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The front door to the three-story colonial red brick opens and out steps a blonde, laughing Madison. She bounces like a shampoo commercial all the way down to the car. Mike has the top down so I hear him wolf whistle and tell her to get in.
I take another deep breath. This is their first date, and I’ve listened to enough conversations with her best friend during my surveillance to know that there is no reality in which Madison Prescott would fuck on the first date, or the third date, and by my observations, even the eighth date. She’s kept that V-card so long that it’s likely going to take a proposal to get it out of her. This is the last date she’s ever going on, so I hope she enjoys herself.
I wait until Mike’s headlights disappear around the corner to get out of my own vehicle. I straighten my black-on-black suit and take a quick look at myself in the glossy mirrored black paint of the SUV. I feel like a fucking monkey in this suit, but I like to make a good first impression, and suits in the criminal underworld exude power.
Albert Prescott knows my tailor. He’ll know how much this suit cost. And he’ll also know that his daughter is in good hands. Plus the suit covers up most of my scars and tattoos. Only a few are visible now. A black snake slithers up the side of my neck, and I have some smaller tattoos on my hands. A harsh scar runs down the side of one cheek ending just above the corner of my mouth—I got it from the first man I killed for my mother.
I considered going to a plastic surgeon, but it’s the one thing that makes me look less like my father, so I kept it.
I put on a pair of sunglasses even though the sun has set and cross the street to Madison’s house.
Several minutes pass between when I start knocking on the door and when it finally opens.
“Albert Prescott?” I say, when Maddie’s father opens the door.
He looks like he’s seen a ghost, so I know he knows why I’m here. I may be much younger than he would have been, but I’m the spitting image of my father—though with perhaps a bit more ink than my old man had.
“S-Stryker? I-it can’t be… I… you…”
“Aidan,” I say, holding out a hand to shake his. On hearing my first name, he realizes who I actually am.
He awkwardly shakes my hand then moves aside for the inevitable. I step inside the house and let out a low whistle that echoes in the cavernous hall as I look around.
“IRS take all this?” I ask, looking at the bare walls and places where furniture filled the space only weeks ago.
He doesn’t bother asking how I know about the IRS. the Stryker corporation has a reputation for knowing things, after all. We should. Our front business is security and surveillance—at least it has been for the last decade.
“Most of it,” he says. “Some stuff they didn’t want… personal affects and such are in storage.”
I nod. “Let’s handle this in your office.”
I catch Madison’s mother from the corner of my eye. She thinks she’s hiding, but there just isn’t enough left in this house to hide behind. I look directly at her so she knows she’s been seen, and she scuttles away like a crab to the back of the house. I follow Albert into the office.
“Beautiful family, you’ve got,” I say as I look at a framed photograph on his desk. Albert, his wife, Madison from maybe ten years ago when she was still a teenager, an older boy who has since moved away, and a black lab.
He tenses as my gaze lingers on his daughter.
“That photo is over a decade old,” he says, as though he’ll dissuade me from Madison, as though he thinks I ‘like them young’. No, Albert, that’s your particular vice, not mine. I’ve seen the porn he watches. Barely legal. Just enough plausible deniability when everyone knows these girls are absolutely not street legal.
I sigh. “I’m sorry to have to say this, but it’s time for you to pay up.”
“I’m sorry?” he says it like he didn’t hear me, as though he can wriggle off my hook so easily. No, my friend. Who do you think sold you out to the IRS? I’ve been waiting for my moment.
“I’m not sure if you’re aware of this, Mr. Prescott, but I inherited the family business a couple of years ago. I was going through the ledgers, and it appears that you owe my family—technically me now—a quarter of a million dollars.”
He laughs almost hysterically. “That was years ago, your father forgave it…”
“I’m afraid he didn’t. It’s on the ledger, Mr. Prescott.” If my father had cleared it, it wouldn’t be on the ledger, and we both know this.
I spot an old baseball bat, glove, and ball sitting on the floor in one corner of the room next to some of Madison’s brother’s baseball trophies. I pick it up and drag it along the wall. Just a little menace so he knows I’m serious. I’m sure he knows what comes next.
He puts his hands up in a placating gesture. “Mr. Stryker, as you can see, I’m having a bit of a… a financial situation right now… so if you could…just…”
I do appreciate him addressing me with respect, but he should know I’m not some lightweight. I’m not some kid to be played with. I smash the photo on the desk, as well as three other photos on the wall behind him. The glass rains down as he cowers beneath it.
“I’m afraid, I’m going to need to collect that money now.”
Albert gets down on his knees and actually starts crying. Crying. “Please, I… can’t we work something out?”