THE TAINTED TRUST: A DOUGLASS CRIME AND ROMANCE THRILLER SERIES (THE KING TRILOGY Book 2) (14 page)

Long before the music was completed, they had frantically assisted each other in the removal of clothing, the event culminating in a desperate love making crescendo in the center of the living room rug. Brian closed his eyes, exhilarated, but guilty. He had cheated, broken his marriage vows to Kerri for the first time.

CHAPTER 36

Kerri telephoned Billy Ray Vincent, an aging black linebacker and one of Brian’s teammates. In happier times, Brian had introduced Vincent to her as his closest friend on the team. Vincent, a giant of a man, deeply religious and nondrinker, was happily married. He lived with his wife and four children in nearby Port Washington. “It’s Kerri, Kerri Pyper,” she announced, agonizing over making the call and revealing the details of a very personal and sensitive problem to an individual she barely knew.

“Hi, Kerri. How you doin’?” Vincent asked.

“I’m fine, but Brian isn’t… That’s why I called… I was hoping you would help him.”

“Did that old dog hurt himself again?”

“No… It’s much more serious than that… He’s drinking heavily and if he doesn’t stop, he’s going to ruin his health and his career.”

“I’m very sorry to hear that, Kerri. That must be hell for you. How can I help?”

“I would be grateful if you would try to get him to understand what he’s doing to himself. He has an enormous amount of respect for you, and if anyone can do it, you can.”

Brian rested the back of his head against the rim of the whirlpool, then closed his eyes and allowed the jets of hot water to massage and stimulate the circulation in his injured knee. Thoughts of Tina DeSouza and soon returning to Runway Thirty-eight danced in his brain.

“You sleeping it off?” Vincent asked, then placed his strong black hand on the top of Brian’s head and pushed downward, completely submerging his head.

Hot water splashed in all directions as Brian hoisted himself to an upright position. He glared at Vincent. “What the hell was that for?”

“I’ll tell you what the hell, Pyper. You’re blowin’ it. You’re pissing away a once in a lifetime opportunity.”

“What kind of bullshit is this? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know you do, Pyper, and that’s what I’m talkin’ about. I’ve known a whole hell of a lot of guys with less than half your talent. They made it in this league because they were motivated and focused. They made it because they looked after their bodies and their minds. You know the history of this league is replete with the sad endings of super talented washed up drunks?”

“Where the hell do you get off, Vincent? What I choose to do with my mind and body is my business, not yours.”

Vincent frowned and glared at Brian. “I’ll tell you where I get off. Someone who loves you very much cared enough to call me last night. She was real upset, Pyper. She told me you’re drinkin’ your way into oblivion. You better smarten up or you’re goin’ to find yourself out on the street with all those other washed up million dollar hotshots who thought they were indestructible.”

Vincent’s confrontation succeeded only in alienating Brian, clouding his mind with contempt for another individual who had dared to invade his privacy. “You have no fucking right to tell me how to live my life! It’s none of your business!” He jumped from the bath and headed for his locker.

Brian slurped a large and very dry martini as he paced his kitchen floor. “I’ll put an end to this crap once and for all!” he vowed.

Kerri entered her apartment at seven fifteen, shivering from the cold and tired from a long work day. Her fatigue was forgotten when she saw Brian moving toward her as fast as he could hobble. She saw anger in his eyes. Before she could remove her coat, he seized her right shoulder with his left hand and slapped her face as hard as he could with his right. “That’s for Billy Ray!” he shouted. “Next time you decide to tell someone how you think I should live my life, tell me first.”

The stinging pain of the blow caused Kerri’s knees to buckle. The shock and surprise of being hit by her husband for the first time brought tears to her her eyes. She trembled in fear of being hit again.

“Why?” Brian bellowed, his face contorted with rage.

The smell of alcohol turned Kerri’s stomach. “You’re hurting my arm,” she screamed.

The moment Brian released her, she fell backward against the wall, then slowly sank to a fetal position. She buried her face in her hands. “All I wanted to do was help you,” she sobbed, fighting an urge to criticize.

“Don’t do me any more favors,” Brian said, then opened the closet door beside Kerri. He removed his winter coat and left the apartment, slamming the door behind him.

Devastated and more alone than ever, Kerri remained on the floor for a long time, pondering her marriage and worrying about its future.

CHAPTER 37

March, 1990.

For Louis Visconti, every one dollar decline in the price of crude oil represented a paper profit of thirty million dollars. For Saddam Hussein, the president of Iraq, a similar price decline represented huge losses. In view of the dire financial plight into which his country had fallen, oil prices meant everything. With annual oil production of three million barrels per day, every one dollar drop in the price of crude oil meant an annual loss more than one billion dollars.

Since the end of its costly war with Iran in 1988, Iraq’s economic condition had been deteriorating. Saddam resented the fact that his country had borne the full weight of resisting Iran. He complained bitterly that Iraq’s sacrifices had not been fully appreciated by its Arab neighbors, particularly Kuwait. His resentment, festering for a long time, was approaching the boiling point.

By contrast, Kuwait, the world’s sixth largest oil producer, was flush with cash. It’s assets abroad exceeded one hundred billion dollars. The ruling family and other wealthy Kuwaiti investors held an additional fifty billion dollars privately. Kuwait’s income from diversified investments actually exceeded that from oil sales. Consequently, they had little incentive to increase oil prices in 1990. Such increases would slow the world economy and depress the value of their investments, the main source of their income. Kuwait’s intransigence on crude oil pricing further enraged Saddam.

Another extremely contentious issue between Iraq and Kuwait was the huge banana-shaped Rumaila oil field. The pool, just over ten thousand feet below the desert surface, straddled the border between the two countries. With reserves of more than thirty billion barrels, it was one of the world’s largest reservoirs, more than three times the size of Alaska’s Prudhoe Bay field. More than ninety percent of the fifty mile long formation was inside Iraq, yet most of the oil pumped from it was by Kuwaitis. Aware that Kuwaiti pumps could theoretically drain the pool, Saddam claimed full ownership and accused them of stealing Iraq’s oil. Storm clouds were building.

CHAPTER 38

Long Island. Friday, March 16, 1990.

Brian parked his black Eldorado, then hurried inside Runway Thirty-eight. He was hurt and angry. No, betrayed. His pain and suffering had never been fully appreciated by Kerri. Worse, she had the audacity to enlist the support of that prick, Vincent. Pushed beyond the limits of tolerance, he had once again escaped to his refuge. There he was appreciated, adored, free from interference.

Pausing only to watch Tina DeSouza’s performances, he spent the evening drinking excessively and re-living glory days with adoring fans who paid for his drinks. Shortly after one A.M. he folded his forearms on the table, lowered his head and fell into a deep sleep.

He opened his eyes the following morning to see Tina’s smiling face. “What happened?” he groaned, closing his eyes to shield them from sunlight.

Tina moved closer, pressing her naked body against Brian’s. “We poured you into a cab last night. How do you feel?”

He kept his eyes shut and swallowed, tasting foul saliva. “Like I’ve been hit by a freight train… What time is it?”

“It’s ten thirty and I want you,” Tina whispered, nibbling at his ear.

Unable and unwilling to respond, Brian lay motionless, trying to remember the events of the previous day. Guilt invaded his mind and caused him to bolt upright. He covered his face with his hands and rubbed his eyes with his fingers. “Do you have any tooth paste?” he asked.

“On the sink in the bathroom,” she replied, staring at his naked athletic body.

Brian felt filthy and ashamed as he looked at the bathroom mirror. Once again he had wasted the purity of his marriage. Remorse obsessed him as squeezed a half inch of toothpaste onto his index finger, then used it as a toothbrush. After urinating, he marched directly to the chair beside Tina’s bed, gathered his clothes and started to dress.

“What are you doing?” Tina asked.

“Gotta go,” Brian replied, focusing on his task.

“Back to your wife?”

Brian shook his head. “I’m already late for my physical therapy. It’s part of my contract.”

He had told the truth about his destination, but not about his reason for leaving.

“Will I see you later?”

“I’ll call,” Brian promised, then left.

Miles Dennis approached Kerri’s desk, staring at the swelling and bruising on her left cheek. “What happened to you?” he asked.

Kerri covered her cheek with her hand. “It’s really bad, Miles. I followed your advice and asked one of Brian’s teammates to talk to him.”

“So he resented the interference and hit you?”

Kerri nodded, tears flowing. “He was drinking again. After he hit me, he left and stayed out all night.”

Dennis shook his head in disgust. “So our football hero hits his wife. If there’s one ounce of decency in his body, he’ll come home and beg for your forgiveness… If he doesn’t, will you hang in there?”

“I don’t think I have any alternative,” Kerri replied, wiping the tears with her fingers. She was well aware that she did, but that choice was still totally unpalatable.

Dennis changed the subject. He handed Kerri a large manilla envelope. “I have an errand for you. I would like you to deliver this to Louis Visconti. I told him I would get it to him this morning.”

CHAPTER 39

Visconti, as usual looking like a Wall Street fashion statement, smiled when he saw Kerri. He lusted immediately, staring at her tight black skirt and form fitting white blouse. Then he saw her cheek. “You have a fight with your husband?” he asked, hoping.

“No, just a stupid accident.”

“How stupid?”

“I’m too embarrassed to say.”

“Then don’t. Would you like a coffee? I just ordered one for myself.”

Strangely, Kerri felt comfortable. She tried to smile. “Sure. Black.”

Visconti lifted his receiver, ordered the extra coffee, then pointed to two black leather couches near the windows. “Let’s sit over there. Coffee will be here shortly.” Every fiber of his body ached to sit as close as possible to her, but discretion convinced him to occupy the opposite couch. “You any happier than you were when I saw you at Christmas?” he asked, leaning back and crossing his legs.

“Why would you think I was unhappy then?”

“Intuition, and it tells me you’re still unhappy.” He focused on her eyes, probing for a reaction.

“Miles told me you you were once married.”

Visconti nodded.

“Did you ever have an argument with your wife?”

Visconti displayed a microscopic smirk. “Is the Pope Catholic?”

“Then you understand.”

“Yup. You want to talk about it?”

Kerri’s face reddened as she shook her head.

“Let me know if you ever do. I’m the best listener you’ll ever know.”

The conversation continued until Kerri realized she had finished her coffee. The interval with Visconti was a pleasant diversion from the strain of her situation. Strangely, she had enjoyed his company and wished she could stay. She stood after glancing at her watch. “I really should go. Miles is going to wonder what happened to me. Thanks for the coffee and the hospitality.”

Visconti displayed a disappointed frown. “The pleasure was mine. Sorry you have to go… Would you consider having lunch with me sometime soon? I’d love to continue the conversation.”

“Sure.” Kerri said, delighted he had asked.

CHAPTER 40

“Kerri!” Dennis shouted as he raised his arm above the crowd behind him, about to enter the elevator adjacent to the one from which Kerri had emerged. He turned and squirmed free. “Brian called you an hour ago.”

The news triggered an explosion of conflicting emotions in Kerri. Part of her wanted to rush to the telephone. A larger part wanted to do whatever was necessary to avoid any further conversation with her husband. “Did he leave a message?” she asked with a frown.

“No, he just asked me to tell you he called. Gotta go. I’m late. See you after lunch.”

Kerri returned to her desk, still confused and hurt by the events of the previous evening. She slumped in her chair, totally disinterested in her work. Curiosity usurping control of her pride, she lifted the receiver and dialed her apartment number.

Brian answered after three rings.