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In two whirlwind years, Dean had risen in his father's eyes from "royal fuckup" to "magnificent boy," trusted to take over the family's St. Louis steakhouse. While Dean's change of heart was genuine, he had to work at being upbeat and polite to guests. After a particularly grating Thursday, all he wanted was a nap.
Opening the door marked PRIVATE, he heard the popping sounds of Seinfeld. The mini-TV he hid in the closet had been moved onto the desk. The papers that had been there were strewn on the floor.
Dean's fiancée Khrystyne greeted him with a wave of her multi-braceleted arm. "Hi, lover."
In no mood for a shouting match, Dean settled into the leather chair Pops used on his visits.
At the first commercial break, Khrystyne explained, "The video shoot wrapped early. You said you'd get off at eleven."
"Of course," Dean said.
"What?"
"Nothing. Are you hungry?"
"Starving. You really ought to get, like, a mini-fridge in here. I mean, this is a restaurant."
"Let's go. I––"
"In a sec. Lemme finish watching this."
Dean sat back and watched her. When they met, he was thirty-two and she was twenty-one, wearing a girl-sized Hello Kitty top to tae kwon do class. He mistook protective feelings toward her for attraction, and once they'd had sex, he was determined not to break her heart. Up to that point, he'd dreamed of being an Ultimate Fighter or video game tester. Khrystyne made him want to be more.
That was good, right?
He enrolled in night school and completed his BBA. Pops welcomed him back to the family. The next step was to tell the family about his fiancée….
More popping sounds signaled the end of Seinfeld. Khrystyne turned off the set and said, "I can go now."
"I can't," Dean said. He stared at her, but she didn't get it.
"Why not?"
She'd snuck in here after work a dozen times, and she didn't get it.
"Thursday. I have to meet the Fortified guy."
"Ah, right." She put her feet back up and hugged herself. "I'll wait."
Dean turned to the wall safe and opened it. Empty.
"What the...?"
He actually heard the shot from behind. Felt the heat overwhelm him.
***
Khrystyne placed the gun in Dean's hand, as if he'd tried to fight off robbers.
She wiped her hands with a moist towelette, then opened the big desk drawer and brought out the pouch containing that week's profits. She transferred about half the money––ten thousand, she guessed––to her handbag.
Dean had given her a key to the office's back door, leading to the loading zone. That was how she came and how she left, taking the pouch without anyone's notice.
At exactly 11:45, the Fortified armored car pulled up. A beefy, blue-uniformed driver got out and walked over to Khrystyne.
He hesitated. "Where's Dean?"
"Food poisoning."
"Uh-oh."
"I know, right? I'm Joan, by the way, his fiancée."
"Oh, congrats."
"Thank you. We're very happy."
He took the pouch from her and passed her a clipboard of receipts. "Sign by the X."
She signed Joan Collins.
He tore off the original and gave her a yellow copy. She returned to the office as if to file the copy, but really disposed of it five hours later, two hundred miles away.
THE END Gerald So © 2007 |
