Ray Teller
It’s three in the morning when the guest arrives. Duncan and I are playing poker in the security office. I’m not particularly happy about leaving the game to greet whoever’s in the silver Bugatti idling at the front gate.
“Fucking criminals,” Duncan grumbles as he straightens his tie. “Why can’t they keep regular hours?”
We take the golf cart, rain splattering our sides the whole way, but when we see who’s behind the wheel, the journey seems to pay off. It’s a blonde with a great set of cans.
I nudge Duncan. “New girlfriend?”
“Maybe.”
Whoever she is, she’s a rude bitch. She refuses to get out of her car and when we tell her we need to scan her for weapons, she acts like we shoved dog shit under her nose.
“Where’s Mr. Parker?” she demands in a weather presenter voice. “He said he was going to meet me here.”
“Mr. Parker’s occupied,” I tell her. “We can take you to him as soon as you’re scanned.”
She sniffs and gets out of the car revealing a tight ass under her light purple skirt. I scan her and she comes up clean.
“Please get back in your car and we’ll escort you to the main house,” I tell her. “You can leave your car in the underground garage and then we’ll take you to Mr. Parker.”
She looks at me like I’m dirt beneath her shiny black heels. “Fine.”
Michael Ridge is monitoring the garage, yawning over a super-sized cup of coffee. He appears to be alone.
“Where’s Baskerville?” I ask. “He said he’d be here tonight.”
“Haven’t seen him for ages.”
Duncan laughs. “We all know why that is. He was on duty when January Whitehall got snatched from that truck stop. I’d be surprised if he’s still alive.”
Michael shakes his head. “Didn’t you hear? Parker forgave him for that. Forgave him outright.”
“You’re kidding!”
“I was there, man. Bill and his brother were stood up in front of Parker and Parker’s yelling and flashing his Beretta around and I thought they were both dead. But then Parker goes ‘did you motherfuckers steal my fiancée?’ and Archie looks him dead in the eyes and says ‘if we did, we’d be in a hotel room fucking her end to end, not here talking to you.’”
Duncan gives a nervous giggle. “That worked?”
“Yup. Parker laughs his ass off and said he believed them and they were fine to come back to work.”
“That’s a fucking miracle,” Duncan says. “Isn’t it, Ray?”
“They’ve got balls,” I agree. “But then why aren’t they ever around the house?”
“No idea, word is Parker sent them to—”
“Excuse me?” says an icy female voice. “Is someone supposed to help me?”
The blonde bitch has driven her Bugatti up to the entrance and is looking none too happy to be kept waiting. I flash her a smile. “Right this way, ma’am.”
Parker is still in the dining room when we arrive. The chef, Maurice, says every meal Parker eats has to be a feast and this one is no different. The table’s covered in dishes of pasta and sausages, trays of meatballs and chicken wings, sides of pork and lamb and wood fire pizza.
Parker’s sitting in the middle of the table digging into a plate of lasagne. Emilia’s beside him, her tits falling out of her silver dress as she picks at her spaghetti with her fingers. Probably Xanaxed to the hilt as usual.
“Zachery,” the blonde bitch calls from behind me. “Hello!”
Parker swallows a mouthful of pasta and dabs his face with a napkin. “Mrs. Whitehall! You’ve finally come to see me!”
Duncan and I back away as they kiss each other on the cheek.
“Mrs. Whitehall?” Duncan mutters. “This bitch isn’t old enough to have a grown kid.”
“Stepmother,” I say under my breath, staring at her long, smooth legs.
I watch my boss pull out a hardback chair for Mrs. Whitehall. “Can I get you a glass of wine? Champagne?”
She shakes her head. “I can’t stay. My children will wonder where I am.”
“Of course,” Parker says, sitting back beside catatonic Emilia. “I’ll get right to the point, Corinne. I know you need money.”
The blonde bitch bristles and I think maybe she’s going to storm out, but then she slumps into her chair. “I do. I can’t tell you how bad things are getting.”
Parker studies her without emotion. “I’m sorry to hear that, but as I told you, I can’t marry your daughter and—”
The blonde gives a loud wail. “I can’t believe this has happened! All these years! All our planning, for nothing!”
“You think I don’t know that?” Parker snaps. “But I can’t go near January. Not that I’d want to. Morelli and his filthy friends have had every hole in her slut body.”
I expect the blonde to protest, but she just nods, leaning across the table. “I can appreciate that, Zachery. January being a virgin, that was always your priority.”
“It was. But priorities change.”
“What do you mean?”
Parker rubs his chin. “I shouldn’t tell you this, but since you need money and since you’ve made your way here on a cold rainy night…”
The blonde leans even further across the table. “What? Please tell me?”
I stare at her gaping cleavage and wonder if she knows she’s being played.
“I want revenge on the men who stole my wife,” Parker says. “I want every member of Velvet House killed.”
“But I thought you weren’t allowed—”
Parker slams a fist on the table. The blonde jumps and Emilia drops the piece of spaghetti she was twirling around her finger.
“Don’t…” Parker snarls, “…talk to me about what you think I can do, Corinne. Do you want my money or not?”
The blonde smiles, all big eyes and sweetness. “Of course.”
“Then you’ll help me.” Parker pulls out his phone. “Two hundred thousand dollars to deliver a message to your daughter and a hundred million when the plan comes off. How about that?”
“A hundred…” The blonde presses a hand to her forehead. “Zachery, that’s so generous!”
“So, you’ll agree to help me?”
“In any way I can!”
Parker smiles, his rubbery lips pulling apart like they’re on strings. “Good. Now, go home to your children. I’ll send you the two hundred thousand tonight and we’ll be in touch about what comes next.”
The blonde seems confused to be dismissed so quickly but she clearly doesn’t want to fuck up a good thing. I watch her ass as she heads for the door.
“Duncan,” Parker says, picking up his fork. “Escort Mrs. Whitehall back to the garage. Ray, you stay here.”
My nerves snap tight as Duncan scurries after the blonde. I hope Parker just wants to talk and he isn’t having one of his episodes.
“You like?” Parker asks once Duncan and Mrs. Whitehall are gone.
“Like, sir?”
He points his fork at the door. “The cooze. You like the look of her?”
“Oh. Yeah.”
Parker makes a face. “She’s fucking ancient.”
I wouldn’t put Mrs. Whitehall past forty, but Parker’s always liked younger girls.
“I don’t mind them MILF-y. She’s keeping everything tight.”
“Including her bleached asshole.” Parker shoves back his chair, grabs Emilia’s cheek and shoves her face-first into his lap. “Suck.”
I turn away as Emilia undoes his fly and starts blowing him. Parker’s always appreciated an audience but lately he’s started performing ten times a day. If this was any other gig, the staff would joke about it, but no one’s stupid enough to do that here.
Seconds tick past as Emilia sucks and slurps and Parker goes back to eating lasagne.
“I should get back to the front gate,” I say as casually as I can manage. “Let me know if you need anything?”
I’m halfway to the door when Parker calls out. “Teller? You can have her before she dies if you want?”
“Sir?”
“The Whitehall bitch. Corinne. You can have a turn on her before I slit her throat.”
If Parker’s joking, I need to laugh. If he’s serious, I need to be grateful.
“Thank you, sir. Uh… when are you killing Mrs. Whitehall?”
“Once every man in Velvet House is dead.” Parker grips Emilia’s hair as she bobs in his lap. “Morelli first, I’ll string him up by his pretty neck. Then Bassilotta, then Rossi. Valente can go last. Once he’s told me everything I wanna know about Orchard, I’ll cut his dick off and watch him bleed to death.”
He thrusts into Emilia’s mouth, making her gag. “What do you think of that, Ray?”
“That’s… quite a plan, sir. Although, the Bianchi contract—”
“The contract says I can’t kill January. I’m not gonna kill January. I’m gonna kill her boyfriends, then her sister, then her brothers and then her stepmother. But only once you’ve fucked her good, Ray.”
I plaster a grin on my face. “Thank you, sir.”
“I’m gonna record everything,” he tells me, his face growing purple as his hips jerk upward. “January Whitehall is gonna watch it all. Anytime she uses a phone… her email… any screen on the planet, she’ll see everyone she cares about… dying.”
His mouth twists as he climaxes and Emilia sputters as she swallows him. When he’s done Parker pulls out of her mouth and wipes himself on her red hair. His eyes are wide and glazed as if he’s looking into a world only he can see. “I’m gonna turn January Whitehall’s life to ashes, Ray,” he says. “Just you wait and see.”
* * *
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