“Agreed. A firm ‘no’ on option one.”
Gavin is good with this kind of stuff, the plotting and planning. He organizes his thoughts well. I’m a pretty damn good player, but he’s a better coach.
“Option two, you do what you do best and try to get between Simon and Lauren,” he says. “You use that pretty face of yours and play that role of the multi-multimillionaire superstar investor, and you sweep Lauren off her feet and away from Simon. She dumps Simon, he crawls back to Vicky. And that might be doable,” he adds, “but there’s no time. This all has to happen in a week.”
“Very doable,” I say. “But yeah, no time.”
“Third option,” says Gavin. “You threaten Lauren. You scare her off. But that’s dicey. I’m not even sure how you’d do it. Put a gun to her head and tell her to break up with Simon? Then what? I’m not at all sure how that would play out.”
“Right, it doesn’t work.” I sit down next to him on the couch. “He’d assume Vicky sent me. Who else would’ve sent me? And then he’d file for divorce immediately.”
“So that only leaves one option, my friend.” Gavin pats my back. “And the question is: How bad do you want that twenty-one million dollars?”
57
Vicky
“So that leaves only one option,” says Christian, standing in the living room of his condo.
“What’s that?” I say, seated on the couch, having listened to him discount other options that were never really options at all.
It’s half past six. I’m back at Christian’s for the second time today, after going back to Grace Park, returning Simon’s laptop and green journal to their spots on the desk in his home office, then doing some work on the shelter’s website from home, or at least trying to do some work, wondering what Christian will come up with.
“And I’m not saying we’d do it,” says Christian. “But I can’t think of any other way—”
“Spit it out,” I say.
“Okay.” He puts out a hand, as if to calm me. “I took all afternoon going through every possible plan, and this is the only one, in my opinion, that could accomplish our objective.”
“Speak,” I say.
“Well, we . . . y’know.” He makes a gun with his hand, points it at his head. “Y’know.”
I stare at him.
“We . . . make her go away,” he whispers.
“You mean kill Lauren?”
“I . . . yes. Yes,” he says.
It took him all afternoon to come up with that?
It took me ten seconds.
“I was afraid you might say that,” I say.
Actually, I was afraid he might not say that and I’d have to raise the idea. But it’s much better that it came from him.
“I know it’s extreme.” He opens his hands. “I don’t think there’s any way of just scaring her off. The only viable option is to take her out of the equation entirely. I’m not saying we’d do it, just that . . .”
“It would be the only way to stop this.”
“Yeah,” he says.
“Uh-huh.” I nod. “And . . . hypothetically—”
“Right, just hypothetically.”
“—how would that happen?” I peek up at him. “If Simon’s been having an affair with her, he’s probably left a trail all over the place. If she dies, if she gets shot or stabbed or strangled or whatever—the first person they look at is the man who was having an affair with her. The second person they look at is that man’s wife.”
“Yeah, I figure Simon, you, and Conrad would be suspects,” says Christian. “You’d be right in there. And if you’re a suspect in any way, or even if Simon is—you wouldn’t be in a position to take Simon’s money. There’d be too much scrutiny on you.”
“You’re right,” I say. “You’re absolutely right.”
“Which is why I think . . . I have to be the one who does it,” he says.
“You . . . ?” I look at him. “But . . .”
“But what?” he says. “You said yourself, you can’t be anywhere near this. They’ll look hard at everything about you.”
“I know, but—Christian, you’re like this successful— You have all this money and you’re so successful. You don’t have to get mixed up with something like this.”
He moves over to me, kneels down, takes my hand. “This money means everything to you. It’s a chance for a new life.”
“For me, yes. But you? You have more money than God.”
“I wouldn’t be doing it for me,” he says. “I’ll do it for you.”
“I can’t . . . I can’t ask you to do that.”
“You didn’t ask.” He touches my face. “You still don’t get how I feel about you, do you?”
I look down and shake my head. “I’ve never been in . . . I’ve never—”
“Me neither,” he says. “Until I met you. I didn’t think I was capable.”
I laugh. “I didn’t think I was capable.”
He reaches for my shirt, starts to unbutton it. “I’ll do this for you,” he says. “If you’re okay with it. You have to be okay with it.”
If I’m okay with it?
I am one hundred percent, absolutely, totally, completely okay with it.
Why do you think I’m with you, Christian? Because I care about you? Because you’re hot? Because I’m a “lonely wife” who can’t get enough of your giant, throbbing manhood?
Please. I picked you for this very task. I’ve known about Lauren since before I first met you. Today was just the day I decided to tell you. I’ve been planning this since the first time I walked into your office.
You’re not a successful investor. You’re Nick Caracci, a two-bit swindler, a con man, a grifter, who thinks he’s hit the jackpot with me.
You were never going to invest that money. I was never going to let you near that money.
I just need you to help me kill Lauren Betancourt.
58
Christian
Good. So far, so good with Vicky. I have buy-in. She’s willing to go along with this.
I let it simmer for a while. I don’t want to hit her with the entire plan all at once and overwhelm her. But Gavin and I have put together an initial outline.
For one thing, it has to happen on Halloween. Between now and November 2, when Simon goes to his divorce lawyer, there’s no other day that makes sense. Today is Tuesday the twenty-fifth. Tomorrow or the next day—Wednesday or Thursday—is too soon. I need more time than that. The weekend is not going to work. Friday, Saturday, those nights are too unpredictable, and based on Lauren’s Facebook page, she seems to reserve those nights for her girlfriends, usually downtown.
And Monday the thirty-first—Halloween—is perfect, right? Most people are home so they can answer the door to trick-or-treaters. I can wear a costume that lets me waltz around in anonymity. I can hide a weapon in a costume or in some fake trick-or-treat bag. It’s the only day of the year that a woman would open her door to a man wearing a disguise over his face.
But like I said, I don’t want to hit Vicky with this all at once, so I give her a Nicky Special, fucking her upright, holding her up, pinned against the wall, her legs wrapped around my back, drilling her until she cries out in climax. I’ll bet Simon never did that to her. I’ll bet he couldn’t hold her up. It doesn’t take long to make her come. It usually doesn’t. And all the talk about murder is probably an aphrodisiac on top of it. I know it is for me.
That should help remind her what a great deal she’ll be getting down the road, after she’s done with little Simon.