“You sure you don’t want something to rest your leg on?”
In the bright, afternoon light, Eric Parker looked across the shiny mahogany desk at Louis Ryan. The man was leaning back in his chair, hands clasped behind his head, legs crossed. He was wearing khaki pants, a lightweight cotton sweater and tan moccasins.
He was staring at Eric. Although Eric couldn’t be absolutely certain, there was something in Ryan’s eyes that made him wonder if the man really cared if he was uncomfortable or not.
He didn’t want to appear weak. He was sitting in the chair opposite Ryan, his broken leg, newly cast after the other cast was ruined by the water in his apartment, extended painfully to the floor. Not only had his doctor told him to keep the cast dry, but he also told Eric to keep it elevated at all times, which he certainly wasn’t doing now.
I’m batting a thousand, Eric thought, and he considered asking Ryan for another chair or a hassock. But his pride wouldn’t allow him to.
“I’m fine,” he said, with a forced smile. “Really.”
Louis shrugged. “I don’t believe you,” he said. “But it’s your leg. Do you want a drink before we begin?”
Eric nodded. A shot of booze would do him good right now. Not only did Ryan just call him a liar, but his leg felt as if it was on fire and he was nervous as hell. Earlier, when he phoned Ryan from Diana’s apartment, he did not anticipate meeting so soon with the man. Perhaps in a week, he thought, but not on the day he returned home from the hospital and found his apartment under six inches of water.
Still, he was glad to be here. Not only was the meeting helping to take his mind off his problems at home, but soon Eric would learn why Louis Ryan had been sending him dozens of roses since his arrival at New York Hospital.
“What would you like?” Louis asked, rising. “I have everything.”
“Scotch?”
“Fine.”
He watched Ryan walk to the bar across the room. He wondered what the man wanted from him. Louis knew for years that he had been an executive at Redman International. Was it that? Did Ryan want information of some sort? Or did it have to do with Celina? All of Manhattan knew they were once an item. Did this meeting have something to do with her? Or did it have to do with George? The rivalry between the two men was infamous. With such similar corporations, they were in constant battle with one another and for years the press made it seem as if they were in a private war-which they were.
But while the press made it appear that their hatred for one another stemmed purely from business matters, Eric knew differently. Years ago, in a moment of confidence, Celina told him that George was once thought responsible for the death of Louis’ wife. While Eric himself didn’t believe that George was capable of murder, he never ruled out the possibility. There had been too many times over the years when George’s feelings for Louis Ryan surpassed the point of mere hatred and become something colder, darker and more personal.
He watched Louis pour Scotch into two short glasses of ice. I don’t know why you asked me here, he thought, but if you want me bad enough, it’s going to cost you.
Louis came over with the drinks. Eric accepted his and they touched glasses. “To the future,” Louis said, and they sipped. Eric felt a hot flash of liquid fire shoot down his throat and bloom in his stomach. He took another sip and began to relax. Ryan stepped over to a wall of windows that looked uptown. To Eric, he seemed consumed by The Redman International Building.
Eric leaned forward. The group of reporters he passed earlier were still gathered in front of the building’s entrance. Although he wasn’t sure why they were there, he assumed it had to do with the takeover of WestTex.
“I want you to help me destroy George Redman,” Louis said.
Eric looked at the man, not sure if he had heard him right. Louis was still facing the windows. The sun beating through the glass turned his silvery crown of hair to gold.
“You’ll be paid an obscene amount of money for what little I want from you,” Louis said simply. He left the window and reclaimed his seat. “In fact, even after you pay off your hospital bills, refinish your apartment and replace your neighbor’s paintings and her Henry VIII furniture, you’ll be set for life.”
Eric was speechless. How did Ryan know about his apartment? About the destroyed paintings and furniture? The pipes burst only that morning.
Louis opened a desk drawer and removed a slip of paper. He handed it to Eric and Eric saw that it was a check. His eyebrows rose-the amount was indeed obscene. “And how will I earn this?” he asked.
Louis sat down. “I need you to confirm some information I received concerning the takeover of WestTex Incorporated. All you have to do is copy a few files for me and that check is yours.”
“Confirm?” Eric said. “Then you’ve already been in contact with somebody from Redman International?”
Louis casually waved a hand.
“Who?”
“Doesn’t matter. What matters is that I don’t trust this person. Unlike yourself, he doesn’t want to see Redman burn.”
So, it’s a man. “What makes you think I do?”
“Because you hate George,” Louis said. “I think we both know that Redman has destroyed your reputation. You couldn’t get a job in this city even if you wanted to flip burgers. It’s also obvious that Redman is behind the pipes bursting in your apartment. He canceled your insurance for a reason. He wants you out of his building and out of New York.”
“How do you know all this?”
Louis sipped his drink and met Eric’s gaze levelly. “There’s nothing I don’t know about you, Eric. Not the beating you gave Leana Redman the night of Redman International’s opening, nor the contract you put out on her while you were in the hospital.”
Eric could only stare. If the man wanted to, he could blackmail him with this information.
“So,” Louis said. “We have a deal?”