Adrenaline (11 page)

Alex shrugged. “You pulled your weight. Besides, there’s not much need for cave diving as the president of a major corporation, the way I see it. Look how things have worked out for you.” He pointed to the deck, toward Lisa.

“Like you said, I’m a lucky man.”

“When it comes to her, yeah. You worked for everything else. So when do you move into the big house that goes with the big job?”

“About four months. We should be in by Thanksgiving. In the meantime, we’ll rough it here, bring in electric radiators. Assuming we can afford them. We managed to sink every dime into the house, so I’m in the weird position of being on the verge of a huge new job with empty pockets.”

“Huh. That’s good, actually. You’ve been getting too soft. All that cold air will keep your head from swelling. Being low on money will keep you hungry. Probably the last hard thing you’ll have to do before all of that money comes pouring in.”

“You think this job is going to be easy?”

“Naw,” Alex said, shaking his head. “I think it’s going to be murder. Leading all of those people. Not much privacy. For you and Lisa, I expect that’s going to be hard. And you’ll be dealing with problems all over the world, some of them I can’t even imagine. But if I know you like I do, you’ll be loving every second of it. What you might miss is that you’re not going to be physically tested in any way. Keeps me young, doesn’t it?”

Steve smiled at Alex. Indeed, though his skin was leathered by harsh sunlight and wind, there was the same vitality about him that Steve remembered from the first year of his enlistment.

Alex said, “You’re smart, tough, and good on your feet. And that last bit sometimes makes everything else work out. Hell, you nailed your competition this morning rock climbing, didn’t you?”

“That’s the way it worked out. And that’s probably the way Geoff thinks about it.”

“Count on it. I bet that nut is sitting at home right now, grinding his darts down to a needle tip to throw at pictures of you. Beating his butt by climbing that rock is probably the last time you’ll ever be physically tested. So enjoy the cold winter, enjoy being short on cash a little while longer. You’re going to be fat and happy all too soon.”

Geoff was not having such an uplifting moment. He had been working out for hours: push-ups, pull-ups, sit-ups. Lifting weights. At last, he took a break, falling to the floor. He tasted blood in the back of his throat.

The pictures on the walls seemed to mock him. Pictures of himself rock climbing, extreme skiing. A shot of himself skiing off a small cliff. Another of him racing a motorcycle, laying the bike down for a hairpin turn. The karate competitions … he closed his eyes.

He was sliding into a depression.

He saw the depression as something that tinged his vision with gray. That put everything under a fluorescent light that highlighted only what was banal and mundane. That made him see himself not as an adventurer, but as a fool. A man dangerous only by virtue of his ego.

He suspected that the depression simply allowed him to see reality. The depression forced Geoff to see how most of his troubles were his own creation. It had been crazy to expect Harrison to make that climb. Crazy to count on Jansten sticking with him.

And it had left the door wide open for Steve to take advantage of the situation.

That thought sparked a little heat within Geoff.

Steve had taken advantage. He and Lisa. The bitch. Slapped him in front of everyone.

The anger made Geoff feel a little better. Stronger.

He thought about the hooker, Carly. Cute thing, but tough. He couldn’t help but admire her. Every day she walked the side of the street where people didn’t try to
persuade, convince, motivate
others—she worked the side of the street where the strong took whatever they wanted from the weak.

If he and Dern worked that side of the street, Dern wouldn’t have a chance against him. Of that, Geoff was certain.

Carly had said she could get him a gun. He had been toying with the idea of shooting Steve and Lisa. Hell, he had been toying with a lot of ideas, but the two of them figured into most of them one way or the other. Jansten, too. Everyone else, Harrison, even fucking Guston, had pretty much been following Geoff’s lead. Not that he intended to let any of them go unscathed. But Lisa and Steve had thwarted him directly, and, damn it if they hadn’t succeeded.

Geoff had to admit he had underestimated them.

Which only meant he wouldn’t the next time around. The trick was doing it so he wouldn’t get caught.

Geoff pulled out his hiking gear and started filing the edges on his crampons and ice axe, keeping his hands busy while he analyzed his situation. He was virtually broke. He was unemployed and alone. His apartment and car were leased by the company; no doubt both would be gone soon.

He hated to admit it, but he had become dependent upon the company. He had joined Jansten Enterprises shortly after getting the MBA from Wharton.

He was dependent not only for his salary, but for the occasional loan when he wanted to cover an investment or make a substantial purchase. Loans that, in fact, had been the basis of the wealth he had just lost. Loans that had been requested, reviewed, and authorized by himself.

Loans that he never actually paid back.

Three “vendors”: three obscure—and fictional—consultants who sent Geoff invoices on an occasional basis. Geoff made sure not to be greedy, with no single vendor billing over fifty thousand annually.

The loans were just seed money, the way he saw it. They were also far below Geoff’s signatory authority and too small to interest the roving audit teams that Jansten kept employed year-round.

The way he saw it, Geoff brought in so much money for the company, they owed it to him.

And yet, without so much as blinking, Jansten had fired him. In front of all of them. “You’re out, Geoff,” he had said.

Geoff hated to admit to himself that he needed his own brand of security. Even when he risked his life for an adrenaline fix, he liked coming home to a nice apartment, a hot shower and a willing girl. He liked good clothes, limos, being treated with respect.

He wasn’t into poverty.

And yet, that’s what he was facing. He looked over at the mirror, saw himself sharpening the ice axe. His hair was matted with sweat, his body was alive with muscle. He knew how to do the resume and interview bit, he knew he could pick up a phone and probably land a job within a week or two. Nothing like his role with Jansten Enterprises, but enough to keep him afloat in a reasonable style.

But he just didn’t seem to have it in him to do that anymore.

Geoff exploded suddenly, throwing the ice axe into the wall. Plaster rattled all over the floor. What he had in him was the overwhelming urge to pay back that smug bastard, Dern, and his cornpone wife.

The sword cane had been propped up against the wall and it fell to the floor. He felt a quickening of interest, felt the sudden rage center with a bit more focus. He stood and drew the blade, suddenly feeling a touch of exuberance. He sliced the air in his apartment, the whistling sound evocative. He didn’t believe in past lives, but he knew beyond any doubt that if he
had
lived in the past he would have been a warrior, not a goddamn merchant.

The steel in his hand truly made him feel better.

He thought about Steve, thought about visiting him with the sword cane right then.

Better still, visit Lisa. The idea loosened a warmth inside him that spread through his belly and downward. Rape and pillage. The way to hurt Steve was through her. The guy was obviously crazy about her.

The idea felt so right. He needed more than a test of speed and balance, he needed some of what he got in that fight with the pimp. And Lisa and Steve deserved his attention.

He hesitated, knowing that attacking them without any sort of plan would land him in jail.

And he could not do jail time. That was one thing he truly feared. He couldn’t be penned up like that.

But equally compelling was the need to act. The walls of his apartment were damn close to a cell right then. He couldn’t stay there a second longer.

He sheathed the sword and left.

Chapter 10

What do you think that BMW of his goes for?” Jammer asked his cousin. “Thirty, forty K?”

They were in the van across the street from Geoff’s apartment.

“At least,” Ball said. The baseball cap that had earned him his name was turned backward, the easier for him to peer out the window. His heavy brows furrowed. “Hate those yuppie sewing machines. And we’ll never get that kind of money for it. We’ll be lucky if we get ten.”

“All adds up.”

“How’ll that do against the total for Raul?”

Jammer looked at his cousin. His father’s brother’s kid. Tough lot, all of them. Ball was about six feet tall, thick-chested, arms like a gorilla. About as smart. Jammer played with the idea of telling him that he had accumulated over fifty thousand dollars. Knowing the word would spread throughout the family that Jammer had finally made something of himself.

Jammer said, “Barely make a dent.” Ball and his side of the family would kill each other for that kind of cash, never mind him.

“Yeah?” Ball stared at him. “What are your cunts doing, crossing their legs on the job?” His laughter filled the van.

“Shut up, dickhead,” Jammer said, casually.

Ball went silent and that made Jammer’s mouth go dry. He never knew what would throw Ball off. Jammer put his hand on the Beretta in his pocket, thinking that the idiot might go nuts on him.

“When am I going to get a gun?” Ball asked finally. The faint whine in his voice told Jammer he was going to cave this time around. “Put a forty-five on Raul and fucking take his shit and his cash.”

Jammer groaned. “For the four thousandth time, Raul’s got Uzis, forty-fives, he’s got Glocks, he’s got sawed-off shotguns … but most of all, he’s got about thirty guys on the street willing to turn me and you into hamburger if we piss him off.”

“I know that.”

“Then how come I’ve got to repeat it? You worry me. You’ve got this attitude … talk about putting a gun in his face.
We’re
buying into
his
game.
If he
lets us. Once I get that start, that first two hundred K together, then prove to him I can turn the shit around fast enough, then, maybe, we’ll get a chance to make some real money.”

“I know that.”

“So stop talking about putting a gun in his face, willya? We’ve got to show him that we respect him; we’ve got to show him that we’ve got balls. Talking big doesn’t do either.”

“And sitting in my van following your bitch’s boyfriend does?”

Jammer would’ve liked to pull the Beretta and pop the dumb bastard behind the ear right then. But he was going to need some muscle once he had the shit. And though Jammer barely admitted it to himself, he also knew he needed some help taking down this blond scumbag. The guy was simply too fast to mess with, one-on-one. It would have been easy enough to just shoot the guy, but he figured the prick was worth some money, and it would take a little time and muscle to work it out of him.

Hold on to him for a day, get him to clean out his checking account. Not to mention taking a little time and energy to teach him what happens to guys who try to steal Jammer’s best whore. Teach him to try and cut Jammer.

The pimp sighed. If Raul ever heard how this guy had taken away his sword cane … And Ball worried him, too. The guy’s mouth had a direct line from his little pea brain. If any of that shit came out in front of Raul …

“Hold up,” Ball said, rubbing the window clean. “That’s him.”

Jammer leaned forward.

Ball said, “That’s him. Look, he’s coming under the streetlight.”

“Yeah, you’re right.”

“Course I am.” Ball grinned at Jammer. “And he’s got your stick.”

Geoff figured he would most likely get some action going down into Roxbury. Action with the sword cane. White guy, good clothes, alone. He figured if he couldn’t get mugged there, he wasn’t going to get mugged anywhere.

The thought that someone might simply shoot him didn’t faze him. Already he was feeling too good to worry about that. The depression had been lifted, at least temporarily. He would figure out how to get his hands on some money later. This was like loosening his muscles. This showed that he could control the depression at will. So what if he had blown his career? So what if he was virtually penniless?

He could start the action.

He could do anything: make another fortune, rob a bank if he wanted. Hell, he could kill someone.

If only someone came through tonight.

The fear behind his already-pumping adrenaline was that after a few hours of walking around the toughest streets of Boston, he might be left alone. Untouched. Safe.

He started down Massachusetts Avenue, past Symphony Hall, into Roxbury. Already the few faces he saw on the street were black. So were the models on the billboards. Up ahead, he saw a small gang of teenagers sitting on the steps of a brownstone. Rap music pumped through a boom box.