Page 74 of Backwater Justice
“Excellent.”This guy is never going to leave.“Did you set it up for her?”
“They’re getting it ready.”
“Excellent. Now if you’ll excuse me.” Oliver nodded toward a stall as if to say he wanted some privacy.
The salesman blinked. “Oh. Of course. Sorry. Meet you outside.”
As soon as the salesman was out the door, Oliver scooped up the bottle and dashed into the stall. He wiped it dry with another towel, opened the bottle, and sprinkled some powder on the back of his hand. This situation required more than the usual bump. Then came the second nostril. His world may have been spinning out of control, but at least he was spinning with it.
This was the worst situation Oliver had ever been in. When he was younger, it was his big brother Benjamin who always came to his rescue. Then his grandfather, Senator Wakeman, and over the past two years, he’d been able to buy his way in and out of situations. Now, if he couldn’t deliver, he wouldn’t get paid. If he didn’t get paid, he couldn’t keep up with the hush money he was spreading around. If he couldn’t keep up the hush money, then tongues could wag against him. He looked down at his Tom Ford blazer. And he surely wouldn’t be able to keep up his lifestyle. He might never be able to show his face again in this glorious, luxury sports car showroom.
He thought his head was going to explode. For real. The coke hit his sinuses like an ice pick. He steadied himself against the stall door.Get it together. Get it together.He straightened up and went back to the sink. Grabbed a few more towels, rinsed them in cold water, and placed them on his forehead. This time, if anyone asked, he could say he must have food poisoning. Or something.My cocaine high is freaking me out!was not an option. After a few slow, deep breaths, he took another look at himself in the mirror. He took another towel and dried the hair along his temples. He slapped on a smile and returned to the awaiting speed devil.Bad choice of words. He chuckled.
“Ah, there you are!” Annie linked her arm through his. “We have a new ride to experiment with.”
“Experiment?” The salesman looked alarmed.
“Kidding.” She gave a cutesy shrug. She noticed Oliver’s body temperature seemed a bit high.And so does he, she added.
The sleek Ferrari Roma was built for the open road. Not for leisurely driving. It was compact. Tight. And so was the interior, although it boasted a “roomier” feel than comparable models. Once again, Annie gently moved the vehicle to the street and then onto the open road.
“He was right. This really hugs the corners.” Annie whipped the car around a hairpin turn. Oliver clutched the handle piece above the door with his right hand, and the console with his other. It was like the worst ride at an amusement park. At leasttheyhad some safety measures in place.
Annie looked over at her companion. He did not look well. “Oliver, are you alright?” She slowed down to eighty miles per hour.
“I got myself into a bit of a pickle.” He didn’t know how far to take this, but it was worth a try.
“What kind? Dill? Gherkin?” Annie knew it was no time for jokes, but she had a funny feeling this pickling was of his own doing.
“More like a pickle barrel.” Oliver was choosing his words carefully, making up the story as he went along. “It’s embarrassing.”
“Oliver, I can guarantee you that everyone on this planet has done something embarrassing in their lifetime. Although some may never notice that what they did should have caused embarrassment, but never mind. Continue, please.”
“That beautiful Lamborghini?”
“Ah, yes, the beauty.”
“I gave them a deposit in order to have it customized. And now I have to come up with the rest of the money. I invested in some fake-coin stock and now I can’t cover the cost of the car.” He thought that story might appeal to a woman who had similar vehicle interests. “I haven’t told anyone about this. It’s too embarrassing.” He dropped his chin to his chest.
Was he pouring it on thick,Annie wondered,or was he genuinely disgraced?
“What kind of money are you talking about?” Annie asked.
“Two hundred. Grand.” Oliver spit the figure out.
Annie nodded. “How soon do you need it?”
“By the end of the week; otherwise, I forfeit my deposit. A hundred grand.”
It was true he wanted money for the car, but if he hoped to live long enough to drive it, he had to either come up with the kilo or the money. Ernesto had fronted part of the cost of building the pill-mills. Oliver had been able to skim money from one company to the next, but the cost of the pill compression machine was something he couldn’t easily hide. Ernesto had given him the cash for it. Now Ernesto wanted Oliver to repay the debt. The problem was he couldn’t do one without the other. He hoped Dickie was on the stick and could get the machine running in Blaine as soon as the woman was moved. Moved. Then what?
“Let me think about this.” Annie stared straight ahead as she pushed the car’s top speed.Is this a way to trap him?she considered. Or could any action I take make me culpable?It was a topic for the group. She couldn’t make that decision on her own. She and Oliver cruised around for another quarter of an hour, then returned the precious gem to the dealership. They thanked the sales associates, took their cards, and promised to be in touch.
They walked to Oliver’s car. “Want me to drive?” Annie offered. “Because even if you don’t, I’m going to.”
The hour drive back to Salem seemed like an eternity. Very few words were spoken. The happy mood had flattened. Oliver was also out of cocaine.
They arrived at The Grand Hotel just before five o’clock. “I’m heading over to your folks to meet up with Myra. You planning on stopping by?”