Blood in the Water(2)
Tanner opened his mouth, gasping like a fish on dry land, then shut it.
Byron waited it out.
The man bowed his head in acknowledgment.
Byron nodded to Ten and Jasper, who came to stand on either side of Tanner. He couldn’t afford to be disrespected by his employees—disobedience must be punished.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Beauregard, I’m gettin’ squeezed in the divorce settlement—”
He held up a hand. “Ain’t interested in excuses. You’re fifty light, and you’ll have my fuckin’ money by sundown tomorrow, or you’re gonna have a lot more to worry about than your ex-wife. And just to give you a reminder…” Byron snapped his fingers.
Simultaneously, Jasper and Ten slugged Tanner in either eye—a double punch, making him yowl in pain.
Byron sauntered around the desk and leaned down to view their handiwork. The skin was red now, but soon it’d turn black and blue.
“Smarts, don’t it? That’s what we call raccoonin’ somebody. When you wake up, you’ll have a pair of shiners as a reminder to keep your hands out of my goddamn till. Get me the money by sundown tomorrow, or I’ll do somethin’ more permanent.”
“Yes, sir.” Tanner stumbled out of the room, clutching his face.
Ten cracked his knuckles. “Still say we shoulda handled it with a bullet.”
“If he don’t pay up, you got my blessin’.”
Tanner was by no means irreplaceable, but Byron hoped he coughed up the cash. Situations like this irked him—ganging up on a fraidy cat like Tanner reminded Byron of something his father would pull, only Buckley Beauregard would enjoy it.
“Least he didn’t piss himself.” Jasper wrinkled his nose. “Hate when they let loose.”
Byron agreed. This job didn’t have quite the glamor Hollywood supposed. More often than not, he ended up feeling dirty—slogging it out in the mud and the blood and the muck.
“We got us a fed in the lobby.” Rebel Jackson, one of the new soldiers, busted into the room, puffing and eyes wide.
“A fed? What’s the man’s name?” Byron had sources in the FBI, but those meetings were clandestine. None of those fine, upstanding gentlemen would dare be seen with him in the light of day.
“Uh, I didn’t catch it.” Reb scratched his head. “Sorry, boss. If it helps, he acts like John Wayne.”
Fantastic. We have a hero in our midst.
He’d be having a talk with Rebel about getting pertinent information and maintaining a certain level of decorum. The man was about as useful as a screen door on a submarine somedays, but at least he could shoot straight.
“We’ll cover it later. Invite the man in, and for God’s sake, try not to look guilty.”
“You want us to wait outside?” Jasper hooked a thumb toward the door.
Byron buttoned his coat and smoothed his hair back. “Might as well stay and enjoy the show. Let’s be on our best behavior, gentlemen.”
A minute later, Reb escorted the tall and lanky agent into the room. He wore a pair of snakeskin cowboy boots, faded Levi’s, and a shiny silver belt buckle so big a fella could see the damn thing from a mile back. The agent had a buttoned-up black shirt and a silver cross around his throat. Unlike most of the FBI agents Byron had the misfortune to meet, this one didn’t wear the requisite blue or black suit.
Byron placed the fed in his early forties, owing to the gray hair at his temples and the lines on his forehead. A couple of days’ worth of stubble covered his square jaw. And his eyes missed nothing—scanning the room like a hawk. Probably looking for incriminating evidence.
“What brings you to my neck of the woods, Agent…? I’m sorry, Rebel didn’t get your name.”
“It’s Special Agent Jim Hawthorne.” He flashed a badge like it was something to be proud of. “Most folks call me Thorne.”
As in thorn in my side?
A fed was about as welcome as an outhouse breeze in these parts. The last thing he needed was the FBI crawling up his backside.
“Please call me Byron, Thorne.” Byron shook his hand then gestured to his companions. “These are my colleagues, Jasper Tan and Tennessee Ross.”
“Gentlemen.” The agent nodded.
“Please have a seat. Can I get you somethin’ to drink? Coffee?”
“No, thank you. I’m fine.”
Byron sat at his desk and gestured to the chair in front of it. Jasper and Ten stood behind Thorne, a little intimidation tactic. The agent shot a glance at them before he grasped the back of the chair and hauled it to the side, so he had a clear view of everyone in the room.
“I’m sorry, you didn’t finish your thought earlier. To what do I owe the pleasure?” Byron chuckled to himself. It was always polite to make small talk before one got down to business. That was the Southern way, and Byron played his role of hospitable host to the hilt.