Richards gave Frank directions and in ten minutes they were pulling into a parking lot next to an upscale bar on a street running perpendicular to Colfax. They hadn’t exchanged so much as a word on the drive except for the directions.
The place was full of what Frank would scornfully call yuppies. Young upwardly mobile professionals or young urban professionals, he couldn’t remember which. Douchebags would do in a pinch. But his old friend Larry was obviously in his element, the man exchanging greetings and salutations with several of the clientele before directing Frank to a table in the back, away from the masses.
Happy hour special was two-for-one.
Frank ordered a double Bushmill’s on the rocks, his summer drink, Bushmill’s neat his winter libation. Richards requested a double Johnny Walker Black, neat.
As the cute waitress in a skin-tight black skirt and halter top combo walked away with their orders, Frank said, “So now you can tell me what that was all about, Larry. Kind of reminded of the time back in high school when John Boudreau punched you out while his big brother held your arms. As I recall, you were sneaking around with Johnny’s girlfriend, Debby Bollinger. Up to your old tricks, man?”
“Well, uh, yeah, Frank. But that’s not what this is about. This is business related.”
“What kind of business is that?”
“Real estate. I represent a small consortium of investors who want to put their money into building shopping malls. Malls are the coming thing, my friend. I heard they even have one in Zenith now.”
“True. Damn thing fucked up downtown.”
“Out West here, they’re putting them everywhere. So anyway, a while ago I got a tip that the city council was going to approve a zoning change over in Sheridan to build a mall. And that a local gangster name of Arturo Reynolds—whom they call Burt because legend has it that a while back he spent an entire weekend in Aspen impersonating Burt Reynolds and got away with it—was going to be buying up the desired properties. I suppose he still vaguely resembles Burt Reynolds, but these days the guy looks more like a fast fading porn star. When I found out Reynolds was planning to buy up the desired land and sell it back to investors at a nice profit, I informed my group and they snapped up all the property before Reynolds even had his checkbook out.
“He must’ve heard it was me that clued them in. I guess he’s a little pissed about it.”
Richards seemed to have a great deal of adrenaline working on him. Fighting and brandishing firearms will do that to you.
“You know this guy Reynolds personally?”
“Well, yeah. I handled his divorce from his first wife. Saved him a shitload of money. So he thought I was his friend, I guess. I’ve also had dealings with some of his underlings on other matters.”
“Other matters?”
“Coke deals.”
“You’re into cocaine?”
“Isn’t everybody?”
“I s’pose. It’s a shame and a sin, though.”
Richards’ eyebrows went up as he gave Frank a questioning, disbelieving stare.
Frank said, “So one of his associates tipped you about the mall deal?”
“Nope. It was his current wife. Who, I must add, is also a great piece of ass.”
“Jesus Christ, Larry, you’re fucking a gangster’s wife? Reynolds, know about it?”
“No, but I imagine it’s only a matter of time.”
“What’ll he do to her if he finds out?”
“It’s what he’ll do to me that I’m most concerned about, Frank. She’ll probably just get a beating. She used to be a stripper, so it’s likely she’s accustomed to it.”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“Well, you know what they say about strippers. They all come from abusive homes… fathers who fucked them, slapped them around and beat them up and other unsavory practices. I just meant that she’s probably not a stranger to domestic violence. And Reynolds does provide her with a quite lavish lifestyle.”
Now it was Frank’s turn to throw a look.
“Okay, man,” Frank said, “but I don’t think anyone ever gets used to a beating. And it’s clear these are not nice people you’re involved with. What’s your next move?”
“I thought I might leave town.”
“What about your wife?”
“She filed for divorce last month. Got the second best divorce lawyer in Denver to represent her. Which means, more than likely, that my house is gone. And the car—well, you saw that—I’ll collect the insurance but that will take a while, and I don’t think I have the luxury of waiting around at the moment.”
“What about your office? Your practice?”
“I just lease the building, so that’s no problem. And divorce is busting out all over, Frank. I can pretty much go anywhere and start up my practice anew. I’m also quite proficient with real estate law. These deals I’m working on now could cement my future success for a long time to come. My secretary can handle all the details should I decide to permanently relocate.”
“You fuckin’ her, too.”
“That’s why the wife is leaving me.”
“Uh-huh.” Frank looked down at his drink and bit back some words. “You have a particular destination in mind?”
(To be continued)
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