Chapter 10: Pay the Man

The truck driver glanced over the beater cars we’d loaded up. “Good enough for me. Kurt says you wouldn’t short him.”

“It’s generally known to be unhealthy to rip off Kurt.”

She gave a soft sardonic laugh. “That’s funny. The usual payment will go to your bank.” She pulled out two oil-stained Army green canvas tool bags. “The extra. Five thousand per block. Used bills. You need to count the money?”

“I trust him.”

“Yeah. Besides, Kurt said it’d be a bad idea to rip you off.” She looked over to where Delaney was perched on her bumper, watching intently. “He said that means either one of you.”

Delaney frowned. “Kurt’s taking all the fun out of things.”

The driver chuckled. “He wanted me to ask if you’re interested in some part-time work. Just occasional stuff.”

I shook my head. “I’ve got my hands full.”

“He said it’d be legal...”

Delaney choked out a laugh. “Yeah, ‘cause that’s what we worry about.”

I cut her off. “Tell him I said thanks, but I’m taking a pass on it.”

“For now, right? I’ll let him know. He figured you’d say that, but there’s a secure cell phone in the first bag. Just hit the K2 icon if you change your mind.” She pulled a cooler out of her truck and handed it to Delaney. “Katie sent this for you; she’s worried you can’t get it here.”

Delaney opened the cooler, and her eyes lit with religious fervor. “She sent carne asada and smoked brisket!” She continued to dig deeper into the cooler.

The truck driver raised an eyebrow at me. I gave a helpless gesture. “It’s a bribe.”

“And it’s working! Steak!” Delaney popped back up holding a packet of vacuum-packed inch-thick steaks.

By the time the driver pulled out, Delaney had repacked the food and was watching it more intently than the money. I had no doubt the driver was going to relate the entire thing to Katie word for word.

Delaney interrupted my thoughts. “Tomorrow, we’re eating the carne asada!”

“You need to put all that in the freezer in the office until we head home.

She gave a short, serious nod. “I’m not taking chances with any of this.”

By the time she bounced back down the stairs, shooting watchful looks back towards her treasure, I had the rollback pulled around and started prepping it.

Delaney sprang up onto the back of the rollback easily. She’d had to climb up slowly at first, but now she did it with the ease of a pirate climbing the rigging.

Or a Soldier mounting up.

It suddenly dawned on me that the driver might have meant Delaney when she asked about occasional work.

I really needed to talk to Kurt.

Even as I reflected on that, my own cell phone rang. Charlotte didn’t even bother to say “hello” when I picked up her call. “Lester. I just wanted to remind you to dig out your old medals and polish them up.”

“I already pulled them out, Charli. They’re gold plated; they don’t need to be polished.”

She gave an annoyed sigh and paused for just a second. “Oh, yes, the event planner needs a retainer. Today.”

I glared at the phone. “And you were going to tell me this when?”

“Don’t embarrass me; the man has an office at the Plaza. Deluca Events. Just pay him, Lester.”

“How much?”

“I’m sure you can afford it.” I could hear the smug attitude in her voice. Before I could answer, she hung up.

A grease-covered Delaney looked up from the back of the rollback, where she’d been listening while coiling chain into toolboxes. She grinned. “We going to go pay him?”

I’d thought of being nice about it to save Charlotte some grief, but the hell with that. “Yeah. Let’s do that. Right now.”

Fifty minutes later, we parked the wrecker directly in front of the Plaza entrance and clomped into the office of Marcus DeLuca, Event Consultant.

The secretary – no doubt an aspiring model, bone-thin and artificial – glanced at us dismissively, noting the greasy coveralls and crew caps with disdain. “All deliveries are through the Plaza receiving office.”

She went right back doing whatever it was she had been doing on her computer when we arrived.

I leaned over her desk. “We’re here to see Marcus DeLuca about the Davidson-Dawes wedding.”

“Mr. DeLuca is not available at the moment.” She didn’t even look up.

I grimaced over at Delaney. “You’d think they’d want their money, wouldn’t you?”

She shrugged. “Maybe it’s a charity.”

She looked around, then frowned. “Doesn’t really look like one. Wait ... don’t most charities give away cookies and coffee and stuff?”

She leaned over the desk. “You have any cookies back there, do you?” She eyed the skinny secretary. “Probably not, huh?”

The secretary gave us a cool look and buzzed the intercom. “Mr. DeLuca, you have ... visitors ... related to the Davidson-Dawes wedding.”