“Do what?”
“Whatever he wants. You have to do it. She … It’s her one chance. You have to. You have to!”
Smithy tried gently to prise Diller’s fingers from where they were digging painfully into his skin. “OK, Dill. Relax. Whatever it is, we’ll fix it. I promise. Just calm down.”
He looked over Diller’s shoulder at Jackie. “Could we get him a towel?”
“Sure,” said Jackie. “I’ll put the kettle on too.”
They managed to get Diller somewhat dry and sat him down in their usual booth, his hands wrapped around a mug of hot tea. Jackie turned on the heating, as nobody at this meeting was fully dressed. He was wearing only his wife’s dressing gown, Smithy was in his boxers and Diller was missing a shoe.
He and Smithy sat there in silence as Diller explained about his mom. Smithy had known bits and pieces of the story, but not the whole picture. Smithy more than anyone could appreciate somebody having parts of their life they didn’t want to talk about, so he’d never pushed Diller to tell him more.
“So you see,” said Diller, “this is her big chance. To get clean. To get right, finally.”
He picked up his tea and took a drink for the first time. Smithy noticed he was still shaking a little under the towel.
“OK,” said Smithy, glancing at Jackie. “We get it, but how can we help?”
“That’s the thing,” said Diller, setting down the mug. “Shawna – the lady at the rehab who helped get mom in – she rang me tonight. Said there’d been a change in management and that she couldn’t stay.”
“If it’s money,” said Jackie, “we’ll chip in and—”
“No,” said Diller. Lifting his head and looking Smithy directly in the eye. “The centre has a new owner. It’s Reed Developments.”
“Oh God, you mean …”
Diller nodded. “Lou Reed. He left a message with Shawna …”
“The singer?” said Jackie. “Ain’t he—”
“Shush, Jackie,” said Smithy, then remembered himself. “Sorry, I just … No, not that guy. He’s a rich property-developer asshole. What did he say to you, Dill?”
Diller looked down and shook his head. “It wasn’t a message for me. It was for you. He said you had to meet him at eight in the morning, or else Mom would be out by nine.”
“Oh,” said Smithy, sitting back in his seat. He held his head in his hands. He’d been so damn sure. Arrogant. He was untouchable.
“So, will you?”
“Of course,” said Smithy. “We’ll sort this out. I promise. I’m really sorry, Dill.”
He thought back to the business card Ms Muroe had left in his cab. He’d tossed it in the glove compartment.
Smithy stood up. “It’s time for me to make a phone call.”
Chapter Sixteen
Smithy and Diller sat at the table. The air held an aroma of polish, expensive carpet and something sweet, no doubt an attempt to mask the smell of polish. They were at a downtown hotel called the Dean, a location Ms Muroe had suggested as “common ground”. Smithy had not been keen to return to Reed’s apartment, just in case Reed decided to ignore the bit where Smithy had saved his life and focus instead on what he had been doing there in the first place.
Smithy had called Muroe as soon as Diller finished explaining the situation with his Mom. He’d been outmanoeuvred and they both knew it. At least the woman had had the class not to crow about it. Then again, threatening the recovery of someone suffering from a serious, long-term opioid addiction just to get a person to take a meeting wasn’t the classiest of moves.
It had been a short call. Muroe had told them to come to the Dean at 8am, and they had. She’d actually only told Smithy to come, but Diller had insisted he tag along for the ride. It wasn’t like Smithy could say no. He was feeling wretched. His dumbass plan to take vengeance on Louis Reed had now not only dragged Diller and his mother into the mess, but had quite possibly lost him the woman he loved. The week wasn’t going great, and it was only Thursday.
The Dean was one of those “boutique” hotels. Its reception was decked in velvet, dark colours, and art that was trying way too hard. It looked like the ideal place for a pretentious vampire to enjoy a city break. They’d caught a cab and left Smithy’s parked behind the Porterhouse Lodge. There was never any parking to be had in New York, and while Smithy knew some sneaky spots where you could get around it without getting a ticket, there was nowhere that wouldn’t have involved a walk. It was raining and Diller was wearing sandals, seeing as it was the only footwear Jackie had that fit him. He had still somehow managed to avoid explaining how he’d lost a shoe.
They’d been shown into a meeting room, and a ludicrous array of pastries was brought in and placed in front of them. Diller reached to take one.
“Don’t,” said Smithy.
“What?”
“Don’t eat the food.”
“But I’m hungry.”
“It’s a sign of weakness.”
“Do you reckon we’re in a strong position as things stand?”
Smithy sighed. He had a point.
“I’m going to eat that blueberry thing. If you like, I can rearrange the rest of the stuff to make it look like there was never a blueberry thing? So we maintain our strong negotiating position.”
“Just eat the thing.”
Diller leaned forward and grabbed the pastry in question. There was that much left, the absence of one single piece made no noticeable difference. The fact that every member of staff they’d seen on their way in looked painfully thin now seemed even more incongruous.
Thankfully, Diller’s mood had improved. He’d received a call from Shawna on the way over, assuring him that his mom was fine – at least for now. He had told her diplomatically – without going into specifics – that the problem was being taken care of. Even though he could hear only one side of the call, Smithy could tell the woman on the other end of the line was mystified. He couldn’t blame her – he wondered what the hell was going on too.
The idea that Reed wanted to thank him seemed highly unlikely, given the strong-arm tactics that had been employed to ensure this meet happened. Similarly, if he just wanted revenge, there had been ample opportunity. Whatever this was, Smithy had a bad feeling about it.
Diller leaned forward, looked down at the table top and said something. Smithy, wrapped up in his thoughts, missed it.
“What?”
“I said, how do you think they get it this shiny?” asked Diller. “I can see my reflection – in wood! How is that even possible?”
“Money. Apply enough of it and you can make any shit shine.”
Diller shook his head. “How did you get to be so cynical?”
“Experience.”
Diller sat back in his chair as the door opened and the large frame of George – the guy who hadn’t attempted to rough up Cheryl the night before – walked in. He was holding a black metal box in his hands, and took up position in the corner of the room. He nodded at Smithy, who nodded back.