Edited by blackrandl1958
*
It was a game we played at almost every new bar or restaurant we visited. It was a lot of fun and gave me a lot of ideas for my books.
I was a writer, mostly B novels, action-adventures mostly. I was really big in paperbacks but never quite cracked the top tier. I had an editor once sum up what she thought the problem was. "You're a pretty decent writer, but every book has the same plot. Hero defeats bad guys and saves the world. It's made you pretty good money but I'd bet very few readers make it past the third book before they go looking for someone with more imagination. If you really want to succeed, you need to break out of your comfort zone. Write a romance, a historical piece, maybe some sci-fi. Good guys don't always win, and many die."
Well, I did ask. I even tried, but never got anything far enough along to finish.
The man I was with was retired from some alphabet agency or another, had a wealth of stories and insights, and I used him from time to time as a consultant if I wanted a broader perspective. This guy had been around the world, and some of the stories he told would scare the hell out of you. Then he'd grin and tell you he made it up. Then he'd stop grinning and say it had better never, ever, show up in one of my books
After a couple of meetings our game started. "Who's the most dangerous man in the room?" His answers almost always surprised me. Today he casually glanced around the room, never staying on anyone more than a second.
"It's the guy in the black turtleneck."
"Really?"
"Really. Look where he's sitting, back to the thickest wall in here with ready access to the kitchen exit and the front door."
"He seems too relaxed, and besides, he's got gray hair and a beard."
He rolled his eyes. "People dye their hair all the time to achieve a certain result. Who's gonna worry about some old guy? He's dressed comfortably in clothes that don't draw attention. They're loose, but you can see muscles under there when he moves certain ways. Plus, his eyes haven't stopped moving for more than a second or two since we've been her. As far as being relaxed, you don't think someone who was jittery and nervous wouldn't draw attention? Even a bartender or waitress would flag it. Nervous people make lousy customers."
"How come he hasn't made you yet?"
My friend smiled. "He made me the moment he laid eyes on me. If he viewed me as a threat, he would be more watchful, but he senses I'm not interested. After all, this is a pretty popular bar and restaurant. He probably thinks I just want a meal and a drink to wind down for a bit. If I made the slightest remotely hostile move he'd notice."
"He doesn't look dangerous. He isn't that big or particularly mean looking."
"All the best ones seem harmless. One usually doesn't notice the kitten turning into a tiger until he's sank his fangs deep into your throat. Remember, the most dangerous is not always the most fit. There are power brokers out there who weigh 300 pounds and can barely lift a pencil, but if you piss them off it can end very, very, badly. They can go after your money, your wife, anything at all that you hold in value will disappear right before your eyes and there would be nothing you can do about it. They were called 'bad men' in the old West, but it doesn't mean what most thought it meant. If you were labelled a bad man, it didn't mean you were evil or an outlaw; you could be a rancher or a shopkeeper. It meant you were a bad man to cross.
"I'm getting the impression he's watching you. You haven't gone anything stupid, robbed anybody, stolen secrets, or slept with someone's wife, things like that, have you?"
He laughed out loud at my silence. "You don't strike me as a thief, so it must be a woman. Or is it women? I've met your wife and she is attractive and has a lovely personality. She had no clue, does she?"
I felt like I needed to defend my lifestyle. "It doesn't mean anything. You know I'm on the road a lot doing research and book signings. Sometimes you get lonely."
"Yes, and sometimes you get stupid. Please tell me it's just one-night stands and they all happened far away."
My silence made him frown. "I'd advise you to be careful, but it's too late. Is she married? What does her husband do? Is he connected to people or agencies that could make you very miserable?"
"Her husband is a clueless wimp. The only one dangerous in my world is my father-in-law. Dan Lunsford."
He didn't say anything for a second. Then it all came tumbling out. " You're married to Christy Lunsford? I never realized how much of an idiot you were. Jesus Christ! You got a death wish? Because if the General ever finds out, you'd vanish without a trace. Don't call me again. Never. I'm leaving now."
I stared after him, wondering what the hell happened. Nobody was ever going to catch me. I was super careful, always played far from home, rarely with the same woman twice, although there was one woman in Seattle of whom I was quite fond. She looked great and was hotter than hell in the sack. I'd been with her five times now, and it seemed like every time was better than the last. She was also married and we were discreet, our get togethers timed to coincide with his regular business trips. As much as we wanted to, we never spent the night together, limiting ourselves to three hours at the most. We didn't even use motels. Her friend had a cabin on one of the local lakes. It was at the end of a lane and was the ultimate in private and secluded. I had spent the night there twice, and it made me want to look for something like it. If my popularity kept going up, I'd be able to afford one in a few years.
If Christy would do it, we could buy one now. Her family was loaded: old money that had been shrewdly built on over the generations. Christy got a degree in finance and went into money management, something she tried to explain a couple of times, once when we got married and once when I used her as a source for a book. I understood very little, but knew she was very good at it. Besides the family money and the trust funds she had, three of them, she made four times what I did just off her salary, and never had to use any of it.
As a matter of fact, I'd asked her about maybe investing in a little cabin somewhere and got shot down pretty fast. Somehow or other, she'd gotten pissed and I immediately dropped it.
Her father was a retired General, now working for a D.C. thinktank. I knew he didn't like me but he never opposed the marriage; the one barb he hurled was telling Christy she was old enough to make her own mistakes and learn to deal with the results.
So yeah, my wife was hot, rich and from a very old and respected family. Then why did I fuck around?
Because I could. My police sources would describe it as motive and opportunity. Minimized risk and all those other terms. And somehow, every time I banged a woman, especially if she was married, it gave me a thrill knowing I was probably sticking it to some fat cat lawyer or politician who looked down on me. Sometimes I felt like I was sticking it to my snobby wife if she'd managed to piss me off over something.
It all fairness I'd never seen her act snobby, but it had to be in there somewhere. Her family background had to include a sense of entitlement. All rich bitches were alike.
Why did I marry her? Money and position. She was the only one working while I wrote my first book, and I had to suck up my pride when she used family connections to give me a boost. Her cousin owned the only publishing house that would offer me a deal, but only for epublishing and paperbacks. The option was in the contract for hardbacks, if I met a certain standard that I never seemed able to attain. Oddly enough, I was never once approached about video rights. Maybe with this one.
I sighed, paid the check and went home.
*****
Christy seemed to be uncommonly busy the next week, something about big money and a family scandal. She and her team were doing damage control and she was in bed late and left early every day. I tried being intimate and she begged off, promising me a night I'd never forget once she had everything straightened out. I made sure to be up the next Monday before she left for work. She had dressed in the standard power suit of her class, matching skirt and jacket, silk blouse and pearls. No-nonsense two-inch heels. The only thing different was her hose. They didn't look like pantyhose, but it didn't mean anything; she often wore sexy underthings to important meetings. She said it gave her an extra boost of confidence, knowing she was in a thong and stockings while reducing heavy hitters to whiney little boys who would do anything to please her.
"I'll be gone when you get back. I have to go back to Seattle for one more consultation with those experts I told you about. This one is going to be a best seller; I can just feel it."
She gave me a kiss on the cheek with no body contact. "That's good dear. I hope you learn interesting things while you're gone."
"What does that mean?"
"It means I hope you learn something interesting enough to put in the book to make it a better read. What did you think I meant?"
Her green eyes glowed with innocence. I relaxed. "Sorry, honey, but this one has me really wound tight. This should be my last research trip for a while. Miss me?"
"Not if he's a good shot."
"What?"
She smiled. "Just seeing if you were listening to me. Travel safe honey. My car is here."
Her father insisted she not drive herself. "Image," he kept pounding into her. "Your clients are the top of the food chain. You have to look and act like you belong there."
She had that down pat. I'd been to several functions with her and was miserable. It was like even the language was different. "Why am I here?"
Her smile got a little tight. "Because you're my husband and want to support me. Would it kill you to look proud of me?"
Gradually it became less and less. If I knew she had anything coming up, I'd make sure I had a research trip planned. In all honesty they made an effort to make me comfortable, and looking back I should have cultivated them a bit. I bet every story some of them told would make interesting novels.
"I am proud of you. You're the whole deal honey, beauty, brains, business and social skills beyond compare. Have I missed anything?"
