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“I always come back,” he grinned, like the crocodile he was.
“Like herpes.”
It didn’t matter if he got out right then and beat me with a tire iron—a distinct possibility considering the mobster’s reputation—the insult was still worth it, just to see the look on his face after I took the piss right out of his bullshit, tough-guy line. He just couldn’t wrap whatever it was that passed for his mind around the fact that I wasn’t scared of him.
“Excellent, Mr. Jones. Very good indeed.”
“Thanks. Now fuck off and stop harassing me. The emailed threats and letters in the mail I could stand. Even the car bomb was a bit of a laugh, mostly because it failed so fucking miserably, but this stalker shit has got to end. I could almost swear you were in love with me.”
“The bomb wasn’t supposed to go off. We just wanted to make sure you were paying attention,” Ivanov chuckled.
“Fuck you very much.”
“I honestly hope you enjoy it while you can because I am going to burn your life and everything in it like a cane field in a high wind. You screwed me over when you dropped my account. I needed those ads to help rehabilitate my reputation. My casinos would be mentioned in the same breath as the Dalton chain if it had only gone through.”
“The contract was ended properly. We did nothing wrong,” I explained, still very much in my right mind.
“Except telling all the other companies in town why you dropped the contract. I can’t even get so much as a meeting with any of them because of you,” Ivanov snapped, a cold rage burning in his eyes.
“Rightfully so, I would say.”
“You guys were the best. Now you are going to be ash. You fucked me, Jones, and nobody fucks me.”
“I’m not surprised with that kind of attitude. Though I suspect your gut helps too. Have you ever considered working girls?” I inquired.
He sneered at me. “Sure, why not? How old is little Camilla now? I’m sure she could be convinced with enough—”
That time he saw me coming. His eyeballs almost flew out of his head in shock. My punch landed on the bulletproof window, which had gone back up double-time before I had a chance to drag the jerk out onto the street and curb stomp the bastard. I don’t remember if it hurt. If it did, it couldn’t have been very much because I just kept pounding on the window like a drum with both my fists, roaring like a monster.
I could hear Ivanov screaming, “Drive! Drive!” from inside the backseat. The limo peeled away so fast it left little black tire-marks behind it.
It was ten blocks before I gave up the chase. My legs collapsed out from under me. Camilla was a sore spot. When it came to her, my emotions had no limits. I had gotten into a fistfight with my best friend when had he wanted to so much as date my little sister. They got married. Ivanov would find out what pain really was if he ever went near her.
The jerk was escalating, trying to throw me off. Ivanov wanted to find a weak spot so he could attack me even harder. And, idiot that I was, I had given him one. My only consolation was that Aden, Camilla’s husband, was a war veteran with a confirmed kill count that could make the mobster blush in abject humiliation. I had never actually seen it but was pretty sure Aden could kill someone with a pencil.
Resetting the disk player, I finished my jog as well as the album as I came through the front door. Checking for any broken bones, I bandaged my bleeding knuckles. I took two pain-killers before hitting the shower, getting really for another day of work.
On the way to the office, I could smell the bakery before I got there. A favorite of the guys at the firm, I had been going there every morning for most of my adult life. Not for myself. I was strictly Keto, but Camilla did love her caramel eclairs, and old habits died hard.
“I’m going to get fat at this rate,” she said, already working on a pair when I dropped the distinctive paper bag on the reception desk.
“Aden?” I asked.
“Great minds think alike,” she said, making me smile.
Camilla could always make me smile, even when we were little—annoying as she could also be. Not that there was much time for that. Our relationship changed forever when our dad walked out. Camilla was only four and didn’t really remember, but I did. I was only ten myself but still felt responsible for her. A habit that proved very difficult to break.
By the time I got to the game room for morning ping-pong, I had all but forgotten about Ivanov.
