chapter fourteen
On Saturday morning, Jack awoke to the sound of Natasha singing to Mikey. She was lying on her back in bed beside him, but holding the baby up above her chest with her hands around his waist. Her voice was soft and sweet.
“Michael Edward Taggart … you’re our little boy. Michael Edward Taggart, you’re our pride and joy. Michael Edward Taggart, you’re such a little clown. Michael Edward Taggart, you’re fun to have around!” With this last comment she stretched her arms high and pretended to let Mikey drop.
Mikey’s bright eyes, coupled with his smile and bubbly giggle, begged for more.
Jack smiled to himself as he lay there. Life can be so good.
It was a special moment locked in time. One that would later come back to haunt Jack at the most dire moment of his life.
“He’s a very happy kid,” said Jack, as Natasha lay Mikey on her chest.
“Do you think so?” asked Natasha, turning to stare at Jack.
“Are you kidding? Look at him. He’s always giggling. Look at his eyes. So full of life.”
“I am looking. I think he just fell asleep.”
Natasha made a pretext of looking at Mikey and said, “Probably because he’s bored.”
“Bored? He’s not even seven months old.”
Natasha smiled at Jack and said, “He needs a baby sister or baby brother to play with.”
“It has only been a couple of weeks since we started trying. All in good time.”
“Boy, are you slow this morning. Don’t you know when I’m giving you a nudge?” she said, before kissing Jack on the side of his neck.
Jack scrambled out of bed, gently picked up Mikey and raced down the hall to place him in his crib.
“I take it that was enough of a nudge,” Natasha said, laughing as Jack ran back into their bedroom.
“You want to see a nudge? I’ll show you a nudge,” he replied, leaping back into bed.
Later that afternoon Natasha saw a hard look come over Jack’s face moments before he slipped on a black Harley Davidson T-shirt and left for work. She knew he was psychologically preparing himself for a role of some sort, but she didn’t like it. He didn’t look like the man she married and it scared her.
It was five o’clock when Slater walked out of The Racquet Club and got in his car. Ten minutes later, he received a call on his cellphone.
“Yeah, is this Clive Slater?” asked Jack.
“Who wants to know?” replied Slater.
“The guy who found his wallet.”
“What? … Jesus! I didn’t even know it was missing.”
“I found it in the dressing room at The Racquet Club. They gave me your number. Looks like you got about eight hundred bucks in it, along with your credit cards.”
“I’m not far away. I’ll be right there.”
“Oh, I didn’t realize you had just left. I’m already in my car and am late for a meeting. Guess I could have left it at the club, but I’m not the trusting type so they gave me your number. My name’s Jack. I’ll give ya the address of where I’ll be if ya want to slide by and pick it up. Otherwise, maybe in a couple of days we can get together.”
“No, no. God, no. I need it. I’ll come right away. Thanks a million.”
Forty minutes later, Slater’s sense of relief at being able to retrieve his wallet was replaced by a feeling of dread as he arrived at the address he was given. A high chain-link fence protected a yard full of Harley Davidsons. Keep Out signs, security cameras, coupled with a well-known logo and an emblazoned sign reading SATANS WRATH told him he was in dangerous territory.
Slater slowed his car to a crawl as he drove by. A menacing-looking man with a goatee was strolling toward him up the sidewalk, but stopped when he saw Slater and stood with his arms folded across his chest glaring at him. Slater lowered his window and said, “Excuse me, uh, sir. Do you know if there is a guy by the name of Jack around?”
“Yeah,” replied Sammy. “He said someone was coming by. Hang on. I’ll put a call in.”
Slater stopped his car on the street and listened as Sammy used his cellphone.
“This is the guard at the north side,” said Sammy. “Tell Jack there is some guy here to see him.” Sammy paused a moment and said, “Yeah, I’ll tell him,” he added, before hanging up. Sammy looked at Slater. “Go down the block, take your first left and find a place to park and wait in your car. He’ll be out in a minute.”
Slater breathed a sigh of relief. The last thing he wanted to do was go inside the compound, or worse yet, inside the clubhouse.
Sammy waited until Slater had turned the corner before hustling off in the opposite direction, all too aware that the hum of moving security cameras told him it was time to leave.
Moments later, Slater saw Jack approach and tap on his passenger window while holding his wallet up for him to see. Slater lowered the window.
“Unlock the door,” said Jack. “There is something we need to discuss.”
“Of course.” He wants a reward, thought Slater, unlocking the door.
Jack got in and handed him his wallet. Slater quickly flipped it open and smiled when he saw that his money and credit cards were all there.
“Thanks a bunch,” Slater said. “You’re a great guy to be returning it, especially with all this money. Most guys wouldn’t. Let me give you a reward for all your trouble,” he added, fishing a hundred-dollar bill from his wallet.
“Fuck that,” said Jack gruffly. “I don’t need your money. Besides, I’m not really that great. I actually stole your wallet.”
“What? Why? Oh, you’re joking,” replied Slater, giving a nervous smile.
“Does this look like a fuckin’ joke?” replied Jack, flipping open his jacket to reveal a pistol stuck in the front of his pants. “I did it to get you down here. Easier than taking you away from The Racquet Club.”
“But why?” stammered Slater as Jack put his hand on the pistol’s handgrip. “I haven’t done anything to you guys. I’m not even in any gangs or anything. Whoever you’re after … you’ve got the wrong guy!”
“No, we know we got the right guy, so shut up and listen. I know you’re a businessman, so let me try to put it into words you’ll understand. We distribute a product. You’re competition. You must have heard of a hostile takeover. Consider this it.”
“What product? I don’t understand!” cried Slater.
“A very white product,” said Jack, putting his thumbnail up to his nose and pretending to snort.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” said Slater.
Jack sighed and said, “Okay, I can see you’re not stupid. That’s good. Now I want you to take me for a little drive. I’ve got something to show you. It could actually save your life. You don’t want to end up like your buddy Earl.”
“That was you guys!” exclaimed Slater.
“Who the fuck did you think it was?”
“T-O’s guys,” blurted Slater. “I mean, I don’t know.”
“Who the fuck is T-O?”
“Oh, fuck …”
“I’m not asking you again,” yelled Jack. “Who the fuck is T-O?”
“Nobody I’ve met,” Slater hastened to say. “Just someone Earl owed money to.”
“Well, it wasn’t us who whacked Earl. We were going to offer him the same deal as you.”
“A deal? What deal? I don’t understand. If Earl was involved with you guys or something, I didn’t know anything about it. I’m just a businessman. I don’t —”
“Yeah, I know. Like I said, we’re businessmen, too. So start driving. I’ve got something to show you to convince you we know a little more than you think.”
“Can’t you just tell me? I mean —”
“It’s something you need to experience and see to believe. Don’t worry, if we were going to kill you, you would already be dead and this class-act set of wheels you got would already be on a freighter bound for Russia.”