ahead. But Connors dropped out of the club late junior year shortly after
turning sixteen and getting his driver’s license. He bragged to a select few that he was helping his brother run drugs up
from Florida on the weekends in a beat-up old van. Then, news spread the next fall that during the summer the pair had been
stopped and arrested somewhere downstate. Connors’ older brother got stuck with the brunt of the charges due to Connors still
being a juvenile. He was absent for most of the term, but somehow managed to graduate, the line Most Likely to Deal printed under his yearbook photo.
The next time Martin happened to see him was at their ten-year reunion, where Connors, looking flashy and tan, pulled up in
a silver Corvette with a girl who looked like a movie star on his arm. He explained his dark complexion as the result of some
“Florida investments,” and handed out tips to the waiters and bartenders that left little doubt in Martin’s mind what that
meant.
At their fifteen-year reunion, Connors literally bumped into Martin at the bar after making another equally splashy entrance.
A short-tempered glance immediately softened when Connors looked at Martin’s nametag.
“Marty, old buddy,” he’d said. “Still playing chess?”
Martin replied that he hadn’t much time for that now, as a CEO for a large savings and loan. Connors’ eyebrows raised.
“Really?” he said. “We’ll have to get together for a drink sometime.” And they’d exchanged cards. That was the beginning of
it. Martin began assisting him in “flying under the radar” to launder the very large sums that Connors made from his “business
dealings” ever since. In return, he supplied Martin with a retainer fee, as well as the other perks when he found out more
about him. The man had contacts everywhere, and for Martin, whose burgeoning aberrant appetites had begun to reassert themselves
as his relationship with Miriam began to fail, these contacts were heaven-sent. These perks most recently had included a cut
rate on an unlimited supply of cocaine, ecstasy, or virtually any other drug Walker had a yen for trying out as well as fodder
for his “other sexual tastes.”
But most of all, Martin owed Connors for so deftly solving the “Miriam problem.” His wife had walked in on him during one
of his special sessions with young Raul. The bitch. Why hadn’t she stayed out that night like she’d said? He knew she’d been
fucking someone on the side. But after the cat was out of the bag, Martin had little choice but to go to Connors for help.
Exposure in some messy divorce case would have meant a disaster for both of them. Especially if Miriam had hired someone to
check into his financial dealings a little too closely.
Connors had told him that Nuke would handle it. “Just go to your meeting for your fraternity reunion dinner, and it’ll get
done. Then all you have to do is report her missing in the morning.”
It had all worked according to plan. The alibi, the disappearance, the body’s discovery, it was like some bad dream remembered
in a fog. And the best part of it was that he was in the clear. There was no way they could connect him to anything. Or so
he hoped, as he began to gather up the rest of his stuff and resealed the baggie. He placed it all in the hollow section of
the bronze statue of a satyr playing the flute. Satisfied it was packed solidly inside the base, he twisted the upper part
of the figure back in place, inspecting it as always to assure himself that no one would be able to surmise what treasures
it held. It’s the perfect hiding place for an intellectual giant like myself, he thought. So why should I be concerned about
a visit from some stupid cops? Especially with Richard having someone on the inside.
Martin looked at his reflection in the mirror above the statue and tried to smile confidently. But it looked weak and he knew
it. Glancing downward,
turning sixteen and getting his driver’s license. He bragged to a select few that he was helping his brother run drugs up
from Florida on the weekends in a beat-up old van. Then, news spread the next fall that during the summer the pair had been
stopped and arrested somewhere downstate. Connors’ older brother got stuck with the brunt of the charges due to Connors still
being a juvenile. He was absent for most of the term, but somehow managed to graduate, the line Most Likely to Deal printed under his yearbook photo.
The next time Martin happened to see him was at their ten-year reunion, where Connors, looking flashy and tan, pulled up in
a silver Corvette with a girl who looked like a movie star on his arm. He explained his dark complexion as the result of some
“Florida investments,” and handed out tips to the waiters and bartenders that left little doubt in Martin’s mind what that
meant.
At their fifteen-year reunion, Connors literally bumped into Martin at the bar after making another equally splashy entrance.
A short-tempered glance immediately softened when Connors looked at Martin’s nametag.
“Marty, old buddy,” he’d said. “Still playing chess?”
Martin replied that he hadn’t much time for that now, as a CEO for a large savings and loan. Connors’ eyebrows raised.
“Really?” he said. “We’ll have to get together for a drink sometime.” And they’d exchanged cards. That was the beginning of
it. Martin began assisting him in “flying under the radar” to launder the very large sums that Connors made from his “business
dealings” ever since. In return, he supplied Martin with a retainer fee, as well as the other perks when he found out more
about him. The man had contacts everywhere, and for Martin, whose burgeoning aberrant appetites had begun to reassert themselves
as his relationship with Miriam began to fail, these contacts were heaven-sent. These perks most recently had included a cut
rate on an unlimited supply of cocaine, ecstasy, or virtually any other drug Walker had a yen for trying out as well as fodder
for his “other sexual tastes.”
But most of all, Martin owed Connors for so deftly solving the “Miriam problem.” His wife had walked in on him during one
of his special sessions with young Raul. The bitch. Why hadn’t she stayed out that night like she’d said? He knew she’d been
fucking someone on the side. But after the cat was out of the bag, Martin had little choice but to go to Connors for help.
Exposure in some messy divorce case would have meant a disaster for both of them. Especially if Miriam had hired someone to
check into his financial dealings a little too closely.
Connors had told him that Nuke would handle it. “Just go to your meeting for your fraternity reunion dinner, and it’ll get
done. Then all you have to do is report her missing in the morning.”
It had all worked according to plan. The alibi, the disappearance, the body’s discovery, it was like some bad dream remembered
in a fog. And the best part of it was that he was in the clear. There was no way they could connect him to anything. Or so
he hoped, as he began to gather up the rest of his stuff and resealed the baggie. He placed it all in the hollow section of
the bronze statue of a satyr playing the flute. Satisfied it was packed solidly inside the base, he twisted the upper part
of the figure back in place, inspecting it as always to assure himself that no one would be able to surmise what treasures
it held. It’s the perfect hiding place for an intellectual giant like myself, he thought. So why should I be concerned about
a visit from some stupid cops? Especially with Richard having someone on the inside.
Martin looked at his reflection in the mirror above the statue and tried to smile confidently. But it looked weak and he knew
it. Glancing downward,
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