Proud of it, mate. And I’m a mama’s boy who knows your address and could pound you into a pulp.
Cam
…
Sorry, that was autocorrect. I meant “noble loving son.”
Saylor
Attaboy.
Rina
FOCUS. I need a warm body in a sports coat at the Elusive Hotel in two hours.
All right, that’s enough of that. I call Rina directly instead of responding to the group chat.
She picks up on the first ring. “Please tell me you’re saying yes.”
“I’m saying yes, conditionally.”
“Oh thank God.” She exhales through the phone. “You’re saving my ass, Taio. This client is a referral from one of my best customers.”
“Not for two thousand though. Four, minimum. And she can have me all night.”
She’s silent for a moment. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that because the job I have for you, from myvery legitimate, law-abidingbusiness, is just companionship for a party. I would very much like to stay in the dark of your dirty off-the-books dealings. But out of curiosity, why are you suddenly so greedy?”
I take a breath. “From now on, I need you to call me directly with any jobs. All of them. Before they go to the group. I want first right of refusal on everything.”
Silence on the line. Then, “That’s a big ask.”
“I know.”
“The other guys won’t like it.”
“They don’t have to know.”
More silence. I can practically hear her calculating—weighing my value against the potential drama, running the numbers on my reliability versus the hassle of preferential treatment.
“What’s going on, Taio?” Her tone is softer now. “Are you in some kind of trouble?”
“No. Nothing like that.”
“Then what? You’ve never been this hungry before.”
I think about Anne Carrington and her sad smile. Joy’s Stanford letter. The hundred thousand dollars I promised like a fool.
“I just need to make some money fast,” I say. “It’s…a family thing. I can’t really explain.”
“Your father?” Rina asks defeatedly.
She’s got an incredible legal mind, once a tenured professor at Columbia Law. And while she likes to pretend she’s Meryl Streep inThe Devil Wears Prada, she’s wildly compassionate, and far more den mother than pimp. We met when I approached her for help about my dad’s case. She pored over the case for weeks trying to find anything that could help. Unfortunately she said going to trial would be useless. The case was open and shut.My dad did the crime and he would absolutely do the time. She recommended a plea deal.
His current lawyers disagreed. We went to trial. We lost, but they haven’t stopped working. Appeal after appeal, and it’s becoming clear they’re just hustling me. But everyone clings to hope—even false hope—when they are desperate enough.
“Not exactly,” I finally answer.
Rina is quiet for a moment. “You’re not doing anything stupid, are you? Gambling? Drugs?”
