I spend most of the first two appetizers testing Ruben Bakker out to see if he would be willing to sell his majority holding in Conniver Media. He’s met it with ambiguous delight at having most of my attention, without giving me a straight answer.
With that bit of due diligence out of the way, I move on to my main reason for inviting him—in the most off-handed way possible.
“So Ruben, I’ve heard you’ve been more hands-off in running Conniver? What have you been up to these days?”
I already know his favorite topic of conversation is coming, since his lips spread into a smile that is almost orgasmic. “Hunting as usual. I actually have a little hunting trip planned in a few weeks.”
“That sounds interesting. I’ve never been much of a hunter myself.”
“You are missing out, my friend! One day I will have to entice you to join me. This next one I have planned is particularly thrilling.”
“Oh?” I urge.
“Africa, the only place worth venturing anymore.”
“Hmm, I have heard that Botswana was the place to go if you really want to experience it authentically.” Hopefully, this bit of esoteric knowledge won’t belie the disinterest in hunting I just proclaimed to have.
Fortunately, Ruben is already too drunk to notice. He waves a hand away with a sloppy smirk.
“That’s where you’re wrong, my friend, too many rules and regulations. Of course, there are always ways around it if you know the right people. We men with money often don’t have to worry.”
“So I’ve noticed.”
“I myself landed one of the five Black Rhino hunting licenses allowed in South Africa,” he says proudly.
“Really?”
“You mean like a rhinoceros?” Sebastian’s’ date, sitting across from him, asks as she gives him a wide-eyed stare.
“Indeed,” he says, gazing at her with hungry eyes. “There’s a certain skill in hunting big game. One has never truly lived until you’ve seen a Cape buffalo turn on you, charging with all the mighty force of a beast that weighs five times as much as you—perhaps in your case, ten times as much.”
The woman slowly stretches her neck back, grabbing her throat as though Ruben is a lion ready to strike that spot first.
“The key is to aim for the eyes. That’s the only sure way to down such an animal. It takes a steady pulse to stare your enemy in the eye only to put a bullet in it a second later.”
“That’s twisted,” she says, her mouth turned down with distaste.
It only seems to thrill him even more. Knowing what I do about the man, that’s no surprise. The man is a sadist.
“So, South Africa. I’ve heard Cape Town is nice. You have one of your satellite offices there, no?”
Ruben leans back to address me, having sated his thirst for terrorizing the weak. “Hmm, not my favorite place to visit, considering they let the animals out of the cage to run things down there. But, alas, one must go where the wildlife is.”
“So are you going hunting on your own?” I probe.
“No, I have a man down there who I trust. He’s helped me get around a few pesky rules and regulations in the past. Imagine, an entire continent perfect for a sportsman such as myself, and we have to abide by the laws set up by a bunch of people who just happen to be living there. Granted, some of our own kind are no better, practically swaddling the world in nappies for our own good or the environment or some such nonsense.”
By now, both of Sebastian’s dates have decided to wisely turn their attention to other people at the table. I can’t blame them.
“Now, my man that I work with down there, he knows how to handle such people,” Ruben continues with a knowing smile. “I can put you in touch with him if you’re interested.”
“No, I prefer hunting businesses to hunting animals, ” I say with an enigmatic smile. “However, I do know several people who might be interested in the future, so perhaps I can get his name all the same.”
“Yes, yes—Jan Vorster.”
I smile. “Well, I’ll certainly be keeping that name in mind if I ever consider hunting.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven Sloane
“…and why not get more dinero? After all, I’m the best footballer in Europe!”
I give Sebastian an accommodating smile. The smile on the woman across from me is more amused. She is the one here with Ruben Bakker and, considering everything I’ve seen of him so far, I can only assume it’s due to his money. Even then, she seems far too sophisticated and intelligent to settle for a man like that, no matter how much he has. There are plenty of far more pleasant men in the world who are filthy stinking rich.
“Yo soy el león!” Sebastian continues, well into his third glass of wine.
I slice into the tenderest piece of meat I’ve ever tasted as he literally pounds his chest.
“Mira!” He says, and I nearly choke on my bite as he begins unbuttoning his shirt.
“Sebastian,” the woman across from me protests in a mild but teasing voice.
“No, no…” he says, tearing open the sides to reveal the massive face of a lion tattooed over his entire chest.
The man next to me chuckles. His wife sitting across the table just stares open-mouthed. I’ve talked to him enough to know that his name is Simon and he’s a journalist specializing in financial news. Which I suppose makes sense for a dinner with Magnus Reinhardt of all people, even if he is two seats away from the man.
“It’s very impressive,” Reuben’s date says in a surprisingly diplomatic voice. “Speaking of more money, I noted that you put your apartment in Barcelona on the market. Obviously, you’ll be moving up to a bigger residence in the city. A football superstar such as yourself deserves more fitting accommodation, something that lets the world know who you are.”
An odd segue, and so sycophantic, I’m surprised Sebastian isn’t offended at how obvious it is. I wouldn’t
