“Mmmm,” he murmured. “We are a good combo.”
“The best,” she said as she closed her eyes, feeling like they were partners in everything at last.
* * *
Another pair of Advil did wonders to mute the throbbing in his skull, but the dull ache was a useful reminder of what he was up against as he pushed open the door to Mr. Pong’s shortly after noon the next day. The smell of fried pork and noodles filled his nostrils. Waiters bustled around delivering plates of pepper steak and lo mein to the lunch crowd.
It was your standard order Chinese restaurant with thick menus and illustrated pictures of the twelve signs of the Chinese New Year— such as horses, snakes and rats, along with an illustrated dragon image presiding over them all.
Fitting, he reasoned, as a hurried waiter rushed over to him.
“One for lunch?”
“No. I’m joining someone. You can tell Mr. Stravinski that I’m here.”
The waiter looked confused. “Sorry. Who should I tell him is here?”
“Tell him the guy he’s expecting to see.”
“Okay,” the waiter said, narrowing his eyebrows briefly at the request before turning on his heels to find the man in charge.
Moments later, a tall man in a sharp suit strode over to him. He had thick, dark hair and muddy-brown eyes and some of the worst teeth Clay had ever seen. He wasn’t thin, he wasn’t fat; he was simply the sturdy type.
He extended a hand to shake.
“Clay Nichols,” he said.
“Charlie Stravinksi. I had a feeling I’d be seeing you. Come,” he said, gesturing grandly to the restaurant as if he were quite proud of the joint he’d taken over on a debt that went belly-up. “There is a table for us near the kitchen.”
“Fantastic,” Clay said coolly, as if this were just another lunchtime business meeting.
After they sat, a waiter handed Clay a menu. “Thank you.”
Charlie tapped the menu. “Everything here is delicious. But may I personally recommend the kung pao chicken,” he said, bringing his fingertips to his mouth and kissing them as a chef does.
“Consider it done,” Clay said, pushing the menu to the side. He had every intention of not only talking to Charlie, but breaking bread with the man. If there was one thing he’d learned in his years as a lawyer, it was that the more you knew about the opposing side, the better off you were. And the less fear you showed, the more likely you’d win the points you wanted. Besides, he had a hunch Charlie was the type of man who would act supremely gentlemanly to a worthy adversary.
Clay planned to be just that.
“So, you messed up the nose of my new guy,” Charlie began, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms.
“It got in the way of my fist.”
Charlie scratched his neck, as if he were a dog itching fleas. “He shouldn’t have been there. He’s too hot-headed to be on the street.”
“Yeah?”
Charlie shook his head, and blew out a long stream of air. A man frustrated, he placed his elbows on the table and steepled his fingers. “Stevie was supposed to give her the message, but he came down with the flu, he claimed,” Charlie said with a scoff.
“I’m guessing that’s the last time he’ll duck out of work for a sick day,” Clay said dryly.
Charlie laughed, throwing back his head and letting loose several deep chuckles. Then he took a deep breath, and the laughing silenced. “What are you here for?”
“Seems we have something in common, don’t we?” Clay said, establishing first their mutual interests.
“Red.”
“That’s what you call Julia?”
“Yes.”
“Here’s the thing, Charlie,” Clay began, keeping his voice completely even and controlled as he knew how to do. “Can I call you Charlie? Or do you prefer Mr. Stravinski?”
“Charlie is fine.”
“So here’s the thing,” he repeated, leaning back in his chair, mirroring Charlie’s moves. “You’re going to need to go through me now.”
Charlie arched an eyebrow. “I am?”
“You are.”
“And why would I do that?”
“I’m her lawyer and I’m handling you. And that’s how it’s going to work. You want your money, I presume?”
“I would like it,” Charlie said. “I am fond of money.”
“I had a feeling you were, so I brought some extra to settle some matters,” Clay said, then dipped into his pocket for his wallet. Taking his time he opened it up, wet a finger, and counted some crisp bills. He laid $500 on the table. “This is for your guy. It’s a way of saying I’m not sorry his nose ran into my fist, but I do aim to take responsibility for my actions.”
Charlie eyed the money approvingly. “Go on.”
He peeled off another five $100 bills, adding them to the stack. “This is for you to leave her alone this week.”
A laugh fell from Charlie’s lips. “It’s going to cost more than that.”
Clay added $500 to the pile, then raised an eyebrow in question. Charlie nodded. “That’ll do.”
“And this,” he continued, adding five more to the pile, “Is a promise that we will have the $10,000 remaining on the debt to you by next weekend.”
“Or?”
“There’s no or,” Clay said firmly, never wavering as his eyes remained locked on the man across from him. “It will be paid. And you will be done with her. Is that clear?”
“Why should it be clear?”
“Because that’s how deals are done, Charlie. When the final $10,000 is paid, she’s free and clear and I never want you to talk to her, be in touch with her, or send your men after her again,” he said, his eyes locked on the man he despised, never wavering.
“Are you going to ask me to sign something? A legal contract, perhaps?” Charlie said in a mocking tone.
He shook his head. “They don’t make contracts for this kind of deal. That’s why I paid you the extra just now in good faith. Those are the terms of our contract. Good faith.”
Charlie paused, and cocked his head to the side. Looked Clay up and down. Then his lips curled up. “I can live with those terms.”
“And you can live with the other ones? When this is done, it’s over and out?”
“If she has the money for me, I will not ever need to see her again,” he said through gritted teeth.