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“I’ve got to work something out with Ronald,” I reply.
“Thanks, bro. I thought you might want to bring Olga to my sister’s wedding.”
JD’s younger sister, Andrea, is getting married in two weeks in Phuket, Thailand.
“No,” I reply. “My mom might fly over. If she does, I’ll go stag.”
JD wrinkles his nose. “What? You gonna make your mom your plus one?”
“She’s going to bitch about whoever I bring as a date. Not sure I feel up for that. What about you? You bringing Amy?”
“Maybe. See how things go first.”
As the car heads back toward the city, my thoughts bounce from Ronald to Drumm to Bridget. I remember how her body stiffened when I pulled her onto the dance floor. Why was I thinking about her so much? Because she didn’t melt in my presence and make eyes at me?
By the time we make it back to The Lotus, only a dozen or so patrons remain, including Ronald, a slightly overweight guy with a square face. He’s chatting up a young woman.
Seeing me, he smiles broadly. “You made it back. You missed Lee Hao Young, though.”
I grab him by the back of his collar. “My office. Now.”
I drag him to the office, which Cheryl also uses. Seeing me and Ronald, she jumps from the desk and exits. Marshall, who used to be my bodyguard when my dad was alive and is now head of club security, stays.
Once Cheryl closes the door, I slam Ronald down onto the desk.
“It was a joke! A joke!” Ronald exclaims.
“With a Vanguard?” I return, pushing the side of his face into the desktop.
“Can’t you take a joke?” he cries.
“I’m tired of your jokes.” I look up at Marshall. “Hand me your piece.”
Marshall takes out his Glock and cocks it for me. I press the muzzle to Ronald’s temple.
“Christ!” Ronald cries, shaking beneath me. “Okay, okay, I’ll drop the jokes! I swear!”
“You think I believe you?” I snarl into his ear.
“I swear! Christ, Darren! I promise!”
“Good. Then we’re even.”
I back off, uncock the gun and hand it back to Marshall. Ronald, still bewildered, straightens and stares at me.
I grin. “Got you.”
Marshall snickers.
“Wait,” Ronald says, perplexed. “You were just…?”
“Joking,” I fill in.
Looking faint, Ronald sits on the edge of the desk. “So, you weren’t going to—you weren’t going to kill me?”
“Not this time,” I warn him.
Ronald exhales and runs a hand through his hair. “Shit. I honestly thought…Christ. I almost pissed my pants.”
“We better get you a drink.”
“No shit.”
Ronald gets up from the desk and we head over to the bar. I consider telling Ronald about the joke I thought he had pulled with Bridget. In retrospect, it would have been an odd joke. I shake my head and wonder if I’ll ever see Bridget again. Something tells me not.
Too bad. She was kind of interesting.
