My eyes fall on a man talking in hushed tones with an officer in full uniform, an array of badges adorning the breast of his jacket.What a pretentious prick. The other man is one I recognize, though. It’s the guy I saw at The Elite nightclub, and just like that night, tonight he has an air of authority and superiority surrounding him like a visible aura. “You have an eye for spotting the power in a room,” a sultry voice purrs, coming to stand beside me. An intoxicating scent wafts into my nose, burning the nostrils, and overused sickly perfume. I drop my eyes to her. She’s pretty. Pitch-black hair falling like a sheet of silk over her shoulders, resting over a pair of perky tits in a revealing black number, but she has a fake look that’s never appealed to me. Why do women think they need to do all that shit to their faces and bodies?
The woman from The Elite club told me who he was, but I want to know who he really is. He clearly holds power given the places and people he mingles with.
“Who’s he?” I ask, giving him another look. He’s tall, real fucking tall, and broad, a pristine suit, tailored and expensive. He surveys the room, taking in everything and everyone while allowing the police guy to do all the talking. But he’s the one in charge of the conversation, that much is very clear.
“That’s my brother, the king of New Orleans,” she scoffs, picking up a drink I didn’t notice her order. She takes a sip and moves closer to me until we’re almost touching.
“And the uniform?” I query.
“Ah, that’s our chief of police.” She smiles tightly. “It’s not what you know in this town, Samuel. It’s who.” My eyes snap to hers with her use of my name.
“You have me at a disadvantage,” I growl.
Her eyes spark wide before she tells me, “Oh, that I know.”
“Lillian.” Maxwell announces his presence, “I see you’ve met my son. I hope he’s behaving himself.” His expression would seem impassive to anyone else, but I see the tightness around his eyes as he looks between us.
Knocking back my drink the barmaid finally set in front of me, I gesture for another.
“He was just telling me about his classes,” she says with a smile, her eyes still trained on me. “He says he’s been putting all of his efforts into thetaskslaid out to him. It’s nice to know he takes these things so seriously and intends to see his duty through to the end,” she tells Maxwell, her eyes are still fixed on mine. Her double meaning doesn’t go unnoticed by me.
She’s something to do with the fucking Elite.
Maxwell grunts at her words like they’re laughable. “Sabella, my daughter, I’d love for you to meet her. She’s the one I spoke to you about.”
Reaching forward, she pats Maxwell’s arm. “Maybe later. I’m being summoned by the almighty. Excuse me.” She waltzes off toward her brother, who’s scowling at her.
“How do you know her?” I ask Maxwell, who’s busy watching Lillian’s ass as she makes her way through the crowd.
“She’s your counselor, Samuel, and a very influential woman. It would be a good idea to keep in her good graces.” With that, he fucks off, leaving me wondering what the hell a school counselor would have to do with The Elite.
I hear a loud laugh, and when I look over, I notice God and the fattest man I’ve ever seen in my life standing next to him. God looks acutely uncomfortable. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look as uncomfortable as he does right now as the fat guy shoves some shrimp in his mouth.
God keeps his cards close to his chest. Out of everyone in the group, I know him the least. He’s used to getting his way, either by buying whatever it is he needs or using his family name. If I’m honest, he’s the sort of guy I can’t usually stand to be around. He’s far too fucking self-assured and obnoxious, just like my grandmother and her hag friends. But no doubt having him on my side has its benefits. Like the suit I’m currently wearing for instance.
He sips on a glass of wine while the fat guy stuffs his face with a tray of shrimp and avocado appetizers. The more he eats, the more uncomfortable God looks. I’m about to look away because watching it is making me feel sick, but God looks up and catches my eye. I can’t decide in that moment if he’s relieved to see a friendly face or even more embarrassed.
Either way, we’ve seen each other now. I leave Sabella’s champagne on the bar and head over to him.
“God,” I say, shaking his hand. “How are things?” I ask, trying to feel him out and see if he’s had his task yet.
He shakes my hand. “Good,” he replies, not giving anything away. “Nice suit.”
I smirk, but don’t get to reply as the fat fuck next to him pauses in his eating to look between us. He wipes his hand down the front of his jacket and holds it out, and I reluctantly shake it.
“Baxter Goddard the Fourth. Better known as Four. And you are?” He narrows his eyes, his bulbous cheeks making them turn into slits as he ponders his own question. “Maxwell Gunner’s boy, right?”
I nod. “Yes, sir.”
This is God’s father. Jesus, no wonder he looks like he wants the ground to swallow him up. I’d be embarrassed too if that was my father. It just goes to show money can’t buy you everything. You can be the third richest person in the world and still be a freakshow who’s own son is embarrassed by you.
“We don’t normally see you at these get-togethers,” he states, matter of fact, his fat tongue flicking out to lick his greasy lips. He looks between God and I, and his eyes widen. “Oh, I see,” he replies, giving us both an oily-mouthed smile. “Off you go then. I know how these things work. Time to get to work, no doubt.” He returns to eating before I can reply, and I take that as my cue to leave, grateful for the escape.
“Pleasure to meet you, sir,” I say, practically gagging on the word “sir.” I’m not a “yes, sir,” “no, sir” type of man, but I’m playing a part, and Baxter fucking Goddard the Fourth can blow my whole act if he decides he doesn’t like me. Or, more likely, he can tell The Elite he doesn’t want me in.
He may be a fat fuck, but he’s as sharp as a pin. It’s obvious nothing gets past him. He knows who’s who and what’s what. I guess you can’t be too careful when you’re as rich as he is. I bet he has a stream of people ready to screw him over at every turn.
He sucks the grease off his fingers and shakes my hand again, and my nostrils flare in disgust. I start to walk away, and God steps in line with me. I side-eye him.
