Brock

 

Brock sat in one of the plush chairs in his hotel room as he practiced his most disapproving look. He felt like he had the expression itself down—stony, with a furrowed brow and a judgmental glint in the eyes. But he was having trouble deciding on the rest of his pose.

 

Both feet planted, both arms down on the armrests? No, it was too open, and it reminded him of the Lincoln Memorial.

 

Legs crossed wide, fingers steepled together in front of him? That felt better, but it still seemed forced somehow, like something a Bond villain would do.

 

Legs crossed at the knee, arms half-crossed with his chin in his hand? Pretentious. He was trying to intimidate a mob boss, not pose for an author photo.

 

Legs together, arms folded tight against his chest? What, was he a toddler refusing to eat or something? No.

 

“Have you figured out which pose is sexiest yet?” Robby asked from his seat in the corner. “I mean, I knew you were vain, but Jesus Christ, enough with the primping and bullshit.”

 

“It's important to get it just right,” Brock replied. “Just stay quiet and remember your part.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, it ain't complicated,” Robby sighed.

 

Just as Brock was considering standing behind the chair with his hands clamped on its back—bold, adversarial, like a caged tiger who might escape and pounce—there was a knock at the door. Brock quickly decided to go with the Lincoln pose after all, and motioned for Crack to answer the door.

 

When Brock saw Turo walk in with Adamo behind him, he felt a spasm of sadistic glee. Clearly, the pressure and anticipation were making Turo fall apart. His tie was askew, his suit was unevenly buttoned, his hair resembled a white bird's nest, and he was missing a cuff link. His shoes were scuffed, and it looked like he hadn't shaved in days. He'd allowed his manicure to lapse, and his fingernails had been chewed ragged.

 

Best of all, the crooked, frantic smile on his face was that of a dog who'd been beaten and still acted happy to see its master.

 

I own you, cocksucker, Brock thought as he remained in his seat and let Turo walk over to him.

 

It was why he'd made a point of not arranging another meeting at The Azalea Room. This time, Turo would come to him. This time, it would be extremely obvious to both of them who had the upper hand and who didn't.

 

“Rodolfo, Robby, Gabe, it's such a pleasure to see you again,” Turo said, grabbing Brock's hand and shaking it. Brock let him do this, but didn't return the handshake, allowing his arm to flop up and down until Turo released it. This clearly upset Turo even more, and his anxious smile widened. “Are you enjoying the car? It's lovely, isn't it?”

 

“I didn't ask you here to talk about the car, Turo.” Brock kept his tone curt and impatient, as though Turo was supposed to already know why he'd been summoned.

 

“Hey, Gabe, chill out, okay?” Robby said uneasily. “Don Ricci is a reasonable man. There's no reason we can't all be civil about this...”

 

Brock shot Robby a venomous look, and Robby immediately shut his mouth.

 

“Is this about Maggie? I swear, I don't know what gets into that girl's head, truly. But whatever it is, I'm sure she'll get over it. She'll still marry you if I tell her to. Nothing's changed on that score, I assure you.” Turo actually licked his lips and let out a nervous laugh.

 

“I'm going to ask you one question,” Brock said coolly. “And I need to know if you can give me an honest answer.”

 

Turo spread his arms helplessly. “Gabe, why would you ask me that? I'm hurt. You know my reputation, you know I'm an honorable man—”

 

“Can you give me a straight answer?” Brock asked through clenched teeth, punctuating each word with a period. “Yes or no.”

 

Turo swallowed hard. “Yes, Gabe. You have to know I'd never lie to you.”

 

“Good. Now: did you tell anyone about my father's situation? Anyone at all?”

 

“No!” Turo exclaimed immediately. “Of course not.”

 

“Don't lie to me, Turo. Come clean now, before it's too late.”

 

Adamo bristled. “Don Ricci already told you he hasn't said anything to anyone. That should be enough for you.”

 

Turo put up a hand to silence him. “Adamo, please. This doesn't concern you.” He looked at Brock imploringly. “Gabe, I swear on my life—on my daughter's life—I haven't told a soul about your father. You, me, Robby, and Adamo are the only ones who know what's going on. And Rodolfo, I guess, but it's not like he could tell anyone. Please, won't you tell me what's happened? Whatever it is, I promise, I'll do anything I can to help.”

 

“I wired the ransom money to the kidnappers last week.” Brock tried to sound like he could barely keep his anger in check. “Today, I got a call from them. They found out who my father really is, and they told me the ransom has now tripled. They want another ten million for his release. So I'm going to ask you one more time, Turo, and I want you to look me in the eyes when you answer. Did you or did you not tell someone about this?”

 

Turo looked directly into Brock's eyes. “No. I didn't tell anyone. And I can assure you, Adamo didn't either.”

 

Brock made a show of thinking this over for a moment. Finally, he said, “I believe you.”

 

Then he pulled a silenced handgun from his shoulder holster and fired three shots into Robby's chest. Turo gasped, and Adamo flinched, his hand going for his own gun.

 

Robby looked down at the bloody holes the exploding squibs had left in the front of his shirt. His mouth worked soundlessly for a moment, and he slumped over to one side, pretending to be dead.

 

“If it weren’t you or Adamo, it had to be Robby,” Brock said, tucking his gun back into its holster. “I always suspected that weasel was in it for himself. This proves it.”

 

Adamo hesitated, then put his pistol away warily.

 

Turo took a few deep breaths, trying to get himself under control. “Right. It had to be him. Of course. And now that he's out of the picture, I hope you'll allow me to use my resources to dispose of the body for you.”

 

Brock shook his head. “No, thank you. I suspected it would come to this, and I've already made arrangements. But as a gesture of good faith, I want you to honor your pledge to me that you'd do anything to see my father released.” He peered at Turo through the wisps of gun smoke drifting through the room. “Do we understand each other?”

 

“Absolutely.” Turo took a handkerchief from his pocket, dabbing his forehead with it. “I'll have to move some things around, but I should be able to get the ten million for you in three days. Okay?”

 

Brock nodded serenely. “Fine. Now leave, please. I have a lot on my mind.”

 

“Of course.” Turo started toward the door. Adamo followed, still frowning at Robby's limp body. “And if there's anything else I can do for you, please, let me know. Whatever it is, I'm here to help. Okay, Gabe?”

 

Brock didn't answer.

 

He waited until the door had shut behind Turo and Adamo and he heard them get on the elevator down the hall. Then he threw his head back and laughed. “Wow, did you guys see the expression on Turo's face? He looked like he was about to get smacked in the nose with a rolled-up newspaper! Ha!”

 

Crack nodded, grinning.

 

“Glad you're having a good fucking time,” Robby groaned, straightening up and gingerly inspecting his chest. “Even with the extra layers on, these things hurt like a son of a bitch when they go off. Christ, I think one of them blew off a damn nipple.”

 

“When we're done, you can buy yourself two extra nipples and a couple of tits to put them on,” Brock said. “Now buck up. We've just got a few more moves to make, and then comes the big payday.”