Pent Up (2 page)

“Andy Bauer. I’m your nine o’clock.”

“Charles Oso.”

Handshakes. They stepped into the cramped office.

Bauer turned back to Ruben. “And you are?”

“Ruben.”

Charles sat down. “How—?”

For the first time, Ruben looked Bauer straight in the eye and was a little startled to find him staring back with unblinking intensity. Baffled blue-gray eyes, soft and hidden as dust bunnies. Bauer spoke without turning. “He tossed a mugger for me downstairs.”

“Ruben is joining us from Florida.” Charles rummaged in the heap of files composting on his desk.

Bauer looked between them. “You look like brothers.” Uptight little nod.

They did: same square build, same Colombian beak, same crappy clothes… except Charles had gotten tubby and wasn’t sleeping on anyone’s couch. Ruben had wrestled in high school and had his father’s barrel chest; he couldn’t touch his toes, but his knuckles could crack a windshield. Besides, Empire wasn’t exactly the Secret Service. In lieu of a loan, Charles had thrown Ruben a job, paying him to get his shit together.

Charles nailed Ruben with a don’t-fuck-it-up glare, but he spoke to the handsome stranger. “Point is, I’m giving you my best, here.”

Bauer looked to be loaded and paranoid. “I’ve considered hiring a private investigator, except security is the real issue.” He kept fidgeting and combing Ruben with those weird light eyes, as if trying to place his face.

Ruben cracked his knuckles quietly. Something didn’t fit. “Private investigation isn’t something Empire offers.”

“But security is.” Charles waved Ruben’s objections away.

“I appreciate it.” Bauer spoke with a lowish voice, not deep but hushed… like he needed extra air to get words out. “I know the whole thing sounds crazy.”

Charles turned to Ruben and they shared a glance that felt like an eye roll. This job sounded like bullshit. Charles knew he needed the money, and maybe this was some kinda bone, beginner-friendly and screw-up-proof. A favor for a client?

If Ruben hadn’t been late he could’ve gotten the 411 from his brother, but that was his own fault. Long as someone paid him, he’d guard an outhouse.

“We’re going to need details.” Charles flapped a sheaf of paper onto his cluttered desk. “I got a contract here. Formality, but still.”

Ruben stole another glance at their new client, which gave him a funny feeling he couldn’t name.

Charles’s mobile rang and he held up a finger to answer it. He looked to Bauer. “Why don’t you fill Rube in?” That quickly, Charles had ducked out and Ruben was low man on the pole.
So much for felt scraps.

Taking his brother’s chair, Ruben let his wide shoulders brush Sir Whitebread anyways, just to let him know who’d be in charge. Well, as in charge as you can be when you’re surviving on Burger King and your little brother’s pullout. Ruben had the indigestion and the crick in his neck to prove it. He wasn’t twenty. Hell, he wasn’t thirty anymore. He’d turned forty-one in January and his body didn’t bounce back the way it had.

“What’s the situation, exactly?”

Bauer stared right at him. “Precarious.”

The unblinking scrutiny made Ruben squirm. Was this guy a bigot? A queer? No, just… odd. Ruben flipped open his pad, a leather journal that fit in his hip pocket.
Time for a list.
Plus it gave him somewhere to look that felt less intense. “For example?”

“Well, it’s an office in a residence. A few employees and most of them work from home. But I have clients in and out at all hours.”

And you chase muggers in broad daylight. Right.

“Look, way you nailed that guy, I figured you for an off-duty cop.” Again that intense stare.

“I dropped out of the army.” Ruben had ditched boot when Marisa had her first miscarriage. “But I can fight and I take orders fine.”

“My situation is…. What’s needed here is something a little more….” His mouth couldn’t make the word. He plucked at his pants.

“Off the record.” Ruben nodded. Tighty-whitey wanted some brown hands to do his dirty work.

Sure enough, Bauer gave a sigh of relief. “Nothing crooked, you understand, but I don’t want to run the risk of compromising any of my clients because I’ve got Dudley Do-Right riding shotgun.”

Ruben squinted and then forced his face to relax. “So you’re looking for…?”

“More of a Dudley Do-Wrong?” Money to burn, then. A whale had floated into Empire’s little lagoon. “A bodyguard.”

Ruben looked up at that. “Executive protection.” Why did he have a bad feeling about this? He throttled the thought and focused on landing as much cash as possible. Hell, maybe a place to crash. “Twenty-four hour?”

“Work hours, I think.”

Lucky me.
Ruben could imagine how Raggedy Andy’s fancy guest room compared to a Spanish Harlem walkup. Privacy mattered enough that his current digs won there. He had enough headaches without a head case down the hall.

“Of course.”

“Incidents.” He fell silent and did the goofy dad-smile again with his deep dimple.

Ruben held his tongue. Obviously this dude had sat in first class reading too many airport novels. When Ruben looked back up, Bauer was eying him critically, and that funny feeling returned. “What type of business?”

“Finance. A trader, really. Apex Securities. I run a hedge fund.” Bauer bounced his knee. “I work from home.” He kept eying Ruben with blank hero worship, as if casting him in some super-spy bullshit studded with dry martinis and wet pussy. “As a precaution. I’ve got a lot of sensitive documents in the office right now, and I’d feel better with someone on hand to make sure there are no—”

Ruben raised his eyebrows, patient.

“Up on Seventy-Eighth and Park. I live in the Iris.”

Which meant exactly nothing to Ruben. He’d ask his brother. “Sure. Okay.”

Why would someone this loaded hire Charles’s little company, which mainly rented bouncers and backup security for parties? Bauer could have gone to Citadel or Stone Security. They had tech departments and goons who’d fought in the Israeli army. By comparison, Charles had a gut and a divorced drunk on the payroll.
Something odd there.

When he looked up from the pad, Bauer still hadn’t moved or blinked, apparently… his dashing face still as stone. Hell, maybe Bauer was only pretending to like him.

“I mean, it’s a secure building. Co-op bachelor pad. They did the renovations three months after 9/11, so the board went a little nutso with the cameras and alarms.”

“Who has access? Besides you.”

“To the Iris? Uhh….”

Ruben flipped to a blank page. “Your apartment. You gotta wife, girlfriend?”

The guy looked married, the kind of walking Sears ad: as if any second a ranch house, a chirpy wife, and giggly blond toddlers would spring out of the ground around him.

Headshake. “A couple girls I get with. Nothing serious. I travel a lot.” Bauer blinked and looked away. “For work, y’know.”

Not queer, then. With a stray flicker of jealousy, Ruben tried to imagine any woman who’d wanna fake a climax with someone this bland. Then again, who could figure women? Maybe he had a cock the size of a pint glass.

Bauer’s eyes came up, soft as flannel. “Marriage doesn’t agree with me.”

Ruben’s gaze flicked to Bauer’s lap. No sleeping anaconda there; maybe he fucked ’em with his wallet. Batshit Bauer had capital to spare.

Note to self: get rich ASAP.

“You got angry employees? Clients with a beef?”

“Hardly. I got an assistant that stops in a couple times a day, for schedule and research.” He looked at his nails. “Housekeeper comes in three times a week. My IT kid when the computers need pruning or weeding.”

“Which tends to be?”

“Weekly, at a minimum. Has to be. My biggest expense.” Shrug. “My computers never stop upgrading.”

The emphasis made Ruben pause and raise his eyebrows. He didn’t ask the question, but he left space for an explanation. Curious played better than stupid, in most situations.

Bauer’s lips scrubbed his teeth before he explained. “For investors, a quarter-second lag can mean millions of dollars. Finance drives all technology. We’re the reason chip upgrades happen. Even more than gaming or medicine.”

Ruben perused his brother’s tiny, cluttered office.
A thousand security places in Manhattan and he comes to us? Sketchy.
“Anyone else who drops in with any regularity, then?”

“A couple international clients I’m friendly with. My assistant. Cook. The gardener comes up twice a month.”

Gardener?
How big was this bachelor pad? The knot of irritation tightened in Ruben’s belly.

Bauer must’ve caught the reaction because he added, “I’m in the penthouse, so I have a couple terraces with trees. Pool downstairs. Y’know.”

Oh yeah, genius. I know all about penthouse pools on Park Avenue.
“Right.” This jerk was so loaded he’d forgotten that most people wanted shit they couldn’t afford.

Ruben kept his face blank, the expression Marisa called “Aztec asshole.” A sharp pang of missing her took him by surprise. He hoped that new guy treated her better than he had. “And you suspect some kinda theft?”

“A security breach, more like. The Apex Fund handles some players.”

“We’re not equipped for tech breaches, let alone a full executive protection detail.” Charles had trouble checking his e-mail.

“This isn’t hackers.” Bauer held up a hand, right on the edge of rude. “These people have been in my house.”

Paranoia much?

“Look, I know how it sounds. I’m not a nutjob. High-risk investment creates some pretty weird bedfellows.”

“And enemies.”
Invisible enemies who leave no proof.
Right.

Bauer bobbed his head and exhaled loudly. “You see my problem?” The way he said “my” made it sound like the problem was something he owned.

Only a saint would turn away a client like this. Charles would shit nickels, but Ruben smelled a rat.

Ruben squinted, trying to provoke a real reaction. “Well, not really.”
Too easy, too easy.
The words slipped out of his mouth. “Why us?”

“’Scuse me?” Condescending and jittery, both. Maybe he wasn’t a nutjob, but Mr. Bauer definitely wasn’t telling the whole truth.

“Empire is hardly a triple-A outfit, Mr. Bauer.” He looked around at his brother’s shabby office, the coffee-ringed desk and dusty cabinets. “We’re not exactly at home on red carpet. We do event security mostly for people who don’t make the papers.”

“Exactly.” Bauer blinked. “I’m sitting here because of what you did this morning.” Boy Scout bullshit.

Ruben trusted his instincts. He wondered if he could convince Charles to give this gig a pass. He crossed his arms, giving his best bouncer glare.

“I don’t want the NYPD involved. On white-collar crime they suck, and I don’t need feds digging up the bones in my closets.” He obviously hadn’t heard “no” or “why” too often. “I need an experienced pair of eyes on me while I close a deal, but I need to steer clear of the standard bullet catchers.”

“Still, why slum it with us if you’re really worried?”

His calm brow clouded. “That’s a bit tricky.”

“Yeah?” Ruben held his unsettling gaze. “Meaning?”

“A high-end firm may be the… problem. I’d like a fresh pair of eyes from a new angle. Tighter security. Nothing flashy or complicated. And so I came to you.” The goofy smile returned, almost desperately casual and cheerful.

“Right.” Ruben ignored his gut and thought about the money. “Executive protection. Daytime only.”

“A few nights. I hit a lot of black tie events. Partying with clients and grooming accounts. I’d present you as a friend, an associate.”

“Again, I feel like we’re a bad fit, Mr. Bauer.” Ruben sat back. Those investors would take one look at his dark complexion and crappy clothes and peg him for a blue-collar bruiser, a middle-aged drunk who cashed checks at the bodega. Everything about this gig raised his hackles. “We don’t exactly look like buddies.”

“Why not?” Bauer eyeballed Ruben’s clothes, the scuffed oxfords, the crooked tie. “A haircut. Wardrobe. Incidentals. Expensed, obviously.” He looked serious.

“’Cause you’re pretty prepped out and I’m a big ugly spic?” Ruben scowled a second. “Just a hunch.” Ruben dropped the pen on the pad. “All due respect, don’t shit a shitter.”

“Fair enough. My family has accounts with Kroll, and I don’t want to worry them unnecessarily.”

“Mr. Bauer, you’re not being straight with me.”

Bauer blinked, for the first time, it seemed. “Straight?”

“Pretty sketchy logic there. Espionage? Sabotage? Your family of superspies and stock market ninjas.”

“Now you’re not being straight.” Bauer’s eyes hardened. “Let’s just say I have reason to
distrust
my family and their friends.” For the first time, the predatory edge sliced through all Bauer’s folksy charm, calculated and forceful. “So I’m hiring you.”

There he was.
Nice to meet you, motherfucker.

The silence felt like embarrassment, but whose? Without waiting for an answer, Bauer opened his briefcase and began writing a check. He glanced up. “Retainer.” All balls and no sense. Scribble, scribble.

Ruben could hear Charles bellowing in his head:
Take the fucking job.
Empire needed the money. He did as well. He’d go nuts sleeping on a couch all summer with a busted A/C. The red flag wasn’t Bauer or his bull’s-eye face; it was the cushiness of the deal.

“Two, three weeks at the outside. Twelve hundred a day plus expenses.”

Even though Empire only would have charged him seven.

Ruben knew exactly what things cost—one of the side effects of growing up broke and scrimping his whole life. He probably knew the prices on Bauer’s clothes better than the man who’d paid for them. Too easy.

“I’ve seen you handle trouble, and money’s not an issue for me. I’m faced with a sticky situation. The risk is minimal and the pay is not.”

Who on earth had steered this crazy whale his way?

Charles.
Ruben sighed.
Thanks, little brother.

“Excellent. I’ll meet you at the Iris then to go over particulars.” Bauer gave a victor’s smile and stood. “Tomorrow morning, say?” He rubbed his hands together as if they were sweaty. “I’ll leave your name with the building staff. Ruben…?”