Becoming Juliet - Paula Marinaro Page 0,8
himself into a hotel room, the first thing he did was take a very long, very hot shower. Then he put in a call to his V.P. Jet Mathison. The conversation with Jet was quick, to the point, and one sided.
P.J. told Jet that he would not be coming home, and that Jet was now in charge. Then he gave Jet instructions to call Reno and fill him in. After that P.J. opened the sliders to the balcony, sat in the deep cushioned chair, had himself a smoke, and waited for his father to call him.
That conversation had not been an easy one.
Reno had arranged a conference call that included P.J.’s uncles, all of whom were dangerous, intelligent, and morally compromised HSMC royalty. P.J.’s family was comprised of a rare breed of badasses whose roots in the club ran deep. It had been a long, loud conversation filled with violent outbursts (those mostly from P.J.’s hot- headed, stubborn, irretractable Uncle Diego). There had been a demands for an explanation and the answers had satisfied no one. After a very long fifty-eight minutes, the conversation was over. The exchange had left P.J. exhausted and made him glad that he was hundreds of miles away.
The next thing P.J. did was take out the switchblade from his pocket and carefully remove the HSMC president patch from his leather cut. He reverently folded the leather jacket and secured it in the bottom of his duffle bag. Then he placed the patch in an envelope provided by the hotel and left it on the desk. Tomorrow he would go down to the concierge desk and have them mail it.
After consulting the room service menu, P.J. called in an order of king cut prime rib, a Caesar salad, fresh green beans and a fifth of bourbon. After finishing his meal, P.J pulled the heavy burgundy curtains of the room closed and hung the laminated do not disturb sign on the door. He piled the fluffy, down pillows high on the bed, and laid his sore body on the deeply cushioned mattress. Then P.J. downed several shots of the liquor and watched a movie on Netflix until his mind was clear enough to rest.
P.J. put in a solid fifteen hours of uninterrupted sleep before he woke. When he did, he felt better. The steamy shower, nutritious meal, comfortable bed, and large bourbon consumption had given way to a much mellower version of himself. When P.J. thought back to his decision of the day before, he readied himself for an onslaught of regret. But instead, a wave of relief flooded his senses, and P.J. felt a tremendous weight lift off his shoulders. The decision to pass the gavel on to his cousin Jet had not been an easy one, but it had been the right one. Jet was solid. He was confident in his ability and had a good sense about people. He was cool, even tempered, and capable of making quick and sometimes brutal decisions. Jet was a natural leader, the men respected him, and their enemies feared him.
Feeling good, P.J. took a walk around the corner to the local market where he bought himself a carton of cigarettes, a bunch of lottery tickets, a twelve pack of beer, and two massive Italian cold cut grinders— light on the lettuce and heavy on the oil. He went back up to his room, turned on the game, ate the sandwiches, drank the beer and, at half time, P.J scratched the tickets.
Before half time was over two things had happened. One was that P.J. had seen a cool travel commercial touting New England tourism. The other thing that happened was that P.J. was two hundred and fifty thousand dollars richer.
The next morning P.J. drove straight to the lottery commission to cash in his ticket. Then, remembering the television commercial from the night before and thinking it might be a sign, he headed off in search of the craggy cliffs and sandy beaches of the Northeast Coastline.
Lucy Brewster
Lucy Brewster went from sound asleep to wide awake in an instant. She bolted up in bed, heart thumping, eyes staring through the dark, ears straining for the sound that must have awoken her. But there was nothing but the lazy country sounds of a hot, summer evening. The whirring noise of the fan, the rhythmic buzzing of katydids, the musical chirp of crickets, and the warning hum of cicadas all mixed with the soft rumble of distant thunder. Lucy had no idea