Myron moved tentatively into the office. He had not been here in several years, but not much had changed. Golf was still the theme. LeRoy Neiman painting of some golf course on the main wall. Lots of those stupid cartoon/ artworks of old-fashioned golfers. Aerial photographs of golf courses. In one corner of the office was a movie screen showing a shot of a fairway. In front of the screen was a golf tee. The player hits the ball against the screen.
A computer then calculates where it would have landed and changes the image on the screen to match that. Then the player takes his second shot.
Fun city.
'Nice office,' Win said.
Figures.
'Thank you, son.' Herman Ache smiled. Capped teeth. He was in his early sixties, tan, fit, wearing white pants and a yellow golf shirt with a Nicklaus golden bear where an alligator normally went - as if he were on his way to a gin tournament in Miami Beach. Herman Ache had gray hair. Not his own.
A toupee or one of those Hair Club systems, a good one, one most people would probably not spot. He had liver spots on his hands. His face was wrinkle free, probably from collagen shots or a face-lift. The neck gave him away. The flesh was baggy and Reaganesque. Looked like a big scrotum.
'Please, gentlemen, have a seat.'
They did so. The door was closed behind them. Aaron, two new hoods, and Herman Ache. Nausea's grip on Myron's stomach began to slacken.
Herman picked up a golf club and sat on the edge of his desk. 'I understand,' he said, 'that you and Frank are having a misunderstanding, Myron.'
'That's what I wanted to talk to you about.'
Herman nodded. 'Frank?'
The door opened. Frank entered. You could tell that they were brothers, both having almost identical facial features, but that was where the similarities ended. Frank had at least twenty pounds on his older brother.
He was pear-shaped with small Paul Schaefer shoulders and a rubber tire that would be the envy of the Michelin Man. Frank was completely bald,
forgoing the hair weave. His teeth were black with spaces between them. His face was permanently set on angry scowl.
Both brothers had grown up on the streets. Both had started out as smalltime hoods and worked their way up. Both had seen their own children gunned down over the years. Both had gunned down plenty of other people's children. Herman liked to pretend that he dwelled on a loftier plane than his coarse younger brother - a plane of fine books, the arts, golf.
But the escape was not that easy. Two sides of the same coin. Frank gratingly reminded Herman of his origins and perhaps true nature. But Frank was comfortable and accepted in his world. Herman was not.
Frank was dressed in a powder blue sweat suit with neon yellow trim. The jacket was unzippered and - taking a fashion tip from Yves St Aaron - he wore no shirt. His chest hairs were matted with either some type of oil or sweat. Quite a turn-on. The form-fitting pants were a few sizes too small, outlining a bulge in his crotch. Myron started feeling nauseous again.
Frank did not speak. He sat at his brother's desk and waited.
'Now, Myron,' Herman continued, 'I understand this is all about some black boy who plays basketball.'
'Chaz Landreaux,' Myron said. 'And I'm not sure he'd be crazy about being called "boy."'
'Pardon an old man who is not up on all the politically correct terms. I meant no disrespect.'
Win sat quietly, studying his surroundings.
'Let me tell you how I see it,' Herman continued. 'And I'm trying to be objective here. Your Mr Landreaux made a deal. He took the money. For four years he helped his family with that money. Then when it was time to pay up, he reneged.'
'That's objective? Chaz Landreaux is just a kid-'
'Spare me the lecture,' Herman interrupted gently. 'We're not social workers here. You know that. We are businessmen. We made an investment in this young man. We risked several thousand dollars on him. The investment was finally about to pay dividends when you interfered.'
I didn't interfere. He came to me. He's a scared kid. O'Connor got his hooks in him when he was eighteen. There are rules against approaching kids that young for a reason. Now the kid's trying to get out before he slides in too deep.'
Herman looked skeptical. 'Oh, come on now, Myron. Kids grow up fast nowadays. He knew exactly what he was doing. So it was against the rules big deal. The kid knew the rules. He wanted the money anyway.'
'He'll pay it back.'
Frank Ache spoke for the first time. 'Fuck he will.'
Myron waved. 'Hi, Frank. Boss threads.'
'And fuck you too, bug shit. Deal's a deal.'
Myron turned to Win. 'Bug shit?'
Win shrugged.
'The deal,' Myron continued, 'was that Chaz could back out at any time and pay back the money. Roy O'Connor told him that.'
'I don't give a fuck what O'Connor said.'
Herman said, 'Please, Frank, we don't need to get hostile.'
