Adrenaline (3 page)

But part of him wanted to tell the driver.

Part of him wanted to tell Jansten, tell everyone. He felt the buzz of adrenaline. He wanted to
do
something. Bloody his hands, with Guston to start.

Geoff glanced up at the vanity mirror and saw that his face appeared calm and relaxed. The seething impatience inside was well in check.

Maybe it’s time to try something else.
Maybe Kelly had been right. Maybe this was the start of his fall, his own tumble from the saddle.

He closed his eyes, thinking of his parents, dead twenty years now. They would have been flabbergasted to know he had amassed such a fortune. Couple of losers, both of them. His mother, pretty and weak—and a lush. His father, full of grand schemes, but ultimately nothing but a lousy salesman who continually ascribed his own limitations to his son.

His father’s voice spoke in his ear,
Big frigging surprise you lost it, Jeff.

He opened his eyes and thought about the money, about not having it. Thought about how his father had crowed when Geoff had changed the spelling of his own name. Jeff had liked the sophistication of “Geoff” and had informed his parents of the new spelling when he was thirteen. Years later, he made it legal.

“You’re too damn full of yourself, Lord Geoff,” the old man had said. He had been sitting on the sagging back deck of their ugly little ranch house in Sacramento, drinking a beer. “I’ve tried pulling us up, but some shitter always comes along to knock you down. Saddled with you and your mom, I just can’t get out from under. It’ll happen to you someday. I was as good at running with the ball as you, and look where I am now.”

Geoff had just looked coolly at his father, a going-to-fat ex-jock whose failure as a man was right there on his face for anyone to see.

“Bullshit,” Geoff had said. “You were never as good as me.”

“Watch that mouth!” His dad had raised his hand, but Geoff didn’t even flinch. The old man had dropped it. “Get away from me.”

Even then, Geoff could tell his father was a little frightened of him. Geoff was just beginning to realize the extent of the gulf between himself and other people. The way Geoff saw it, his dad still had a slight physical edge, but it wouldn’t be long before Geoff could start calling the shots himself. And in four or five years, he would be out and away from them forever.

When that separation came only one year later, he felt no pain, just mild disappointment that he didn’t have the opportunity to truly flex his muscles with them. Drunk, and probably in the middle of one of their vicious arguments, his mother and father had swerved into the oncoming lane and took themselves and a long-distance trucker out of the equation forever. Geoff had landed with his mother’s parents, an old couple who didn’t want him. Particularly after the first week, when he kicked the old man on his ass to show them both who was boss. He was able to squeeze cars, cash, and, ultimately, a college education out of them. Including the tuition for an MBA from Wharton. It took all of their retirement money to pull that off. And they did it while maintaining the public fiction of being the doting grandparents of their star-athlete grandson, as he demanded. He even kept a portrait of them in his office for visitors, although they could be dead by now, for all he knew.

As was often the case with Geoff, he found that he had arrived at the answer while thinking about other things. He decided that as long as he didn’t have to endure the appearance of being a loser, he truly didn’t care. He told himself he didn’t need the insulation. In fact, he rather liked the idea of pulling himself back up to the top.

Geoff thought of the bike messenger, his broken back. He looked for some sense of pity or shame in himself, knew it should be there. But it wasn’t. Just a sense of revulsion for the damage done.
Paralyzed.

Then he realized the driver was talking and was holding something out for him. “I’m to show you to your apartment … and give you these.”

He handed Geoff a set of car keys with a BMW logo.

Geoff laughed quietly to himself. The car was probably leased, just a gesture from Jansten to welcome him to Boston. But he might as well take it as a sign.

People like me are never poor, he thought, pushing aside images of his father and mother. The bike messenger didn’t know his name and sure as hell wasn’t going to crawl all the way to Boston to embarrass him. And Geoff had taken care of Kelly.

Geoff gave himself two goals: He would become the next executive vice president of Jansten Enterprises as a stepping stone to president and CEO. And he would put together another million in personal fortune before the year was out.

He grinned to himself, already feeling much better. The way he saw it, a goal named was a goal achieved.

* * *

A few minutes later, they pulled in front of an elegant brownstone in the Back Bay.

The driver said, “They unpacked everything for you … even hung all those pictures. I made sure of it myself.”

Geoff paid attention to the driver for the first time: an intelligent-looking man with his personality carefully hidden by his manners. Geoff stared at him until the driver apparently felt compelled to speak.

“Certainly was impressive … some of the things you’ve done.”

“Thanks.” Geoff smiled, disarmingly. “You’re good at your job, aren’t you?”

The driver returned the smile cautiously. “I try to be.”

“I expect you’ve driven for Jansten for some time?”

“I have.”

“Know him pretty well?”

“He’s been very good to me.” Still the driver was being careful. Geoff’s reputation preceded him, which was just the way he liked it.

“That’s good. So you know his taste in restaurants, drinking establishments, and such.”

“I could recommend some of the better establishments in Boston, sir.”

“What I’d like is for you to recommend exactly the opposite for me.”

“Sir?”

“I want you to find me a place where Jansten wouldn’t go.”

“Excuse me?”

“I think you know what I mean. And feel free to pass it along to Jansten when you next talk with him.”

“I don’t work for him in that capacity.”

“Sure you don’t.” Geoff liked the worry he saw on the driver’s face. If he was going to win the top job and pull himself out of his financial disaster, he wasn’t going to do it playing nice. “Now find me that bar. But you can keep calling me sir. I like that.”

The driver took him to a series of bars in the Back Bay. None were what Geoff had in mind. “You’re cold.”

“I think I know what you have in mind.”

The driver took him through a tour of what remained of the Combat Zone. “Keep going,” Geoff said. “This place is dying.”

Just a few blocks away, however, he saw what he wanted. A seedy little place across from the Boston Common that was staving off gentrification on either side. A young blond woman Geoff took to be a hooker stood with her back to the street, looking at her reflection in the mirrored glass.

“This will do,” Geoff said, as they stopped at the light. He got out.

The driver called out politely, “Shall I pick you up at seven for your breakfast meeting?”

Geoff didn’t bother to acknowledge the man.

Just then, the hooker turned. She backed away abruptly, and, for a moment, Geoff was certain she was frightened of him. She looked past him at the limo, then forced a smile.

“Whoa,” she said. “Thought you were somebody else.”

Geoff waited for her to get out of his way. Under the bright blond wig, miniskirt, and stiletto heels there was a surprisingly pretty woman. Green eyes, flawless skin. Faint sprinkle of freckles over a straight and imperious nose.

She smiled awkwardly. “So, this is where I’m supposed to ask if you want a date.”

Geoff sighed. Instant pauper or not, he still had his standards. “And is this where I’m supposed to think this is your first time and whisk you away from it all?”

She smiled ruefully and stepped aside. “I’d be yours forever.”

In spite of himself, Geoff laughed as he brushed by.

* * *

It was an old dark wood tavern, with the smell of stale beer and cigarettes. Geoff asked the bartender for the phone.

“Back near the can.” The bartender was a white-haired guy with a huge gut and broken blood vessels in his face. He looked as if Geoff’s impeccable suit offended him.

Geoff dropped a fifty down on the bar. “Set me up with your best scotch. Give me some change, too.”

Geoff went back and dialed Harrison, who answered on the third ring.

“Hey,” Harrison said. “Figured you’d be about due in. Good flight?”

Geoff gritted his teeth. Harrison performed best if they maintained the fiction that he was Geoff’s friend, instead of the ass-kisser that he was. Geoff told him the name and address of the bar. “Come on over and bring me up to speed,” Geoff said. “Twenty minutes.”

“How about this evening? Geena and I have plans this afternoon, but tonight, I could break free and we could hit the town.”

“Twenty minutes,” Geoff said and hung up.

Back at the bar, Geoff sipped his scotch and looked out the flyblown window. He could see the hooker out front, but he was fairly certain she couldn’t see him through the mirrored glass. Pretty thing, even with the ridiculous clothes and wig.

Kelly’s hair had been the color of that wig. Of course, hers had been real. Geoff missed her, but only a little. It had been two weeks since he had broken it off with her, so to speak. She possessed a spectacular body. Honeyed skin, blue eyes, and model-perfect features. To walk in a room with her on his arm made him the envy of every man in sight. And she had truly seemed to enjoy Geoff’s little adventures, more so than any of his previous women. She had been damned inventive in bed afterward.

He had wondered about that, at times. If that’s why he had been escalating lately, taking greater and greater risks. Physical challenges. Rock climbing without any protection. Whitewater kayaking in rivers never meant to be run. Extreme skiing. Cliff diving.

He liked the audience, certainly.

But the real action was inside him. He loved the adrenaline, just like a junkie spiking his arm. When he had poured everything into the TerrPac investment it had given him a great buzz as the stock climbed. And now that the worst had happened, he was still alive and well, thanks for asking.

But the night after the bike messenger thing, Kelly had just lost it—and, to be truthful with himself, so had he. It had started with her standing just inside the glass doors while he sat out on the balcony, drinking.

They had just made love, and, unlike previous times, she had been cold and unresponsive. She kept worrying about the bike messenger. Worrying that he might be paralyzed, worrying that someone might have seen them drive away, or captured the license plate.

Geoff was normally too prideful a lover to let her remain unsatisfied. But after the incident, he had been too charged up to wait. The feeling that he was taking her for his pleasure alone added to his appetite. Afterward, he went out on the balcony. She followed him, whispering her fear. He quickly downed two shots of scotch. He became hard again, almost immediately, and figured he would drag her away from that door and take her back to bed again, thaw her out. Geoff couldn’t remember being so pumped up.

Kelly had kept after him, though. “Geoff, are you listening to me?”

“He wanted to play the game,” Geoff said, calmly. For the fortieth time that night. “And he lost.”

“He didn’t
want
to. He needed the money. You hurt people. You frighten them and bribe them into doing things they don’t want—and for what? You hardly needed that boy’s money!”

Geoff went to her. He put his palm against the small of her back and pulled her close. “I don’t seem to remember bribing you.”

She looked away. When she spoke, her voice was shaking. “I know I played a part.” She waved her hand around, taking in his penthouse apartment, the view. “We’ve got all this. We’ve got money. You’ve got power, and if this vice president thing works out, you’re going to be set for life …” She laughed, tears on her cheek. “Hell, you’re
already
set for life. Why did you need to hurt that boy?”

He kissed her behind the ear. He wondered how many of her tears represented genuine guilt and how many represented fear of getting caught. His gut reaction was to count heavily on the latter, but he supposed it could have been both. Either way, he had no use for her emotions. Her body, that he could use. He was so full he was almost bursting. He opened her robe and his own and pulled her close. He ran his hands down her back, the curve of her hips, and felt the smoothness of her upper legs. A part of him remained remote, watching.

This time, she looked up at him, a small smile on her face. She pulled him even tighter, trapping his penis between them. “Isn’t this enough?” she asked. “We don’t need to do anything like that again.”

She was damn near perfect.

Even so, he realized he was almost done with her.