Joel paled. “One week? A hundred grand inone week? But that’s—that’s?—”
“Your problem,” I filled in for him, then shrugged like it was inconsequential to me—because it was. “I’m just the messenger,” I said as I rose to my feet. “And it’s $101,014. I’ll be back in one week to collect. And unlike you, I’m punctual.”
Worry raced across his face, knitting his brows together. “What if I can’t pay up?”
I trailed my hand down a wooden baseball bat that had been signed by Babe Ruth and was displayed with great care next to a slew of Red Sox memorabilia.
“You can take that.” Joel stammered. “Maybe get some cash for it.”
I arched a disgusted eyebrow in his direction. “You want me to take something that belongs to your sister as collateral foryourdebt?”
Before he could reply, I grabbed the bat and swung, nailing him square in the left kneecap. The hit was accented with the grotesque crack of bone and cartilage.
The scream that left his mouth was inhuman, but I ignored it as I calmly set the bat back in its place of honor. Joel keeled out of the chair and collapsed on the floor, gasping for breath as he sobbed and clutched his knee.
“I’d suggest being on time with your payment,” I warned as I stepped over him and let myself out the door. “And pick up your laundry off the bathroom floor. You’re a grown man. It’s sloppy in your own house and disrespectful when it’s someone else’s.”
I casually strolled down all three flights of stairs. Poor Joel. His old building had an elevator. Amelia’s didn’t. He’d have a time of going down the stairs on his ass for the foreseeable future.
Streetlight beams danced across the windshield as I pulled onto the tree-lined street. The oncoming headlights sliced acrossmy field of vision, but I quickly caught sight of the driver—a pretty blonde with a face far too peaceful for what she was going to find when she got home.
I eased through the darkened streets of Alcott University. The campus was Ivy-adjacent, mimicking the Gothic revival stonework of the other New Haven institutions. Every twenty-something I passed looked like they had a trust fund.
Maybe I’ll retire in Connecticut.
It was a little ridiculous to think about retiring this close to the Valentine’s territory, but I wasn’t a retire-in-Florida type of guy. I liked the cold.
Connecticut had some nice mountains and beach access. And I liked being close to the ocean, which was why places like Montana were out of the question.
By the time I had made the five-hour drive back to the Jersey Shore, I was beat. It should have been four, but one does not simply drive through Connecticut quickly.
Joel needed to pay up fast so I didn’t have to make this drive again. I didn’t actually want to kill the man. But more than that, I really didn’t want to make this abysmal trek multiple times a week.
But I guess that was what addiction and desperation did to a person.
Joel Hawthorne had shown up at the Four Horsemen a month ago to try to win some cash. He walked out with a loan from John Valentine. And when that money dried up, he kept coming back. He probably thought he could dig his way out by playing one more hand, but he was a shit blackjack player. I had watched him make risky bets and bad decisions. He was too emotional. Emotions clouded judgment.
The house doesn’t have emotions. That’s why the house always wins.
I pulled into my apartment complex, cut the engine, and sat in silence for exactly twenty seconds before heading to the unit that had been assigned to me. The familiar bite of cigarette smoke met me as I hit the landing.
“You’re home awful late,” Cordelia Devers said as she sat in her open doorway. She took a slow pull from the cigarette between her fingers and blew out a long stream of smoke.
“You staying out of trouble, Delia?” I asked as I fished my keys out of my pocket.
She chuckled. “Never. I just keep tabs on everyone else. You staying out of trouble, Mr. Graham?”
“What fun would that be?” I asked with a grin. “Been a quiet night?”
“Been real quiet,” she said between drags.
The best security system was a nosey neighbor with nothing better to do than sit in her doorway or look out her blinds.
“Thanks for keeping me safe, Delia,” I teased as I pushed the door open with the toe of my boot.
“Not like you need it. You and those muscles,” she bantered back, but it quickly turned into a cough.Those damn cigarettes . . .“But it looks like you’re losing some of your bulk, young man. Don’t go getting soft on me. I like having something pretty to look at.” She winked.
I lingered in the doorway and acted a little bashful as I stroked my hand down the side of my beard. “You think I’m pretty?”
