Devour, p.13
Devour, page 13
“Actually, I didn’t say when I would release him. Perhaps what I should have said—for clarity—was that I would do so after you prepared the dinner for me. To be sure you held up your end of the bargain.”
“Shit,” Michael snorted, “You’re weird, Freddie. Always have been. Always will be.”
Dalton wanted to come unglued and tell him off. Instead, he took a deep breath and waited.
“You’re creating all this…bullshit drama for a fucking dinner?”
Dalton remained calm. “Not just any dinner.”
“Whatever, Freddie. I’m nothing special. Just a cook.”
Dalton watched himself in the mirror across the room. Smiling, he smoothed his hair. “But you’re the cook. Better put, The Chef. And only the very best in the country. Maybe the world. Right here in my very own backyard.”
He snorted again. “It’s just food.”
Dalton tried to keep from spitting. “Perhaps. But it’s my food. With your creative influence. Besides, with our exquisite preparations, this will be something they will talk about for years to come.”
An uncomfortable silence stretched between them before Michael spoke. “Freddie, has anyone ever told you you’re borderline insane?”
“Yes,” Dalton laughed aloud. “Several, actually.”
Suddenly, one of Dalton’s blinding headaches barreled down on his temples like a sledgehammer. Gasping for air, he tried to squint it away—waiting for the locomotive to pass over his skull. Dabbing sweat from his brow as the pain eased, Dalton looked across the room to the mirror again to see his face blushed.
“Hello? Michael said.
After a deep breath, he watched a wicked sneer grow across his face.
“Sorry, Michael. My assistant just dropped a note on my desk. To continue, you must hate the fact that someone of your caliber—both professionally and as a family man—would back down on his word of honor.”
“I don’t renege.”
“Wonder what that beautiful daughter of yours would think, knowing her father—a former leader of his squadron, an impeccable athlete, and an even more exceptional chef with an illustrious career—wonder what she would think.”
The silence on the line aroused Dalton because he knew all the buttons he was pushing.
Michael was trying to figure out what Dalton was up to. They had not seen one another in half a lifetime, but he had no trouble recalling how borderline crazy he was back in the day. And while he could not spend much time entertaining the distraction, he knew he needed to—as they said in the Army—watch his six.
“You pathetic…little man. And for the record? I did not renege. I simply have to adjust.”
“But you did.”
“Right, and maybe you don’t know what having the responsibility of family means. Bottom line? My family won’t be here and…” Michael hesitated, getting the distinct feeling he would not be able to reason with Dalton. “I will honor my word. I just need you to be patient. We’re only talking another couple of months.”
Fuck you and your couple of months, Dalton screamed in his mind before quietly saying, “I understand, Michael. Just keep in touch and we’ll work it all out.”
Michael was shocked at the sudden shift, and when Dalton did not say anything else, he said, “Of course, Freddie. And thanks again.”
“Oh, just one more thing. Actually two.”
“And here we go,” Michael replied.
“I’d like to amend one small thing, if I may. And in light of your change, perhaps you will agree to it. I’ve invited several more friends and their wives. Without boring you with all the details—as I’m sure you have a busy day ahead of you—let’s just say they’ve all been close to me for some time….I think you’ll enjoy them.”
“I look forward to it.”
“Since I’m certain your wine collection puts mine to shame, I’m going to take you up on your kind offer. May I visit your restaurant to peruse them? It’s just I’m a bit of a planning freak.”
“Sure, we can work something out.”
“Trust me, I’m happy to pay full restaurant price.”
“Whatever. And of course, come in. Just let either me or my assistant Jasmine know, and we’ll set aside the time.”
“Okay, I’ll be off then.”
“Uh, Warden, you said you had two things you needed to discuss. What was the other one?”
“Oh, yes. Thank you for reminding me. It’s your father. Something dreadful happened last night and…” Dalton let that hang for a moment. “It appears as though he was in the wrong place at the wrong time…and was badly hurt.”
“What the fuck?”
“Excuse me?” Dalton felt a flush of anger rise from the pit of his stomach. “It was a terrible accident. Our staff is top notch, but he was clearly—”
“I know, wrong place, wrong time, but how could that happen? And what happened to lockdown and lights out?”
Dalton sat back in his chair, put his feet on a magazine on the corner of the desk, and enjoyed having Rogan right where he wanted him. He smiled at the mirror like it was a Hollywood film camera.
“Michael, I’m so sorry this happened. We all like Sebastian. And I can only imagine how this distresses you. But also know I’ll get to the bottom of this, making it my personal mission to see that heads will roll.”
He heard Michael let out a long sigh on the other end.
“I don’t suppose it’s exactly normal to expect a building full of convicts to play by the rules,” Michael said.
“Most of them are animals, Michael. Not your father, thus the reason I’m willing to make this incredibly handsome offer. It’s not something that’s done every day. Perhaps ever. But I’ve been in this business for decades, and I know how the machine works. Plus, I can tell the difference between reprehensible and repentant men. And while I have no idea what sort of a parent he was growing up, I can assure you this man is changed. He’s truly learned his lesson and will be a blessing to society. Not a blemish.”
Dalton, thinking he was worthy of an Oscar, grinned to the mirror.
“I don’t know what he’s learned, but for him to be beaten at his age. And his condition—”
“Agreed, Michael. 100%. And before I let you go—that is, if I can be so bold— what’s the job that’s taking your wife away from home for two months?”
Michael had run out of patience and needed to get back to work, but he could not imagine how it would hurt. Besides, he was proud of her.
“The people she works with believe she has what it takes to be a very good actress. So, she’s going to Hong Kong for a role in a Gerard Butler film. It’s what they call a psychological thriller.”
“That’s amazing, Michael.” The wheels in Dalton’s head were spinning. “Good for her. I wish her all the luck in the world. No, wait, I’m supposed to say break a leg, right?”
Michael laughed for the first time. “Yeah, that’s what they say.”
“Break a leg,” Dalton repeated. “Sounds so barbaric, doesn’t it? Okay, my assistant’s waving me down for a meeting. I’ll see you soon, and don’t you worry about Sebastian, I’ll get him the best care possible.”
“Sounds good.”
Hanging up, Dalton stood, looked to the mirror, and took a bow.
27
Poker Face
Within minutes of disconnecting with Michael, Dalton arrived at the infirmary where Sebastian was recovering. He thought the patient looked pretty good, given his age and current health.
He’s lucky to be alive, Dalton thought, knowing the havoc Crush had caused more than a dozen people in his life. When he had asked Baxter to see to it that the Neanderthal handle Sebastian, he knew there was a chance he could kill the old man—especially given Crush lacked a barometer for how much pain he could inflict. But that was the chance Dalton was willing to take to play the full hand.
Standing quietly by his bed, Dalton placed his hand on Sebastian’s weathered clump of fingers, checking to see if he was awake.
He instantly jumped and opened his eyes. “Oh, Warden,” he slurred, “I didn’t know you were here.”
It was obvious the man was in pain.
“Just thought I’d swing by and check on my pal. Sounds like you had a rough night.”
Staring at the warden, Sebastian’s expression read, Yeah right.
Dalton applied the most empathetic expression he could muster. “No one knows how Crush got out of his cell and into yours, but you can be sure I’m going to get to the bottom of it. Someone is going to pay for what happened to you.”
“Uh huh,” the old man grunted.
Dalton looked with interest at the medical instruments beeping and breathing all around the patient. “If it’s any consolation, Crush is still out cold—thanks to a hefty smack from the officer on duty. Concussion, likely. No idea when he’ll…wake up.”
“Good for him.”
“Sebastian, let me ask you something. Do you recall a recent conversation about your other son; the one you called a little shit—back when you and Michael were visiting.”
Sebastian looked at the warden with a confused expression—like he was trying to fit mismatched pieces of a puzzle together. Attempting to sit up, he frowned. “How’d you know about that?”
Dalton grinned. “You know nearly every square inch in this place is monitored with closed-circuit cameras.” He looked to a ceiling corner. “With sound.”
A nod of recognition crossed his bruised face. “Why do you want to know?”
Dalton shrugged. “Just curious.”
Sebastian frowned. “Don’t know.”
Dalton knew the old man was lying. He was also aware they had been in communication on more than several occasions. In fact, he recalled seeing Scott visit early in Dalton’s tenure at Quentin.
“Well, what would you say if I could find Scott—you always called him Scottie I believe—and help provide him a way to straighten up and fly right. And make money in the process?”
Sebastian looked away, expressionless.
Dalton was not sure if the old man was using what they called the jailhouse stare—aka poker face—or was actually considering it, so he waited.
“What’s the catch?”
Dalton grinned. “I’ll make your release happen sooner rather than later.” He could swear he saw a flicker of hope before the stare returned.
“Whatever,” he mumbled. “I think I’ll just do my time.”
“Okay, have it your way. But from where I’m standing, it doesn't look like you have many offers coming at you.”
As he began to leave, a guard appeared and opened the cell door.
“Wait!” Sebastian sat up. “I may have an idea where he could be.”
Dalton hid his smile before he turned around. “Really.”
“At least the last time I heard from him.”
28
Plan Be
Dalton sat in his office chewing on homemade jerky, contemplating the complexity of his next strategic move. Two phone calls, he calculated. One, to a troubled soul; the other, a soul he wanted to trouble. Pushing the Do Not Disturb light on his office phone, he took out his cell and dialed Jasmine.
Jasmine was at the front desk, double-checking reservations when the phone in her pocket rang. They would begin serving dinner soon, so she was about to ignore it when she looked at the screen. It read: Nice Nash.
Smiling, she answered, “Hello, Nice Nash.”
Caught off guard momentarily, Dalton said, “Oh. Aren’t you the nice one. Let me guess—”
“Yes, that’s how you’re programmed into my phone. Kinda quirky, I know,” she laughed. “Anyhow, who cares about all that. What’s up?”
Sitting back, he was once again distracted by his reflection in the mirror. This time, he liked the pleasant smile on his face. And the biggest difference? It was real.
“Actually, I’ve got some good and some bad news. The good? I’m in town. The bad? Unfortunately only for less than 24 hours. That’s before I head off to an enormous project in Silicon Valley for nearly a month. Which I would be happy to tell you all about over dinner. Can you? Pretty please?”
“Oh, James, I can’t—”
“I’ll be extra Nice Nash, if you say yes,” he chuckled.
“Aren’t you the cutest?”
“Not really.”
“You are. But seriously, I can’t do dinner. It’s Wednesday night, one of our busier nights. Perhaps next—”
“Nooooo,” he whined dramatically. “I’ll be gone for a month. Maybe more,” he sighed heavily. “Okay, how about this? How about you at least let me buy you—what do you call it, a splashy cocktail?”
“You remembered.”
“I do. And we’ll meet after you get off work.”
Before she could answer, he sweetened the deal. “Look, I’m staying just across the street at the Fairmont. And you know what sort of treats they have at that bar…” He stopped, letting her envision the place she drooled over each time they discussed favorite spots in the city.
“Ooh, you’re so bad, aren’t you?”
“Hmm.”
“Perhaps I should change that phone name to Nasty Nash,” she giggled.
As much as his plans were dark, he loved the lightness in her laugh.
“Here’s the thing. I’m driving in later tonight. You may recall I’m a night owl, plus my meeting doesn’t start until tomorrow morning around 10. And to top it off—besides you being able to sleep in—I’ll be nothing but a gentleman and have you home well before sunrise,” he chuckled. “Seriously, one drink. Maybe two. Nothing more. Well, maybe a tiny goodnight kiss.”
“Are you sure you’re not in sales?”
After several minutes of flirty fun, she agreed, he confirmed, and they rang off. Next, he began his search for Scott Rogan.
Since Dalton had access to the National Criminal Information Center, he was able to research multiple NCIC files covering missing persons, foreign fugitives, supervised release convicts, wanted criminals, and violent offenders. Having dabbled in work as a private investigator at one time, his experience would prove to be helpful in his search for the prodigal son.
In less than two hours, Dalton found Scott’s last string of criminal activity and jail time. There were stolen cars in Tennessee and Arizona, marijuana possession in Colorado, and several robberies in Texas.
Scott’s last known address was a studio apartment in San Diego where he had worked as a dishwasher at a Mexican restaurant called Coasterra. Last, he located Scott’s parole officer. Dalton called him with no luck and left a message before checking out for the day.
Grinning in his rearview mirror, Dalton planned one last stop on his way home—its sole purpose to rattle someone’s cage.
29
Peeping Tom
Kathryn sat in the window seat of their master bedroom, sipping tea, lost in thought. She knew that between Natalie going off to college and Michael churning out a second restaurant she could expect to spend more time alone. Given she was close to turning 40, she thought it was time to begin a new chapter. She loved Michael—always had, always would. But they had grown up together, had a child, built a nice life, and now she wanted a change with a capital C.
It was not so much about being bored with what she had become as much as she was bored with the idea of what she had not become—thus, her drive of getting into acting full-time. As a runway star at an early age and an ample amount of natural beauty, she was never at a loss for attention. Now with her beauty maturing into a more refined look, she seemed to be attracting even more attention—and she liked it.
Whether Stephan was just being a playboy or he really cared, she was enjoying his attention. Even though she did not kid herself—knowing it could all disappear into thin air like the fog blanketing her hometown—she was excited about the possibility.
Getting dressed, she looked at herself in the mirror, admiring how she had kept in shape all these years. She had to if she was going to compete with the teens and the twenty-year olds. Dabbing perfume on her neck, she flashed back to the first time she smelled the fragrance. It was a gift from Michael on her first birthday spent with him, nearly two decades ago. They were living in a closet of an apartment in Manhattan, squeaking by on two incomes, and waking up each day happy—until life got complicated.
Moving through the house, looking for things she wanted to pack, she heard what she thought were the wind chimes in the backyard getting an extra dose of bay breeze until she realized it was her cell phone. Sprinting down the hall, Kathryn grabbed her phone from the corner of a desk, but simultaneously caught her foot on the corner of a rug and went airborne, landing with a thud.
Staring at the ceiling, she tried to catch her breath and managed to squeak out, “Hello?”
“Mom? It’s your favorite daughter. And why are you breathing so hard?”
“You’re my only daughter,” she said, getting up slowly, checking to see if anything was broken. “And I was running down the hall for the phone and fell. What’s up?”
“Are you okay?”
“Yes, Baby Girl, I’m fine. What’s on your mind?”
“So, Rachel and I were talking about all the stuff we needed to take, and I wanted to get your opinion about something.”
“Less than you think.”
“What?”
Rubbing her behind, she said, “Much less. You think you’ll need so many outfits for this or that or the other thing. But in reality, you’ll have a favorite this or that, and pretty much wear them over and over.”
Their conversation went on for the length of time it took Kathryn to get ibuprofen and a glass of water, fill an ice bag, and make her way back to the breakfast nook in the kitchen overlooking the backyard. Just then, Kathryn noticed an unfamiliar SUV sitting under a tree separating their backyard from the neighbors. She thought she saw smoke coming from a side window.
