Bad Behavior(63)

       
         
       
        

"You can't-I don't-I didn't-"

"That's all well and good, Mr. Blackmon, or do you go by Dick? Either way, Dick, the money is gone, and I know you have it. Now, either I will file the complaint that's sitting on my desk, ready to go, and drag your practices out into the light of day or you will repay every cent owed, plus six percent statutory interest, to Mrs. Sawyer by this Friday. On top of that, you will pay my fee, which totals $52,800, directly to my firm, Angel & Associates. Got it?"

Silence.

"If Mrs. Sawyer and I don't receive the funds, I will file the complaint Friday at five p.m. sharp. I will then contact the media. After that, there will not be a day when I or the media or one of the other people you screwed over won't be calling you on the phone, knocking on your door, or waiting for you around the corner. I hope you got all that. And, just to assure you that I'm not fucking around"-I covered the receiver with my palm and mouthed "sorry" to Mrs. Sawyer for the profanity before resuming my tirade-"I've already drafted an e-mail to the SEC's southeastern region head of compliance. It's very thorough. I have it right here in front of me. All I have to do is hit send and the feds will come down on you and level your entire life."

I smiled at Mrs. Sawyer and her son and enjoyed the look of shock on their faces. When she first rolled in on her walker with the neon yellow tennis balls on the bottoms, Mrs. Sawyer wondered if "the pretty blond lady" had any chance of recovering her money. Over the course of a few hours, I showed her and her son what this "pretty blond lady" was capable of.

I waited a few moments, maintaining the silence, letting Dick languish in the bath of his wrongdoing.

Then I asked, "You need me to do the math for you again, hit the high points?"

"I, uh, yes. I mean, no. Let me get a pen. Give me your address."

"This Friday, Dick. No going back. Understand?"

"Yes, I understand." He was deflated now, terse and quiet.

"I'm transferring you to my secretary. She'll arrange your payment information." I clicked him over to Carol and settled back into my chair.

"Angel is the right word for you." Mrs. Sawyer dabbed at her eyes with a hand-embroidered handkerchief. "I didn't know. He just, he just took it all. But you got it back!" She blew her nose. "I mean, look at you. Tiny little lady with that blond hair looking like a short Barbie doll, but you nailed him!" She pumped her fist in the air, to the chagrin of her middle-aged son.

I smiled and stood. "We'll have to wait and see. He may still make the wrong choice." 

"He won't. He's a coward. You showed me that. And you got him by the balls!"

"Mom!" Greg pinched the bridge of his nose.

I laughed. Mrs. Sawyer had turned out to be a spitfire. We had something in common after all.

"I'll have Carol call you as soon as the money hits." I had a feeling Dick would pay. They usually did when I let them know upfront I had enough evidence to take down a Gotti.

I walked over to Mrs. Sawyer. She clutched her son's arm and pulled herself up. I knew the hug was coming, so I just stood and took it. She smelled like flowery soap and some intense hairspray. Aqua Net?

"Bless you, Ms. Angel."

"The pleasure was all mine." It really was. My day had started off with a bang, thanks to her.

Mrs. Sawyer scooted her way out of my office behind her walker. Greg followed close behind, though she didn't need any help. She almost had a spring in her step.

Once they were out of the office, I closed my door and plopped down on my pleather couch. My office was small, and nowhere near as swank as I'd been accustomed to, but it was home. I finally felt like I was on the right path, doing the right things. I was helping people, crushing the shysters that preyed on the vulnerable. I was in a much better place mentally and emotionally, calm even.

I'd been in New Orleans for six months, slowly building my small practice. This city. I shook my head. It was beautiful, hot, steamy, and more of a home than anything was back in New York. I'd even made a few friends here and there. They didn't ask too many questions about my past, and I returned the favor. Maybe something about New Orleans made people a little more hesitant to ask about your past and a little bit more ready to accept you as they found you. At least that's what I'd surmised.

I even adopted a cat from the local shelter. Romeo was an orange tabby who was missing an eye and all of his tail. He walked right up to me at the shelter and nuzzled me, as if introducing himself. Though he'd been the tough kitty on the block when he was younger, he was definitely a lover now, not a fighter. He would sleep next to me, making biscuits, kneading the blankets until he fell asleep. He lived like a little king, the finest toys, the best food, and all the attention from me his furry butt could stand.