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He knuckles punch me in the stomach next, and I’m still recovering from that when he hits me again in the face, almost exactly where he did before and my nose starts to bleed.
That’s it.
The minute I get that hard blow, the adrenaline kicks in and I’m no longer afraid.
The Meeting
HOLDEN
Ronnie pushes me forward and I almost stumble and fall on my face. Harlow rebukes him for it and they have a little bit of a pissing contest. I still can’t see and my hands are tied behind my back so I can’t really move and have to rely on Ronnie to push me in the right direction. So far I haven’t run into any walls so I suppose I should be grateful for that considering who these guys are. Also, I’ve just now realized the error of my ways. Coming here with these two without any form of security may have been an ill-advised, spur-of-the-moment decision that I’m starting to regret. I regret it even more when they take off the blindfold and I find myself standing in the middle of what seems like a makeshift office, with badly plastered dark walls and dim lights. The face of the person sitting on the other end of what seems like a flea market bought desk, isn’t even visible to me, all I can see are shadows.
“Hello?” I say because all of them are silent for some reason.
The man in the shadows stands from his chair, and I can see the vague silhouette of an older male, late-fifties perhaps, sturdy build and he looks a little out of place in this setting. He’s not some cardboard cutout character out of some Mob movie like Harlow or Ronnie. This man is different. He looks like he’s about to discuss some business mergers. Even his suit is expensive; a current catalog Pierre Cardin, the kind of thing my Dad might wear. When I see his eyes—I have to stop and catch a breath.
“Holden?” the man says my name and it sounds like he’s been dying to say it. There’s a strange yearning in his voice, a slight tremble that makes me uncomfortable.
The man gestures to Ronnie. “Why’ve you tied his hands!” he snaps. “The blindfold would have sufficed!”
Ronnie gets busy ripping the ties and it’s a relief to finally have my arms to myself.
“I’m sorry,” the man says. “About the way they had to bring you here. I assure you, this is just a one-time thing. I don’t intend to keep a lot of secrets from you anymore.”
“Who are you?”
Instead of answering the man is staring at me again. “You’re really Cynthia’s kid?”
So, he knows my mother. Big deal. “Yes.”
“Fuck,” the man says, and he gets all tears and everything. He quickly swipes at his eyes, and shakes hands with me. “Zaff. Zaff Heliot.”
“Holden Danvers,” I say. “But you already knew that.”
“You’ll have to excuse me, Holden. I never thought I’d see you again. Can I get you something? You’re old enough to drink, right?”
“Yes,” I say, still utterly confused. I have no idea what the guy’s even saying anymore. I never thought I’d see you again.
“What’s your poison?”
“You have any bourbon?”
He smiles. “Bourbon, huh?” It’s like he wants to say something but stops himself. He turns to Harlow. “Harlow,” he says. “Go get something from my cabinet.”
Harlow leaves and Ronnie stays there, his hands laying loosely on a brand new Glock, the kind my father gifted to me on the last birthday we celebrated. Zaff leads me to a coffee table and we sit on the sofas next to the table. All this time, Zaff keeps staring at me and now it’s just causing some unnecessary fear to rise inside my chest. Harlow comes back with a Michter’s Single Barrel, at least twenty years old and leaves the drink on the table along with a couple of glasses. “Drink up,” Zaff says, when he’s done pouring.
I raise the glass to my lips and know that this is one of the best shit that this world has to offer and my trust in this Zaff fellow increases just a notch. It’s not nothing to have good taste in whiskey.
“So,” I begin. “As much as I’m enjoying having a drink with a complete stranger. Can we please get to the point? You brought me here for a reason. So why don’t we get to the matter at hand?”
He smiles. “You’re definitely Cynthia’s son.”
“You know my mother.”
“I should hope so,” Zaff says. “We used to be married.”
The drink almost falls from my hand so I place it on the table but my hands are still shaking. “You brought me here so you could play some kind of prank on me?”
Zaff places his drink glass down as well. “It’s not a joke, Holden. You’re my son.”
