Bed of Lies

Dante finished the last of his Scotch, shook the glass so that the ice cubes tinkled like brass bells, slammed the glass back to the tabletop, and slid across the booth’s leather seat. He had just finished a meeting with one of his clients—a slob who had slipped and fallen on a pool of pickle juice in a grocery store and displaced a disc in his spine. He was now on workman’s comp and hobbling around on crutches.

“Haven’t been able to show up to the factory for fuckin’ three weeks!” the guy had exclaimed an hour ago before throwing back the Stella Artois that Dante had ordered for him. He had then let out a loud, rumbling belch. Several diners at the supper club had stared at the man in disgust.

Dante had ignored their stares. What did he care that his client had shown up to one of the best restaurants in D.C. with stains on his shirt? Or that he smelled of chicken grease and dirt or had the table manners of a bear cub? This guy was potentially worth a half million dollars in legal fees. Dante could put up with almost anything for that much money!

Dante now rose to his feet and began to weave his way through the dining tables back toward the restaurant entrance, but he paused when he spotted two familiar faces at a nearby table. It was his half-brothers, Evan and Terrence. He had no idea why they were in the city tonight or why they were dining at this particular restaurant. But the instant he saw them, he saw red.

He hadn’t been in the same room with his brothers in more than six months, not since they had ambushed him at an empty coffee shop where he thought he was meeting Paulette to discuss the details of her selling her Murdoch Conglomerated shares to him. She had been there—but she hadn’t come alone. Her two bouncers Terrence and Evan were in tow. The woman seemed incapable of doing anything or making any damn decisions on her own.

Evan had sat in the center of his siblings at the metal bistro table, looking like some drug lord, and he had read Dante the riot act, telling him to stay away from their family and never to come back again.

Dante now glared across the restaurant at his brothers, watching them as they talked and laughed, as they drank from their wineglasses and ate their entrées. He knew he should keep walking. Nothing could be accomplished by talking to them, by taunting them into an argument or a fight. But then he remembered Evan’s last words to him: “Take your ‘poor me’ routine and your chip on your shoulder and get the fuck out.” Evan had dismissed him much like their father had two years ago. Just thinking back to those words infuriated Dante all over again. What gave Evan the right? Who did he think he was? He wished he could knock the smile right off of Evan’s smug face. He wished he could throttle him, stab him, beat him, and hold up his mangled body for everyone in the restaurant to see.

For those reasons Dante felt almost a magnetic pull drawing him toward their table. He bumped into a waiter carrying a tray of dishes and glasses and did not excuse himself. He pushed his way past an old woman who paused in rising from her chair to glare at him with outrage. Finally he reached his half-brothers’ table and stood silently in front of them until Terrence turned and looked up. The younger man’s laughter died on his lips at the sight of him.

“You’re in a good mood for someone who’s being sued for four million dollars,” Dante said, pasting on a Cheshire cat grin.

Terrence didn’t respond. He only lowered his wineglass back to the table along with the eye that wasn’t covered with an eye patch. In contrast, Evan leaned back in his chair and glowered at Dante with unconcealed hatred.

“So, how have you been, Terry?” Dante asked, thumping him on the shoulder. “And where’s Paulette?” He made a show of looking around the crowded restaurant. “I don’t see her anywhere. I would think she would be here, too. I know how the Marvelous Murdochs like to travel in packs.”

“What the fuck do you want?” Evan snarled.

Dante raised his brows and chuckled. “Oh, language! Language, Evan! You’re in a nice establishment. Don’t talk like that here! What would Leila think?” He clucked his tongue. “On second thought, she might not mind. Leila’s no saint either.” He winked at Evan. “We both know that, don’t we?”

Dante had dated Leila briefly before she began her affair with Evan. She had broken it off with Dante before they had the chance to get serious—and before he had the chance to use her the way he’d intended. It still enraged him to this day. He hadn’t slept with her, but he always loved the look on Evan’s face when he insinuated that he had.

Evan angrily started to rise from the table, but Terrence stopped him by clamping a hand around his wrist, giving his older brother a warning look. “Don’t let him do it, Ev. You know what his game is.”

Dante’s smile widened. “You should listen to him.”

“I probably should,” Evan muttered as he lowered himself back into his chair and Terrence released him, “but frankly, every time I see you, I can’t decide between punching you in your face and recommending a good therapist to you.”

“Oh, come on!” Dante rolled his eyes. “We all know you would never hit me. Guys like you don’t get their hands dirty.”

Evan balled his fists on the white linen tablecloth. A vein bulged along his temple. “You never know. I might surprise you.”

“Look, man,” Terrence interceded, staring up at Dante, “why don’t you just move it the hell along and go somewhere else? Hell, go anywhere else! You’re not going to bait us into any shit tonight! If you’ve got something to say to me, you can say it in the courtroom.”

“You really want to take it that far? If a judge had to side with poor Mavis Upton or a self-entitled rich boy like yourself, who do you think he’s going to choose?” Dante snickered. “That eye patch and cane aren’t going to get you that much sympathy.”

“Who said I wanted sympathy?” Terrence asked tightly.

“I’m just saying that you might want to consider settling out of court . . . if you’re smart.”

“Uh-huh,” Terrence grunted. “Says the dude who stands to benefit the most from that settlement!”

“You really think I give a shit about making money off of this?” Dante asked, leaning against the table. “You Murdochs are so fucking predictable! You always think it’s just about the money!”

Diners at neighboring tables began to look at the three men uneasily. A waiter paused to stare at them.

“Well, you aren’t doing it because you care about ol’ Miss Mavis. If you claim you are, you’re a damn liar!” Terrence barked.

“Of course I don’t care about her! I’m more interested in watching you dangle like a worm on a hook.”

Terrence slowly shook his head in bemusement. “Man, what is your problem? Are you really this hell-bent on revenge? Revenge for shit that I didn’t . . . that none of us did to you?”

While they spoke, Evan sat staring at Dante like a coiled snake ready to strike. But Dante wanted him to strike. He wanted everyone in the restaurant to know that Evan Murdoch wasn’t the perfect, stately millionaire who always kept his cool. Dante wanted him to humiliate himself. But Evan continued to sit and watch silently, despite his earlier bravado.

Like the pussy that he is, Dante thought.

“It’s not just about revenge.” Dante inclined his head. “I want to teach you . . . all of you a lesson. This is the first time your family name, your connections, and your money can’t get you out of something, and I’ve got a front-row seat. I want to break out a box of popcorn just to watch the show!”

“Because you’re jealous of the family name, connections, and money, right?” Terrence asked. “It’s not like we asked for that shit! We didn’t ask for any of it.”

Dante poked out his lower lip mockingly. “Oh, poor you! I should break out the violin.”

“Fuck you, man,” Terrence spat.

Dante started to laugh again—hard and loud. That’s when Terrence’s control finally started to unravel. He grabbed his cane and began to hoist himself to his feet, but Evan beat him to it. He pushed back his chair and marched around the table before grabbing Dante around the upper arm in a vise-like grip. He then began to yank and shove Dante across the restaurant.

“Let go of me!” Dante said. “Get your fuckin’ hands off of me!”

Half of the restaurant seemed to fall silent. Several diners began to glance nervously at each other.

Dante attempted to yank his arm out of Evan’s hold, but it was surprisingly strong. He twisted and turned, yelling threats. Both men drew stares from the maître d’ as they passed the restaurant’s wait desk. They made it through the glass door leading to the busy street outside. They walked past a smiling couple who were making their way inside the restaurant. Evan finally released Dante with a hard shove that almost sent him tumbling to the sidewalk face-first. He fell to one knee and shouted out in pain. He instantly sprang upward with his fists balled in front of him, ready to rumble. Instead, Evan gazed at him placidly.

“Don’t you ever fucking put your hands on me like that again!” Dante shouted, charging toward him. He shoved Evan hard, almost sending him back through the restaurant door. He then got in his face. They were almost nose to nose. “You hear me? Don’t you ever do that shit again!”

“And don’t you ever come after my family again,” Evan said, barely above a whisper. He didn’t blink. “I’ve put up with all the shit I’m going to take from you. I dealt with you screwing Charisse and with you blackmailing Paulette. But if you go forward with this bullshit lawsuit against Terry . . . if you let this go to court, I will fucking bury you . . . literally. Understand?”

Dante took a step back. He wanted to spit in Evan’s face. Instead, he chuckled. “Are you threatening me, Evan? Am I really supposed to believe that a pussy like you is going to have me killed?” He adjusted the lapels of his suit, which had become disheveled during their tussle. “Forgive me if I don’t start trembling in my shoes. We both know you’re not gonna do shit to me!”

“You keep saying that, but the truth is that you don’t know what I’ll do,” Evan said menacingly, fixing him with a level gaze. “I’m giving you fair warning, and I’m not going to do it again. Back off or I will find a way to make you go away . . . and my solution will be a permanent one.” He then turned back toward the restaurant door and pushed it open. “Remember what I said,” he called over his shoulder just as the glass door swung shut behind him.

Dante stood silently for several seconds. He turned to find a cab driver staring at him with his mouth gaping open.

“What the fuck are you looking at?” he yelled.

“You!” the old cab driver yelled back from his lowered window. “It sounds like you’re in for a world of hurt if you keep doing what you’re doing, fella. Whatever it is!”

Dante sucked his teeth as he leaned down and wiped the dirt from his knees. “World of hurt, my ass,” he muttered, glaring at the restaurant door again. “I’m not afraid of you, Evan, and I never will be, you son of a bitch.”