THE TAINTED TRUST: A DOUGLASS CRIME AND ROMANCE THRILLER SERIES (THE KING TRILOGY Book 2) (13 page)

Dennis grinned. “Thanks. Hopefully it’ll be your last.”

“It will be,” Visconti promised with tightened lips.

Dennis placed his right hand on Visconti’s back. “What can I pour for you?”

“Scotch. Rocks.”

Dennis turned and headed in the direction of the bar, the top of a desk in the center of the office.

While waiting for Dennis to return, Visconti scanned the office until his eyes fixed on Kerri. She stood alone in the doorway to Dennis’s office, nursing a clear plastic glass filled with white wine. She had dressed for the occasion in a red skirt and a green blouse.

Dennis returned with Visconti’s drink. “Drown your sorrows, Louis. It’s the least I can give you for eight and a half million.”

Visconti took a sip, placed the glass on the desk beside him, then shifted his focus to Kerri. “Miles, is it my imagination or is the love of my life unhappy?”

Dennis glanced at Kerri, then at Visconti. “You’re as perceptive as ever, Louis. It’s not your imagination. There’s trouble in paradise. She’s been miserable ever since her husband injured his knee in that game in Buffalo.

“Wonderful!” Visconti said, flashing a contented smile. “Are you sure? I mean have you asked her about it?”

Dennis nodded. “Kerri’s an open book. She wears her heart on her sleeve. She told me her husband really took the injury hard. He gets pissed on the couch every day, watching television and wallowing in self-pity.”

“Would you mind if I talked to her?”

Dennis frowned. “Be careful. She’s very tender.” He lifted Visconti’s drink from the desk. “Take this. You’ll need it to wash down the rejection.”

Visconti accepted his drink. “You might be surprised,” he said with a confident wink, then turned and headed straight for Kerri. “Merry Christmas,” he said, stopping in front of her and touching her glass with his.

“Same to you,” Kerri replied in a bored monotone, then looked away.

“Why do I get the feeling you don’t really care if I have a Merry Christmas?”

Visconti’s question encouraged a wry grin from Kerri. “What brings you here?” she asked.

“I just dropped in to deliver a check for eight and a half million dollars to your boss… When I saw you looking very depressed, I decided to try to cheer you up. How am I doing?”

Kerri showed a hint of a smile, but refused to answer.

“How’s your job? Are you still enjoying the commodities business?”

She nodded. “Thanks for asking.”

“Miles still treating you well?”

“Yes. He’s been wonderful.”

“Sorry to hear that. I was hoping you were going to tell me he beats you and works you like a slave. I was hoping you would tell me you wanted to quit your job and come to work for me. Have you forgotten that I offered to double your salary? I was serious you know.”

“No, I haven’t forgotten,” Kerri replied, the corners of her mouth suggesting a smile.

“Well?”

“Well, what?”

“Are you interested?”

Kerri decided to call Visconti’s bluff. “Did Miles tell you he’s paying me two hundred and fifty thousand a year?”

Visconti accepted the call. “Is that all? Then I’ll triple it.”

Kerri smiled, then laughed. “You really are serious.”

“Very serious about cheering you up… I did a pretty good job, didn’t I?”

Kerri was compelled to concede. Visconti had made her laugh when it was the last thing she wanted to do. “Yes, you did. Thank you.”

“My pleasure. Any time you need to laugh or just talk, you know where to find me.” Visconti kissed Kerri’s forehead. “Merry Christmas,” he whispered, then turned and walked away.

Visconti’s kiss and sudden departure both startled and fascinated Kerri. “Merry Christmas to you, too,” she said, her expression tinged with a strange combination of curiosity and melancholy.

Visconti, pausing without turning, raised his hand in acknowledgment, then continued his march back to the bar. He placed his right hand on Dennis’s shoulder. “Two predictions for nineteen-ninety, Miles,” he declared. “I’m going to win big in crude oil, and Kerri Pyper will be mine.” To punctuate his statement, he finished his scotch in one gulp, then left before Dennis could respond.

CHAPTER 34

New York. January 12, 1990.

Brian’s right knee had healed to the point where he could begin physical therapy. While the pain of the injury and the subsequent operations continued to prevent him from running or subjecting his knee to sustained pressure, he was finally able to walk a short distance.

In addition to the pain and suffering the injury had caused him, it had taken a severe toll on his relationship with Kerri. Their infrequent conversations usually erupted into arguments. Affectionate touching, once a large component of their marriage, had all but disappeared. Their sexual relationship had also changed. The tender, sharing lovemaking of their past had been replaced by sporadic and selfish intercourse, initiated solely by Brian whenever he felt the need for release. He no longer had the patience to ensure that Kerri was satisfied. Whenever she expressed or demonstrated the need to be loved, he rejected her, or demeaned her, usually fomenting another argument.

Brian’s drinking also increased. His renewed mobility enabled him to do it away from the apartment and to use therapy as an excuse. At first Kerri believed his only destination was the team’s training center. Only when he began to return with the unmistakable smell of alcohol on his breath did she suspect that he had been detouring. Rather than confront him with her suspicion, she chose instead to welcome him and ask him about the progress of his knee. Her heart told her that once the knee was completely healed, he would discontinue his excessive drinking and become the caring sensitive man she had once loved so dearly. Her mind told her the problem was much more serious, and that the marriage was in deep trouble.

Believing he could help, she decided to confide in Miles Dennis. She waited until he was alone in his office and not on the telephone, then entered and closed the door behind her. She took a seat and faced him.

“Problems?” Dennis asked, smiling but continuing to read.

“Yes, but not what you think… Are you any good at marriage counseling?”

Dennis pushed aside his file, leaned backward and relaxed. “Not bad. Why?”

“It’s Brian,” Kerri said, her voice cracking, tears flooding her eyes and rolling down her cheeks.

Dennis bolted upright, sensing Kerri was deeply troubled. “Tell me the whole story,” he demanded. “Don’t leave anything out. Get it all out of your system.”

Kerri lowered her head and wiped her eyes with the back of her hands. “I don’t know him any more, Miles,” she whimpered, desperation obvious. “Ever since he came home from the hospital in Buffalo, he’s changed. He’s drinking, heavily. I can’t even have a civilized conversation with him.”

“Has he ever hit you?”

“No. I don’t think he’s a violent person. I’m more worried about what he might do to himself.”

“What do you think he might do to himself?”

“Aside from ruining his health and career, I don’t know.”

“Has he threatened to leave you?”

“No.”

“Is there another woman?”

Tears reappeared. “I don’t think so.”

“Then the problem seems relatively simple… Before the game in Buffalo, the two of you were happy. Everything was wonderful. Right?”

Kerri nodded.

“Then everything went to hell, in a hurry.”

“That’s all true but…”

“Then it’s simple. What’s the most important thing that’s missing from his life?”

“Football?”

Dennis shook his head. “Something more important than that.”

Suddenly Kerri realized what she had overlooked for so long. “Recognition.”

“Exactly. I knew you were a bright girl. Brian’s a celebrity. He’s been living on a steady diet of adoring fans and media attention. Suddenly he’s injured and goes off the diet, cold turkey. At first he feels sorry for himself. Then he supplements his diet with booze.”

“But how do I help him?”

“Somewhere in the back of his mind he knows he’s screwing up his life and his marriage, but self-pity is still the overriding consideration, and booze is still the higher priority. You should give him all the love and attention you can. Avoid criticizing him. You should also talk to his teammates. Tell them exactly what you’ve told me. They might be able to reach Brian in ways unavailable to you. Peer pressure is a very powerful force. It might work.”

Discussing her problem openly, and without reservation was enormously therapeutic to Kerri. “You’re wonderful, Miles,” she said, feeling an injection of relief and renewed strength.

“Don’t you ever forget it. I invested in you because I think you’re a winner. However I’m aware that even winners have to be happy to perform to their potential. Don’t keep me in the dark, Kerri. I want to know everything that happens. If you have further problems, I want to know about them immediately. Is that understood?”

“Understood. Thanks again, Miles.”

CHAPTER 35

Long Island. Wednesday, February 15, 1990.

It was sunny and extremely cold. Breath turned to ice crystals.

Brian, dressed in jeans, heavy white sweatshirt and Jets’ jacket, left the Jets’ training center shortly after two P.M. and took a taxi to Runway Thirty-eight, an upscale strip joint several blocks from La Guardia. The crowd acknowledged him with a standing ovation. Waiters rushed to deliver free drinks to him. Girls danced for him, gave him special attention, while and after they removed their clothing.

He loved it. Runway Thirty-eight and its strippers had allowed him to recapture the rapture of a steady diet of attention so long missing from his life.

Twenty-two year old Tina DeSouza, a tall slender raven haired Cuban beauty, centered her entire routine directly in front of Brian. The climax of her performance was as close possible to him, with his line of sight directly between her legs. She smiled and winked as she briefly pulled aside the business end of her G-string.

“Wow!” Brian shouted, aroused and excited by her antics. He stuffed a ten dollar bill inside her G-string and asked her to sit at his table.

Tina accepted willingly. Clad only in her red silk track suit and still panting, she took a chair beside him.

He leaned toward her and placed his right arm around her shoulders. “Hi, I’m Brian,” he said with a big lecherous smile, his dark brown eyes riveted on the tops of her perfect breasts.

Tina flashed a coy smile. “I know who you are. Doesn’t everybody?”

“Would you like a drink?”

“Sure. Gin and tonic.”

Brian turned and waved at his waitress, a six foot and change peroxide blonde with blue lipstick and astounding measurements.

She approached the table and leaned toward him, dangling her bare breasts close to his face. “More of the same, Brian?” she asked.

“Yup, and a gin and tonic for Tina.”

Tina unzipped the top of her track suit to expose more of her breasts, then reached under the table and placed her hand on his thigh, inducing an almost immediate erection. “I enjoy dancing for you. I feel appreciated.”

The waitress returned with the drinks and placed them on the table. “They’re on the house, Brian,” she said, then left.

Brian raised his glass and took a huge gulp, then returned his gaze to Tina’s breasts. “How long have you been doing this?” he asked.

“This is my third year.”

“Does it pay well?”

“I make at least fifteen hundred a week, almost all tax free.”

“Amazing. I had no idea. You married?”

Tina shook her head. “I live alone with my kitten, but I’m going to quit this business as soon as I have saved enough money. Then I’m going to get married and have a whole bunch of kids.”

“Then you really don’t enjoy stripping?”

She winked, placed her hand between his legs, and stroked his erect penis. “I do when you’re here… I have to get ready for my next show,” she said, then leaned close to Brian’s ear. “I’m free after that. If you take me home, I’ll give you the best dance you’ve ever seen.”

Brian stayed, drank more rum and thought of his wife as he watched Tina’s last performance. He was troubled. To this point in his life he had never made love to any other woman. “You can’t do this!” he admonished himself.

By the time Tina was once again naked and lying on the stage floor with her legs straddling his line of vision, his decision was made. Her private performance offer was impossible to refuse. “Why not?” he said aloud.

Tina led Brian into her apartment, a small but neat one-bedroom flat, less than a mile from Runway Thirty-eight. She poured a large rum and coke, handed it to him then pointed to the couch. “Sit over there and relax. I’m going to ring your bell.” she promised.

She turned on her cassette player, then gave Brian a super seductive performance, no longer constrained by the stringent rule of her employer, free to make physical contact with Brian in very sensual and provocative ways.