parking lots were bare.
The cab stopped in front of Pinnacle Investments’s reception with a squeak from the brakes. Bob reached for his wallet, but the disgruntled cabby shut him down with a raised hand.
“The tab’s been picked up by this place,” he said sharply as he flicked his head in the direction of Pinnacle Investments’s building. “They paid more than enough.”
Bob stuck his wallet back into his pocket and he and Josh opened the rear passenger doors. They started to get out of the car, but the cabby interrupted them.
“Do you want me to wait?”
“No, you can go,” Bob said.
The cabby nodded curtly. He barely waited for Josh and Bob to close the doors before he tore off into the night.
The two men walked up the concrete steps past the manicured landscaping. The lights in the reception illuminated the area from behind the darkened glass. Two
security men manning the reception desk watched
them approach the front doors.
One security guard, a streetwise looking black man in his mid-thirties, got up from his seat and met Josh and Bob at the doors. He looked as if he had experienced a few unorthodox events in his life. They waited
for a moment while the guard opened the door and
poked his head through, his face a question mark.
“Dexter Tyrell is expecting us,” Bob said.
“Your names, please?”
“Bob Deuce and Josh Michaels,” Bob said.
The guard opened one of the glass doors wide and
Josh and Bob entered. He locked the doors after them.
The guard went back to the reception desk. “I’ll tell him you’re here.”
The other guard, an overweight white man a good ten years older than his coworker, looked up from his magazine and nodded an acknowledgment to the visitors.
Josh and Bob nodded back.
The black guard picked up a phone from the switchboard and dialed a number. After a moment his call
was answered.
“Mr. Tyrell, I have those gentlemen you were expecting.”
The guard paused and listened to the response.
“I’ll send them up, sir. Thank you.”
The guard put the phone down and pointed in the direction of the elevators. “If you would like to take the
elevator to the third floor, Mr. Tyrell will be waiting for you.”
Josh and Bob did as they were told. Josh pressed the button for the elevator and they got in.
“Right, Josh, we’re here. Play it cool. We may know what he has done, but we have no proof. I want to get out of here in the shortest period of time possible and still be alive. Remember what this guy is capable of, okay?”
Josh pursed his lips and nodded.
Bob grabbed Josh’s arm. “You’re with me on this, right?”
Josh shook Bob’s arm off. “I know exactly where we stand,” he said, sharply.
The imitation bronze elevator doors, polished to reflect a distorted image of the occupants, opened. Dexter Tyrell stood on the other side to meet them. He looked as if he’d just stepped off the nineteenth hole. He flashed a shark’s smile and welcomed them into his lair.
Tyrell ushered the two men off the elevator car.
“Welcome, gentlemen, do come this way.”
Tyrell led them along the thick pile-carpeted corridor and directed them into his office.
Josh’s hatred for Dexter Tyrell boiled inside. Up until then, he’d sunk into a pit of self-pity and self
reproach for his own actions. But now, he was
face-to-face with the devil himself, the man who had ordered his death. This monster would be sorry for what he’d done. Josh didn’t care what Bob said. Tyrell wouldn’t be allowed to escape scot-free. His family was dead because of this man’s command.
“I hope the arrangements were satisfactory to you both.” Tyrell followed them into his office.
Bob turned to Tyrell. “Yeah, great. A nice way to travel. Private jet, I mean.”
Josh nodded his agreement.
“Yes, it’s a charter firm we use now and then. A reliable outfit.” Tyrell took a seat at his desk. He gestured to the leather club chairs in front of him. “Please, take a seat.”
“I prefer to stand,” Josh said, remaining in front of Tyrell’s desk.
Bob had moved toward the chairs, but stopped
when Josh made his decision to stand. He took a step to one side and stood by the bookcases. “So will I,”
Bob said.
“As you prefer.” The courtesies over, Dexter Tyrell got down to business. He leaned back in his high
backed leather chair. “So, Mr. Deuce tells me you want to reverse your viatical settlement.”
“Yes, I do.” Josh fought the desire to launch himself over the desk and throttle Tyrell’s smug smile from his face.
“Well, I have given the subject great consideration since speaking to Bob and I have decided that it won’t be possible, Mr. Michaels.”
“What?”
“You see, we have made a substantial payment to
you and we have been paying your monthly dues over the last eighteen months. We’ve placed a significant investment in you and I personally would prefer to see a
return on that investment.”
“I can pay you your money back.”
Tyrell interlaced his fingers, brought them up to his lips and feigned contemplation. “No, Mr. Michaels. I think I’d prefer to collect. There’s no profit for Pinnacle Investments if we give your life policy back. We
aren’t a charity.”
The vice president’s sickly sweet manner was cloying.
It made Josh sick. He couldn’t stick to the plan any longer. He grabbed the chair back in front of him and sunk his fingers into the soft fabric. He wished it was Tyrell’s throat.
“Look here, you son of a bitch. Let’s cut the bullshit.
I know what you did. Your company was going to the wall because of this viatical shit.” Josh waved a dismissive hand in disgust for the viatical principle. “People stopped dying when you wanted them to, so you
started killing them. You sent a man to kill an old woman and me, and God knows how many others.
How many are there? How many have you killed?”
“Hold on, Josh,” Bob said. “This isn’t what we
agreed.”
“Not enough.” Tyrell replaced his business smile
with a hateful leer.
Tyrell’s candor amazed Josh. He’d just called Tyrell’s bluff and the man didn’t give a shit. Dexter Tyrell gave the impression he was bulletproof. What did the executive know that he didn’t?
“You bastard. What gives you the right to kill people for profit?”
Tyrell unlocked his fingers and pointed at Josh.
“You do. You and all the others like you, who coming rushing to this company, to me, and ask to be saved.
Those with AIDS who fucked one too many times
with the wrong John. The sick that are hoping for the miracle cure that will never come. And people like you,
