Bust by Jason Starr, Ken Bruen Read Free Book Online Page A

commish. I just can’t run my business that way. Now I’m giving you some good, solid advice here. When I hired you I told you I’d give you all the training you needed, well this is part of your training.”
    Max was happy with this speech, his rally-the-troops schpiel. He knew he was great at motivation — that’s why he was the head honcho and everyone else wasn’t.
    “I came here to sell networks,” Harold said, “not table dances.”
    “Then maybe this is the wrong product for you,” Max said. “Maybe you should sell bibles or something. Now go take Takahashi to a strip joint and close this goddamn sale, or else.”

    Toward five o’clock, Angela paid a visit. She locked the door and gave Max a few wet kisses and a neck massage and wished him good luck. Max said, “The funny thing is, I’m not even nervous.”
    Max made sure there was no lipstick on his face. He knew he must’ve smelled like Joy, but this was all right because a few months ago he had bought Deirdre some of the same perfume, in the smaller one-ounce size, so she wouldn’t be suspicious when he came home reeking of it. If the police asked, he could just say he picked up the odor from Deirdre. He was covering all the bases.
    In the bathroom, Max put a coat of spray-on hair fibers over his bald spot. The fibers could only be detected on very close inspection or by touch. The only problems were when it rained or when he was nervous — sometimes the fibers melted and dark streaks dripped down his neck.
    At 5:25, Max left the office, still feeling very relaxed. Janet, the receptionist who was temping this week, and Diane from Payroll were nearby so Max made sure he said “See you tomorrow” to Angela, loud enough so Janet and Diane could hear how casual and professional he was being.
    “Good night, Max,” Angela said, not even looking away from her computer monitor. If they’d been alone, she’d have added God bless in that crazy way the Irish did. Psychos blew up half the UK and added, God bless ?
    Max hailed a cab on Sixth Avenue and instructed the driver to take him to Fifty-fourth and Madison, the building where Jack Haywood worked. Out of habit, Max memorized the driver’s name — Mohammed Siddique — and medallion number — 679445. As he got out, he said, “Thanks, Mohammed. God bless.”
    Max told Mohammed to wait double-parked while he went into the building to call Jack from the concierge’sdesk. Back on the sidewalk, waiting for Jack to show up, Max couldn’t help thinking about the break-in.
    He’d told Deirdre that he wanted to take her out to dinner tonight and to be sure to be home at six. Deirdre was usually good about keeping her appointments, but now Max was worried that something might go wrong. Deirdre had said she would be going shopping this afternoon, but Max wondered what would happen if she came home early or had decided not to go at all.
    A car horn honked. The sudden noise jolted Max, made his heart skip a beat. He took deep breaths, trying to relax. If he looked nervous tonight and Jack Haywood or someone else noticed, it could also lead to some big problems later. He had to just trust Popeye. After all, the guy was a pro and a pro would know how to handle any complications that might come up.
    A few minutes later, Jack strolled out of the building, wearing the jeans and sports jacket he had changed into for his night on the town. As Director of Operations for Segal, Russell & Ross, a big law firm with over two hundred employees, Jack was one of Max’s biggest clients. He was only a few years younger than Max, but he kept in shape so he looked thirty-five. He was married with two kids and he had a house on Long Island, but he liked getting away from his wife and drinking and seeing naked women. Since he had become a NetWorld client, Max bought him as many table and lap dances and trips to the private fantasy rooms as he wanted. Once in a while, Jack asked Max to fix him up with a call girl. Jack would