Chapter Twenty-Six

Jeff Fuchs sat on the right side of the table. Mercedez was on the left. They sat looking at each other, not smiling but not hostile either. They could hear D in the other room talking loudly on the phone. They couldn’t make out the words but the anger was obvious. Finally D went silent. A few moments later the conference room door opened and the owner and founder of D Security walked in. If you didn’t know a nine-millimeter bullet had cut through his body just above the left hip, you’d think maybe D was a little tired, perhaps a little depressed. Not injured actually—just a bit cranky.

“I’m not fucking with those Source motherfuckers ever again,” he announced to his two employees. “Life is way too short for this.” D sat down in his usual place at the head of the table, his brown face red and his eyes mean. “They’re making it impossible for us to do a good job. It’s like the whole damn event is organized to ruin our reputation.”

“I hear you,” Mercedez said, trying to be supportive.

“Fuck you, D.” Jeff wasn’t having it. “Stop fucking with us. Stop it.”

“Okay,” D said with a small smile.

“What’s going on?” Mercedez was lost.

“D has been spending a lot of time with that old detective, so he’s in cop mode. He’s really talking about us but not saying it. Isn’t that right, D?”

“Well, that’s very psychological of you, Jeff. I don’t know that I’m that sneaky. I am mad at The Source’s management. And I am mad at both of you.”

“Well, bring it, then.”

“Okay. You have been using Emily’s Tea Party to skim money for yourselves. People order champagne but get X or coke instead. Been doing it for months. Emily reviewed the tapes and caught you kicking it with the offending floor manager on several occasions. And if I can stumble into it, so can the cops. Isn’t that right, Mercedez?”

“I guess so, but I’m not in it,” she said petulantly.

“Yeah, you missed that one?”

“Excuse me?” she said.

“Jeff didn’t put you down with that, did he?”

“No, he did not.”

“Well, you had your own thing,” he said, “so it was no biggie.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that you’ve been double-dipping too,” D replied aggressively. “But your shit really stinks.”

“I didn’t do anything too wrong.”

“You got down with someone in Bridgette’s camp—Ivy, Rodney, maybe the old security guard Hubert, maybe even Jen. And whoever that was slid info to the kidnappers about Bridgette’s movements. You must know that by now.”

Mercedez didn’t speak. She looked toward Jeff for guidance, but he stared right past her toward the wall. He was exposed too, though his loyalty still remained with D.

“Jen didn’t trust you.” Mercedez spoke haltingly. “And she really didn’t trust Ivy. She was trying to get busy with Rodney and finally did get with him, so he fed her suspicions. We—you—were hired by Ivy, so—” She stopped suddenly and sighed. “It don’t matter what I say now. I know I was wrong. I made some extra money but it didn’t turn out right. That’s what happened.”

“So you took those pictures to help Jen break up Rodney’s marriage?”

“Yes.” She looked sad and contrite, but D wasn’t finished with her.

“Is that why you started doing my man here?” he said, gesturing toward Jeff.

“You have no right to ask me that.”

Jeff looked at her now, hoping to hear something good, but her indignant reply made his heart sink.

“Maybe you’re right,” D said, “but since you betrayed me, I’m just trying to see where you draw the line.”

Finally Jeff spoke up: “Don’t do this, D. She was high. I was high. I thought it would be something but it never became any more than what it was.” Mercedez didn’t correct him, so Jeff went on being gallant. “I was under a lot of pressure, D. I was running a lot of things for D Security while you were sweating—oh, excuse me—protecting your own client.”

“Okay,” D said with great finality. He was feeling a little guilty himself at that moment. “I hear you, Jeff. I really do. I think we all have expressed ourselves. We all know how we feel about each other.” When Mercedez stood up, D asked, “Where you going?”

“I’m leaving. I mean, I’m fired, right?”

“Sit down, Mercedez. You’re not leaving unless you quit. Do you quit?”

Mercedez looked at Jeff. He nodded and forced a smile. Mercedez sat back down.

D peered at her and leaned forward. “You are a valuable member of this organization. I mean that. You’re resourceful and smart. But since you’re staying with D Security, you owe us your loyalty and as much of the truth as you can give. Jeff and I need to know everything you know about Jen and this situation.”

“What about Jeff?” she asked. “I’m not the only person to have done something wrong at this table.”

D never took his eyes off Mercedez as he said, “I have no need to threaten Jeff Fuchs. I’m just gonna punish him in the way that will hurt the most.”

Jeff glanced at his old friend and said, “I understand.”

“I knew you would. Now, Mercedez, walk me through the whole thing.”

* * *

When the young doorman Kirk saw D and Jeff exit a cab and move toward him, he snapped to attention like a soldier, his chest out and his head stiffly erect. There would be no confusion this evening. “Hey, how are you guys tonight?” he asked in a very subservient tone. D grunted a greeting. Jeff patted Kirk’s shoulder as he followed their mutual employer into Emily’s Tea Party.

The spot wasn’t as hot as it had been even weeks before. A slew of large, old-school superdiscos in Chelsea were siphoning off some of the club’s clientele. A bit of the falloff was due to the boredom that overcomes most New York vampire dens eighteen months or so after they open. Lots of new-generation Eurotrash filled the banquettes, buying champagne and speaking English in a variety of foreign accents.

Emily sat in a booth surrounded by three men of color, including the well-dressed, dreadlocked black man, Pierre Mbuwe, who D had encountered her with before. She had her arm around his shoulders. They looked cozy. D walked over and said, “I need to speak to you.”

“Really? Since when do you need to talk to me?”

“It’s business,” D said.

“Why is he here?” Emily pointed at Jeff, who stood a few steps behind D.

“Because he has something to give you.”

“An apology? That I don’t need or want.”

“No,” D said evenly. “Something much more tangible. Now we’re going to the manager’s office. I think you’d benefit from joining us.”

Emily turned and gave her dreadlocked companion a deep French kiss. When she unlocked lips with him, D was halfway to the manager’s office. By the time Emily entered the office, Jeff had finished laying out a small stack of hundred-dollar bills on the desk. Jeff sighed and stepped away from the money.

She asked D, “What’s that?”

“Your money,” D answered. “Four thousand. It’s how much Jeff estimates he earned with his little scam.”

“That’s all?” Emily looked at Jeff skeptically.

“Apparently,” D said, “the operation was in its early stages when I noticed.”

Emily picked up the money and counted it slowly. Without looking up she asked, “So when do you report him to the police?”

“I’m not going to. I’m hoping this money will keep you from doing so as well.”

Emily smiled, mean and self-satisfied. “I could get Eminem here in a lot of trouble, D.”

Jeff really wanted to step to her but he’d made a promise to D, and he knew he had to keep it. So Jeff stood nailed to the spot, biting his tongue so hard it almost bled.

“I know, Emily,” D said. He moved closer to her and she met his brown eyes. “But please don’t. Along with this gesture of goodwill, D Security will provide you with two free months of security.”

“Five months starting tonight and another five grand.”

“Three months starting next month and no cash.”

“Plus, I never wanna see Jeff at any party I ever do.”

“Three months. No Jeff. No money. Any other restitution will be in kind, services only. That’s the deal.”

Emily squeezed the money in her right hand, then slapped it against her left. “D, you must love this man a great deal to endanger your business like this.”

“He’s my dog, Emily.”

“Did you ever love me like that, D?”

“I care about you, Emily, and I always will.”

She didn’t even get pissed at his answer. She hadn’t expected anything deeper. Still, she couldn’t help asking. She then said, “I heard you were shot.”

“I was, but the bullet went right through. I was lucky.”

“Yeah, I can imagine. Must have hit you square in the heart. That’s why there was no damage.”

* * *

Back outside Emily’s Tea Party, Jeff lit a cigarette and stared at his silent friend. “You’re like Michael Corleone right now.”

“Yeah,” D half smiled. “Settling all family business.”

“Yeah. And you’re being so cold about it.”

“I’m not cold,” D said firmly. “I’m just trying to do what’s right. I’m not into revenge. Revenge is the death of the world. If you just try to make things right, everybody wins.”

“Getting philosophical and shit to boot. Damn, Yoda, what’s next?”

“We need to do this Source Awards thing. Get this mess out of our lives. Make sure we get our money—”

“Amen.”

“And then bring in some new business so we can keep the doors open.” D paused a beat. “Legally.”

Jeff nodded and thanked God that D was his friend.