Sand Hill
After two days of hard flying, riding the bucking bronco of mechanical turbulence down low through uncontrolled airspace to literally “stay off the radar” as much as possible, Griff arrived on the far fringes of the Bay Area civilization in Hollister, California. He caught up on sleep in the “Jungle” room at the Cinderella Motel. Early the next morning he drove his nondescript Hertz Ford Fusion north to Silicon Valley.
JR’s company was located in the nation’s highest high rent district on Sand Hill Road in Menlo Park. Griff staked out the entrance to his building in the office complex from a park bench conveniently provided by the developer. He fit right in with the herd of venture capitalists and their techie petitioners by staring at his iPhone screen reviewing Lance’s briefing paper on Helena’s half-brother again as he waited for him to show up for work.
As far as anyone could tell, JR’s company, PulseTech, was still in the vaporware stage after three years of bouncing back and forth between the Menlo Park moneybags and Mumbai code jockeys. The fact that he was still getting private equity sit downs and still getting face time from cable TV talking heads was due primarily to his father’s reputation and an impressive burn rate on his inheritance, most of which was being spent on public relations rather than programming. With the ossification of cyberspace into FAANG—Facebook, Amazon, Apple, Netflix and Google—JR’s business plan for yet another social media network had been so far greeted with respectful disinterest.
Just after nine-thirty, JR cut across the plaza from the parking lot flanked by two burly men Griff recognized from the Nickolson mansion in Bel Aire: Allen and Steve. After they entered the building, Griff placed a GPS tracking device on JR’s Maybach, then went to hang out at the Stanford Shopping Center, where he could hop from one Wi-Fi hotspot to another to track JR’s movements without drawing attention to himself for loitering.
Griff got a one-day snapshot of JR’s routine: office hours 9:30 to 12:30 with a quick lunch break at the Sushi Shack on Ramona Avenue by Stanford University; eighteen holes and dinner at the Half Moon Bay Golf Links; a night cap at the British Banker’s Club; then home to his Silicon Valley condo for the night.
Griff got a burger at The Melt, then went back to the tropical figurines, colorful macaw paintings, and rattan furniture in his motel room in Hollister to plan for the next day. He thought of Helena—and Maura—but resisted the temptation to contact either.
According to the GPS tracker the next morning, JR arrived at PulseTech at nine-thirty again. Griff dressed, checked out, and drove north to stake out the office building, planning to follow JR to lunch. A creature of habit, JR returned to the Sushi Shack, shadowed by Allen and Steve.
Griff parked in Lot N on Emerson, then gave JR time to order.
“Hi, guys. Good to see you again.” Griff patted Steve on the shoulder as he walked through the Sushi Shack. He made a pistol with his fist and pointed it at Allen. “No hard feelings, right? Zzzzt. Zzzzt.”
Before Allen and Steve could react, Griff moved on and sat down at JR’s table, just as Helena’s brother stuffed a hunk of sushi in his mouth.
“So, we meet again, eh?” Griff put his hands flat on the table and shrugged his shoulders. “Got a minute?”
JR swallowed his yellow fin tuna. He shook his head at his body guards to have them sit back down, then asked, “What happened? My sister toss you out on your ass?”
“Not yet.”
“Yeah? Just wait. She’ll kick you to the curb like all the rest.”
“Well, you know, you can visit the Magic Kingdom, but nobody actually lives at the fun park.”
“You got some balls fucking my sister then coming here to talk trash at my face.”
“I’m trying to look out for your sister. She doesn’t have a pair of gorillas to protect her like you. Just me.” Griff looked over his shoulder at Allen and Steve. He waved. “They aren’t holding a grudge about the taser thing, are they?”
“Evidently, it left a mark.” JR chuffed. He waved his chopsticks at his plate. “You want some?”
“No, thanks. I prefer to eat what I catch with my bait—not the bait.”
“Suit yourself.”
“So, what’s with the muscle? Getting death threats? Or maybe someone took a shot at you?”
JR stopped in mid-bite. He pointed at Griff. “That better not’ve been you.”
“You’d be dead by now if it was.” Griff shook his head. “Like my cows.”
“Huh?”
“And Donald Wallace…” Griff let that sink in. “Besides half your DNA, do you and your sister share anything else…like enemies, maybe?”
“You think this has something to do with Donnie?”
Griff shrugged his shoulders.
“Nah. That was a carjacking. That’s what the cops are saying.”
“So…no one out to get you?”
“I got enemies. Who doesn’t? But most of them wouldn’t know which end of the gun to aim my way.” JR pointed around the sushi bar with his chopsticks.
Griff surveyed the clientele of pasty-faced millennials. “Fair enough.”
“What is this about?”
Griff debated whether to ask JR about the Highlands Forum. “You tell me. I’m just hired help.”
“Some loon, no doubt. Occupational hazard, I guess. I’m on TV a lot—and I’m rich, you know. Some people take offense. That’s their problem.”
“Well, evidently, this loon is a pretty good shot.” Griff watched JR casually dip his sushi into wasabi sauce and pop it into his mouth. “So, be careful.”
“Yeah, well, you, too,” JR said with a mouthful of octopus. “You know, next time I might not be able to keep them on a leash.” JR pointed at Allen and Steve. “Not that I really want to.”
Griff looked at them, smiled and gave a thumbs up. “Fair enough.”
“She okay?”
“Who? Helena?”
JR nodded.
“So far.”
“Okay.”
Griff smiled at the underwhelming outpouring of brotherly love. He decided his inside voice should stay inside, then went to stand up, but suddenly felt two hands on his shoulders holding him down in his chair.
“Hi, boys. What are you talking about? Little old me?” Helena’s voice came from behind Griff.
“Hi, Sis. As a matter of fact, yes. I was just asking how you’re doing.” JR skated a piece of sushi around on his plate like a hockey puck. “What brings you to town?”
“I thought you were in New York,” Griff said, looking back over his shoulder at her, mad at himself for letting her get the drop on him—again.
“Yeah. No. I decided to visit family.” Helena came around and sat between Griff and JR. “Aunt Willa says hi.”
JR sneered at Helena. “My maternal bloodline runs through Beacon Hill, not hillbilly country.”
Helena pouted at Griff. “Why is he always so mean to me?”
“Now, kids…” Griff shook his head.
“Make him stop.”
JR smiled his evil, capitalist grin. “No offense.”
Helena let out a huff. “That’s okay. Dad liked me best anyway.”
“In your dreams, Sis. In your dreams.”
Griff suddenly wished he was sitting with Allen and Steve. “Seriously, why didn’t you go to New York?”
Helena simply smiled like a sphinx.
“See what I put up with growing up? She was always misbehaving.”
“I’m not the one with a police record.”
“Expunged.”
“You’re welcome, Daddy.” Helena hummed a little ditty as she looked around the restaurant, then at Griff. “Want to get some real food?”
“Yes, please.”
“I saw your posse when I came in,” Helena said to JR. “How are the boys?”
“Fine.”
“Pathetic how they’re still following the varsity quarterback around hoping for cheerleader sloppy seconds.”
“They work for me,” JR said. He tapped his index finger on the table impatiently.
“So, now you have to pay them to hang out? That’s even more pathetic.” Helena stood up. “Come on, Griff. Let’s go downtown. I like my seafood cooked.”
Griff smiled and stood up. “Good to see you again…Junior.”
“Next time…” JR pointed at Allen and Steve.
Griff leaned over to look JR directly in the eye and held out his hand. “Deal?”
JR shook Griff’s hand. “Deal.”
“Come on, Helena. Let’s make this bait shop a memory.”
As they left, Helena brushed Steve’s cheek with the back of her hand. “Hi, boys. Bye, boys.”
Griff noticed both men strained their necks turning to follow her figure as she left the restaurant.
***~~~***