Page 95 of Forked (Frenched 2)
When we reached the office door, he kicked out a leg and it creaked open.
I was struggling to make sense of the shadowy shapes in front of me when someone switched on the lamp—I gasped behind the sweaty, smothering palm.
On the chair was my father, slouched and bloody.
At his temple, the barrel of a gun.
Thick arms like iron chains held me fast when I struggled to get to Daddy. I whimpered against the hand over my mouth.
“Well. No one told me you were so lovely,” said the man holding the weapon. Even in the low light I could tell he hadn’t been
the one to deliver the beating. Daddy’s face was a swollen red and purple mess, but not a speck of blood marred this man’s white shirt. Not a black hair was out of place.
He nodded to my captor, who released me. I rushed over to my father and put a hand on his neck. His skin was warm, but I couldn’t find a pulse. “Is he dead?”
“Looks that way, don’t it?” snapped the voice behind me. I glared at him. He was younger and stockier than the well-dressed man, and his jaw was shadowed by whiskers where the older man’s was clean-shaven. His wrinkled blue shirt stained with blood.
“Now, now.” The well-dressed man spoke very gently for someone holding a gun to a person’s head. “He isn’t dead yet. No need to be cruel.”
My fingers finally located a pulse. Thank God. “What do you want?” I asked, my voice trembling.
“Is she armed, Raymond?”
Raymond started to grope me from behind.
“Stop it! I’m not armed!” I shook him off. “Please! Why have you done this?”
The older man put the gun down and picked up his black suit coat from the desk, brushing it off before slipping into it. “Your father has refused to acknowledge my offer of protection.” He adjusted his cuffs. “He’s testing my patience.”
“That’s right,” put in Raymond.
“Raymond, please.” The man tucked the gun inside his coat.
“Protection…protection from what?” I asked.
“From anyone who might wish to harm him or his business, of course. These days it could be anything—bombing, arson, the murder or kidnapping of a family member.” He listed these things as if he were reciting the menu at a roadhouse diner. I shivered, even though I was sweating.
“I don’t understand. Why would anyone want to harm us or the business?”
“It’s nothing personal, piccolina. In fact, it’s a compliment. Your father is a small fish, but he runs such a good operation, he’s caught the attention of bigger fish.”
“Sharks,” said Raymond.
“Exactly,” agreed the man. “And sharks, when they see the fine meal of a small fish, they get greedy. They get hungry. They want a piece of the meal for themselves.”
“And you’re the shark?”
He laughed, revealing straight white teeth. “Of course not. I’m here to protect you from the sharks. I have offered this protection to Jack several times already, but each time he has ignored my request to meet and discuss it. That’s dangerous.” His eyes slid sideways to my father.
I swallowed. “How much for this…protection?”
“Ten thousand dollars.”
My mouth gaped open. “Ten thousand dollars!”
“To let him live tonight, I will accept half.”
“I don’t have five thousand dollars,” I said, my eyes filling.
