Page 90 of Misadventures of a Biker

I gestured to the couch with the pistol’s barrel. “Have a seat.”

He flopped onto the couch. I took his phone from the end table and put it in my front pocket. After taking a seat across from him, I warned him of what the future held.

“I’m not going to give you a month, a week, or even a day to get the money. If I don’t have it by noon tomorrow, you’ll be in the Naples Daily News headlines as being murdered by a burglar. You may speak if you think it’ll help you explain this matter.”

He drew a deep breath and then let it out slowly. “I can get the money, but it won’t be easy.”

“I don’t give a fuck how you get it,” I said. “But you need to have it by noon, tomorrow. That, Britt, is not negotiable.”

He sighed. “I can have it by noon.”

He was lying, and I was sure of it. There was a way to extract the truth. It was time for me to play that card.

“Let’s hope for your mother’s sake that you’re right.” I coughed a dry laugh and gave him a sinister look. “Oh, shit. I left that part out, didn’t I?”

His eyes widened with wonder.

I reached into my left pocket, removed a small sheet of folded paper, and unfolded it. “Katherine Denton, 11725 Peachtree, Tampa, Florida.” I looked up. “Wasn’t easy finding her, as your last names don’t coincide with one another. She fits into this scenario as well. I’ve got someone sitting outside her place now. I can’t believe I left that out. You’ve probably never done anything like this, but it’s not as easy as you’d think. There’s always something you forget. It’s got to be the overabundance of adrenaline.”

“Before you shoot me,” he blurted, “I didn’t lie.”

“About?”

“The money’s upstairs,” he said. “I didn’t tell you it wasn’t here. I said I didn’t have it. I don’t. It’s upstairs.”

I waved the pistol’s barrel toward the staircase.

Ten minutes later, I had seven hundred and forty thousand dollars in my backpack, and Britt was seated at his desk typing a letter of apology.

“I don’t need details,” I said. “I need it to be brief, to the point, and for you to fully admit what you did was planned and not a mistake.”

He typed the letter, printed it, and handed it to me.

Teddi,

I can’t apologize enough for what I have done to you. My decision to swindle you out of your money was done out of greed and nothing else.

The passing of time has forced me to dwell on the decision I made and on the damage that it has likely done to your psyche to have lost so much without knowledge of the truth.

Guilt now forces me to return your initial investment. Please consider my apology as being heartfelt.

My sincere apologies,

Britt

“Add a sentence that says, ‘Considering all things, please make no effort to contact me regarding this matter or for any other reason. I will extend the same consideration to you,’ or something like that.”

Upon reading the amended letter, I folded it neatly. “My work’s done here. Don’t forget what I told you. Talk to the cops, or anyone for that matter, and your mother—and you—will be killed.”

“Understood.”

“Like the letter says, make no efforts to contact Teddi again,” I said. “Period. If you have a deal that involves her, send one of your underlings. If you walk through the threshold of her office door again, you’ll find the barrel of this pistol in your mouth.”

“I’ll avoid her,” he said. “Believe me.”

I’d been in similar situations several times in my life. I had a knack for knowing when someone was telling the truth and when someone was lying. He was telling the truth.

“I strongly suggest you find another way to supplement your income,” I said. “If you keep this up, you never know who you might piss off.”