received his CV, or a client who had been solicited for services, but no, nothing, not even a whisper.

      He just wished the mound of problems he was facing would disappear as easily as Johnny Winterbottom. Sighing long again, he heard the muffled ring of the secretary’s telephone through the office door. Simultaneously, the red light on Button-1 began flashing again. Damned idiot thinks we’ve been disconnected, he grumbled.

      He picked up the handset and punched the button before Sarah buzzed to tell him who it was. “Do I have to get on a plane and come over and kick your scrawny butt? Just get the signature on the contract. I don’t care how you do it. Just do it.”

      To his shock, someone other than Epstein cleared his throat before speaking. “Mr. DeVille, this is Sergeant Washington. NYPD.”

      Louis felt his gastritis burn a path from his lower sternum all the way to his Adam’s apple. He leaned forward, resting on the elbow of the hand that held the handset to his ear. The other hand rubbed his chest. He knew what the cop was calling about (and he really should have known it would happen today, shouldn’t he?). Just part of the garbage that had been building up since this morning, since two weeks ago in fact. He cleared his throat, and said, “What can I do for you, Sergeant?”

      “I think you know, sir,” Washington said, and he said sir in a way that twisted in his gut like a poker stoking the flames of his gastritis. Louis was sure the cop had been secretly coached by Lady Di to put him off his guard. “We’ve been waiting for you since half past ten this morning. This is the fourth interview you’ve failed to attend.”

      Quashing the urge to slam the phone down, Louis saw the red light of Button-2 begin to flash. An instant later, he heard the muffled ring of the secretary’s phone through the door and then Sarah’s faint voice talking to the caller.

      “I’d like to remind you that sexual harassment is a serious issue,” Washington continued. “We need to clear up certain facts before we can proceed with the claim.”

      “I can explain,” he said. “My secretary’s new. She’s been letting a few things slip lately…”

      Washington’s voice firmed. “You can explain it to the courts. This is a courtesy call to inform you that because of your frequent refusal to attend police questioning a subpoena has been issued…”

      “A subpoena? You’re joking.” Louis was now rubbing his chest so hard he feared he’d stick his thumb through the fleshy gap in his ribs.

      “I’m not joking, sir.”

      Again sir in a manner that snorted down the line: I’ve just about had enough of this. It was Lady Di’s coaching, all right. Maybe she was in cahoots with goody-two-shoes Sergeant Washington and that good-for-noth’n cow that had laid the sexual harassment crap against him. “But СКАЧАТЬ