Nash
Another three weeks later
It feels strange to be worrying about my property. It’s been so long since I’ve had anything of real value, anything much in the way of possessions. And now, leaving the boat at the dock in Savannah while I travel into Atlanta makes me nervous. It would suck buckets of shit if something happened to it. A huge chunk of my life’s savings is wrapped up in that thing.
I smile as I think of how it all happened.
The morning after I left those two girls at the club in Naples, Italy, I decided to gather the crew and head out a little earlier than planned. They weren’t as easy to find as I expected. It was while I was on the yacht, docked in the marina, waiting for them, that I was approached by a man interested in chartering a private yacht to take him and his wife on a two-week sail for their anniversary. I explained to him that it wasn’t my boat. He was persistent, though. I don’t know if he just didn’t believe me, or if he thought I was trying to drive the price up, but he kept on. The amount of money he offered me was staggering. It wasn’t enough to get me to take him and his wife on for two weeks—I knew I couldn’t in good conscience make that kind of commitment until the trial was over—but it was more than enough to get me thinking.
Now, in just three short weeks, my life already feels different. I have roots. Sort of. And I have a profession. Sort of. And I have some kind of a future.
Okay, so maybe it’s not quite the one I dreamed of as a kid, but it fits in with what my life has become, with what I have become. And maybe, it just might be enough to fill the emptiness that’s been plaguing me.
Maybe.
As always, any time Marissa comes to mind, she takes over for a while. Sometimes it’s harder than others to get her off my mind. The closer I get to her, the harder it’s getting. And it was pretty damn hard, anyway!
The trial is coming to a close. Cash called to let me know that Marissa and her cohorts were preparing for closing arguments. After that, the jury would go deliberate. No one knew how long that might take, so he told me to get my ass back to the States as fast as I could. He and Dad wanted me there for the verdict. So that’s what I did.
I’m making it just in the nick of time. The jury went into deliberation this morning. I could’ve missed it had they not decided to break for the day, have dinner, and go back into sequestration.
I’m trying not to see that as a bad sign—their inability to come to a quick decision. Instead, I’m grateful that I’m gonna make it in time to be with Dad and Cash.
Luckily, I was already on my way back to the States. I was heading back with the intention of offering to take Cash and Olivia as my first charters, sort of test the waters with them.
Pun intended.
I snort at the mental image I have of Cash rolling his eyes at my wit. The cabdriver looks back at me and I glare at him until he turns away. Then I smile. My anger isn’t what it once was, but I still intimidate people for some reason. I get a kick out of it sometimes, just like with this guy. He probably thinks I’m a hit man or something. It doesn’t help that I don’t try to disabuse him of that notion. I guess old habits die hard. In my previous line of work, the image of being a dangerous man can save your life. If you’re in it long enough, you become that dangerous man. I suppose a look like that never leaves you completely.
That’s something you’ll have to work on if you expect to get any clients. No one wants to go out to sea with a guy they think might kill them in their sleep and take all their money.
And here she comes again.
Marissa.
As usual, any time I think of the future, I think of her. And how she won’t be a part of it. And why I even would want her to be. Sometimes, I don’t fight her image. I just let her have her way for a while. I don’t do it often. It always ends up with me either aching for that delicious little body of hers or aching for her in a soul-deep kind of way that I don’t know what to do with. But every now and again, I can’t resist the temptation of just thinking about her. And every now and then, of what life could’ve been like.
If only things were different . . .
* * *
My phone wakes me. I must’ve fallen asleep in the cab with a vision of Marissa dancing in my head like those damn Christmas sugarplums. I pull the noisy rectangle out of my pocket and glance at the screen. It’s Cash.
“I’m on my way,” I say as a greeting.
“The jury called to come back after dinner. They reached a decision.”
“Oh shit!” I sit up straight and look around for some indication of where I’m at. I see a mile marker flit by. “I’m still a good two hours away, man. How long until they’re going back to court?”
“They’re getting everyone back now.”
I sigh.
Damn!
“Maybe they’ll piddle around and I’ll still make it. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Keep me posted.”
“Sure thing.”
After we hang up, I feel the nervous energy start. I can’t seem to sit still in the backseat. I feel like I should be doing something to hurry this god-awful ride along. But there’s nothing I can do. All I know is that there’s no way in the deepest part of hell that I’ll be falling asleep again.
* * *
One hour and twenty-three minutes later, my phone rings. It’s Cash again.
“What’s going on?”
“Guilty. On all charges.” He’s about to bust. I can hear it in his voice. It takes a few seconds for his words to sink in. Then I’m flip-flopping between elation that we won and irritation that I missed being with them for the verdict.
“Holy fu—Holy crap, man! That’s great news! Hot damn! Hot. Damn!”
Cash whoops into the phone and his excitement pushes me more toward elation and less toward irritation. There will be lots to celebrate tonight. Lots.
I hear him laughing. And, in the background, I hear feminine voices laughing, too. They’re already celebrating.
“So what’s next?”
Cash collects himself enough to answer me. “Sentencing. I don’t know when that will happen yet, but Georgia state law set a maximum sentence of twenty years for a RICO conviction. I hope they get every day of it! We’re already discussing civil suits, too. And then, of course, there will be Dad’s appeal, since Duffy admitted to . . . what he did. I’ll get Duffy’s signed affidavit and start the process as soon as I can.”
I know how Cash feels. It’s hard to say it sometimes, to say out loud that our mother was murdered. Especially on a day like today, a day full of good things.