The Inheritance (Volume Three) (8 page)

The front door is covered in thick bars, white like the dirty awning hanging over it. There’s a purple carpet, leading to the door, covered in black and brown footprints, dirt and grime tattooed on the fabric.

I’ve never been to the South Side before. It’s more desolate than I imagined, quieter too. On the news they paint it up to be a war zone, filled with the sound of gun shots and mother’s crying over the bleeding bodies of their sons. Drug deals take place on every corner and girls like me will certainly be attacked on sight. I’ve prepared myself for the worst and yet there’s no one on our street. The businesses have been boarded up, the train tracks are rusted and unused.

Alanis confidently strolls across the street. She’s brought a black leather jacket that hangs over her arm, covering the bulky gun at her thigh. In my purse she’s stuffed an envelope full of cash and the papers to the property Neal signed this morning. I don’t ask how he reacted when he realized the property was in his name and she doesn’t bring it up.

The restaurant’s door opens easily. Alanis leads the way into a small space with micro-tables, lines of booths, and sea foam green paint. The carpet’s as purple and stained as the strip outside, the air smells of seafood and tea. A half-wall topped with murky, decorated glass blocks us from seeing into the restaurant.

A round of laughter is stiffened by a closed door.

A small Asian woman greets us with a lazy smile and empty hands. “I’m sorry,” she says, waving us away. “We’re closed.”

Alanis digs into my purse. She pulls out the wad of cash, fans it in her hands. “Are you?” she says.

The woman glances down at the money, counts it quickly in her head. Her smile grows and she grabs two menus from the kiosk set up against the wall.

Laughter seeps from the other side of the restaurant. A faint wave of cigarettes moves through the air, clouding over our heads, painting the room in a gray haze. We order two glasses of water and the woman leaves us in our booth, the cheap pleather sticking to my legs in the heat of the room.

I lean over the table. “What do we do now?”

“Now,” Alanis says, flipping open the menu. “We wait.”

We don’t wait for long.

The door to the back room cracks open, voices, laughter and smoke spilling out. A few foreign words are exchanged – a man and a woman arguing behind the walls that weave through the restaurant like a maze. The door closes and my stomach leaps into my throat. I can use that glass of water.

At the far side of our portion of the restaurant, an Asian man rounds the corner. His hair’s slicked neatly back, black like the color of his fitted suit. His jacket’s open, pushed behind his hip, revealing the gun settled there.

Alanis throws a glance over her shoulder. Her hand slides beneath the table. I don’t need to duck my head to know she’s fingering her gun, ready in case he waltzes over and shoots me.

“Ladies,” he says, English rolling perfectly off his tongue. “If you two are looking for good Chinese food, you should try Ming’s Palace, it’s just three streets over.”

Alanis raises an eyebrow. “Thanks but we want to eat here.”

A false chuckle floats from his throat. “This place is good,” he says. “But I’m sorry to tell you, we’re closed.”

“No you’re not,” Alanis says, looking up at him.

His mouth straightens in a serious line.

Alanis closes her menu and sits back in the booth, comfortable and intimidating. “We’re here to see Lee.”

The man stands a bit taller. “Lee who?”

“Lee Geon,” she says. “Tell him Caitlin Wheeler wants to make a deal.”

His eyes flicker towards me. “Very well,” he says.

My stomach settles in my gut, knotting nervously at the base.

“Stop shaking,” Alanis says. “We have nothing to worry about.”

The waitress prattles over with our water. She removes our menus from the table and turns away without taking our orders. The jig is up. She knows why we’re really here.

Lee Geon rounds the corner and brings with him a group of well-dressed men. Six of them form two lines of three, marching on his heels, their eyes fixed on mine. There are no gun in holsters but pistols in each hand, the shiny black weapons glinting beneath the shitty restaurant light. Two of his guards stuff themselves in the booth across from us. Two sit in the booth behind me, two in the booth behind Alanis. The remaining pair stand on either side of Lee, their fingers inches away from the trigger.

Lee’s older than my mental image of him, a wealth of wrinkles etched into the corners of his mouth and eyes, though his hair contains its youthful color. His eyes are slightly sunken into his face, black like his suit and hazy with faux-kindness.

“Alanis, is it?” he says. “I never thought we would run into each other again.”

“Neither did I,” she says, sitting up straight. “But I can’t sit this one out.”

Lee nods, his hands crossed gently in front of his lap. “I understand. This is all very personal for you, isn’t it? But I don’t appreciate you bringing a weapon to a conversation.” His eyes travel down to her lap.

Alanis looks around. “I could say the same thing about you.”

“Put your gun on the table,” he says.

Alanis complies, placing her gun on the table next to her drink. The man to the right of Lee snatches and dismantles it, throwing the pieces to the man behind me.

Lee releases a long sigh. “I feel safer now, don’t you?”

Alanis plasters on a tight smile.

The waitress bustles over with a chair, setting it at the head of our booth. Lee takes a seat. He smells of spicy, expensive cologne with a hint of bourbon on his tongue.

He holds his hand out to me. “We haven’t had the pleasure of formally meeting,” he says. There are three rings on his fingers – a wedding band and two gold bands covered in diamonds and colored jewels.

I shake his hand. “Caitlin Wheeler.”

His hand tightens around mine. “I know who you are,” he says, his thumb caressing the back of my hand. “Julian’s girl. You are much prettier now that you’re older.”

An unexpected anger flares inside of me.
What the fuck did you just say?
I bite down on my tongue.

Lee stares at me, eyes slightly narrow, daring me to say something smart, to give him a reason to put a bullet in my skull.

“Thank you,” I say.

He releases my hand with a pleased smile.

“Now.” He claps his hands together. “Let’s get down to business. You’re here about Neal, aren’t you?” He’s looking at me.

“Yes,” I say, voice wavering slightly. Beneath the table, Alanis kicks my ankle. I clear my throat. “I’ve heard that you’re upset with him.”

Lee’s mouth opens wide as he laughs, his eyes disappearing beneath the folds of his skin. Around him, his guards chuckle lightly.

He slams his hand on the table. I jump.

“Upset would be an understatement,” he says, grinning despite the redness that climbs up his throat. “Neal Dietrich attempted to publically humiliate me. As if he has the right.”

“I understand but --”

“You don’t understand,” Lee says.

“Okay.”

“Say it,” he says.

“Say what?”

“Say you don’t understand.”

A large lump forms in my throat. “I don’t understand, but there must be a way for us to reconcile for what he’s done.”

Lee lounges back in his chair. A small roll of fat pours over his belt, resembling the stomach of my father. If I were like Alanis but witty, I would point out that the two of them had something in common after all. A joke to break the thick tension in the room. But I’m not that sort of woman. I’m the sort who trembles beneath Lee’s gaze, my hands stuck beneath my thighs as I try to stop them from shaking.

A slow smile spreads across his mouth, his wrists turn upwards on the table, palms to the ceiling. “Show me what you have,” he says, with the familiarity of a man who’s used to being bribed.

From my purse I pull the signed papers, Neal’s neat signature running along the dotted line. A pinch of sickness turns in my stomach as I slide them over to Lee.

I don’t care about his fingers staining the crisp white paper, sifting through the pages as he raises an impressed eyebrow. I care because it digs up a reality I would rather not face. Neal’s lied to me. Again.

“This is a very generous offer,” he says, scanning every line. “And Neal’s ready to part with this? For what?”

My eyebrows furrow. “For his life.”

Lee chuckles. He folds the papers and places them in the inside of his jacket. “Some things aren’t worth giving up. But who am I to refuse such an offer?” A satisfied smile spreads across his mouth. He leans across the table. “What else do you have?”

My eyes flicker towards Alanis, wrapped in her cool disposition.

An amused smirk plays at Lee’s mouth.

“What? You thought this was going to be enough?”

“Of course not,” Alanis says.

Lee’s head whips in her direction.
Do I look like I was talking to you?

“Caitlin’s willing to issue a very public apology, on behalf of Neal and her father.”

Lee sits back in his chair. “You can speak for your father,” he says to me, “but you cannot speak for Neal. I know you know where he is.” I open my mouth to lie but Lee holds up his hand. “It would be better for all of us, if you didn’t lie.” He motions to his guard on the right. “I’ll accept your public apology, only if Neal is there to issue one himself.”

“How do I know you aren’t going to kill him the second he steps in the room?” I ask.

Alanis raises her eyebrow. She’s impressed.

“There will be a significant amount of reporters there. As well as the evening news. Even I can’t get away with putting a bullet in someone on live television.” The guards around him laugh. Something tells me, he could get away with it if he tried.

“Fine,” Alanis says.

Lee looks at me.

“That’s fine,” I say.

“But that’s not all,” Lee says, smacking on another smile. “I want twenty-five percent of your father’s – I’m sorry,
Neal’s
– business. I want to be on the board, at every meeting, in the know whenever they make a big move.”

My eyes flicker towards Alanis. She shrugs.

I’m on my own.

“Okay,” I say.

Lee grins and holds out his hand. “Do we have a deal?”

I shake it. “We have a deal.”

Another chuckle runs through him. “Excellent. Su,” he says, to the man to his right, “give word that the man hunt on Neal Dietrich has now ceased.”

Su nods and heads down the hall.

Lee pushes his chair back and stands. We follow his lead.

Lee’s fixing the buttons of his jacket when the restaurant door swings open. The bell above it rings. We crane our necks to see who it is. Footsteps round the corner and –

“Chris,” Lee says, walking to greet him. “You were almost late.”

Chris’s eyes land on mine.
What the fuck are you doing here?
“I’m twenty minutes early.”

“What do I always say?” Lee says, patting his arm. “You Americans have the worst sense of time.”

Lee turns to Alanis and me, standing near the booth. “How does Friday afternoon sound?”

My flight leaves at noon.

“Excellent,” Alanis says, holding out her hand, waiting for the return of her gun. The guard hands it over, sans clip.

“Fantastic,” Lee says. “I’ll have my secretary call Martin to set it up.”

Lee heads around the corner, back to the room he came from. He leads Chris with his hand on his arm, tugging him with the familiarity of a man who’s done this before.

Chris doesn’t take his eyes off me until he disappears around the wall, the guards following Lee, except for one.

“You can leave now,” he says, gruffly and in broken English.

Alanis and I say nothing until we’re out of the restaurant and across the street, the guard watching us from the door.

“That son of a bitch,” she says, wedging her car door open.

I climb inside.

Her words cut against her teeth. “That son of a --”

“We should’ve told Chris,” I say.

Her gaze whips in my direction. “Why the fuck would he do that?”

“He’s in there trying to cut a deal for Neal’s life too.”

Alanis laughs. It’s patronizing, the way she stares at me, white teeth glimmering as she shakes her head.

“And here I thought you weren’t an idiot.”

______

We drive down the road before rounding the corner and stopping. From the glove compartment Alanis pulls a thin rectangular device, silver with neon blue lines dancing across the screen. She hooks it up to the radio.

“I had a feeling they were going to keep my clip so I left something for them. Listen,” she says, turning the volume on high.

“
So that's it?” Chris says, his voice crackling on the other end. “You get what you want and I walk away with jack shit?”

Lee chuckles. “You would be wise to lower your voice.”

There's a pause.

“I don't understand why you had to stray from the plan,” Chris says.

“I refuse to believe you are that stupid,” Lee says. “But who knows? Maybe you are.”

“I thought you –“

The frequency muddles. Alanis fiddles with the radio, twisting the knob, changing stations.

“Fuck,” she says, slapping the dashboard.

Laughter fizzles out on the radio.

“Fuck you,” Chris says.

The laughter grows.

“Fuck you,” he says again.

All laughter stops.

Alanis drops her hand and I imagine Lee and his men, surrounding Chris with their weapons drawn, his eyes wild with fury and fear.

“It's time for you to leave,” Lee says. “Unless you wish to become a casualty in this senseless war you're attempting to wage.”

Chris says nothing. The door to their room opens.

“And Christopher?” Lee says. “No one’s stopping you from making your own moves, but I am out of the game.”

The pair of us listen to the crackle of the radio, the door slamming behind Chris, the clatter of tea cups and knives and plates.

Alanis turns off the radio and pulls her device from it.

“That son of a bitch,” she says again.

My stomach twists into my throat. “We have to tell Neal,” I say.