CHAPTER 9---SHALLOW GRAVES
SNIP!
Lawson Graves III cut off the tip of his Cuban cigar, then placed it in his mouth, using
the antique table lighter to set it ablaze. He puffed out clouds of gray smoke and sat
back in his giant sized leather seat, so large in comparison to his relatively thin frame.
Graves wasn't a compulsive cigar smoker, like some of his contemporaries. For some odd
reason, almost every successful San Anderas criminal defense lawyer had a penchant for
cigars. Graves never really gave it much thought, just took it as an odd coincidence.
The only times that Graves indulged in his contraband Castros were only after tremendous
sex or when he was incredibly nervous. This occasion fell into the latter category.
Five minutes previous, Vladimir Makar had phoned in. Graves wasn't expecting a call from
the notorious San Andreas crime boss he certainly didn't expect an angry call from the
notorious San Andreas crime boss. Apparently one of Makar's fronts had been busted up,
and there was the possibility that San Andreas' finest could be snooping though the
wreckage and turning up credible evidence to place the racketeering charges. Of course,
being charged was no big thing, charges came and went, but nothing ever stuck; Graves saw
to that. But still, Makar sounded very concerned, which made Graves very concerned.
Graves spun his seat around to face the San Andreas skyline visible through his wall
length office window. The city was lit up like a set of candles in a church, lights
flashing everywhere. Graves checked his diamond studded Rolex. The time read 11:57. It
was just about that time, and Graves desperately felt the need to relax. He'd deal with
Makar and his troubles tomorrow, first thing in the morning. He picked up the phone
again, and hit the number 9 on speed-dial. Buttons rapidly beeped in his ear and the
line started ringing.
"Yes?" a husky voiced female answered.
"I'd like to speak to Veronica."
"Oh, Veronica is out right now with a client. She should be back in a few-"
"Impossible. I had made an appointment for twelve-thirty and I'm calling to confirm.
She's there. Check again."
"Well then," the voice replied, sounding a little bored, "I already did. She's not
around. Who did you say this was, again?"
Graves puffed on his cigar.
"I didn't. Get Veronica. Now."
"Listen, mister, there's no reason to get snippy with me, I told you that she is gone and-"
"This is GRAVES, you stupid bitch. Now go get her."
"Oh."
Graves heard the receiver being set down and subtle noise in the background. He waited,
opened up his desk drawer and pulled out a bottle of Johnnie Walker. Graves unscrewed the
cap and tipped it back, smacking his lips after tasting the sweet bourbon. Soon, a
high-pitched voice came on the other line.
"Lawson? That you, honey?"
"That's right. What's the deal with the runaround."
"Oh, that's just Candy. She's new. I don't think she recognized your voice. Sorry, babe,
I didn't mean for you-"
"Have her replaced."
"Lawson?"
"I mean it. Tell Marilyn. I want her gone."
Veronica sighed.
"Okay, baby, whatever you want. So are we still on for tonight?"
"Bet your sweet-ass we are. Park-View Hotel, thirty minutes."
"Ohh, I can't wait babe. I've been thinking about you all day."
"Why."
Graves could hear her smiling on the other end.
"You know why."
"Tell me."
"Because. Because I want you...to fuck my brains out. With that big dick of yours. I
want you to kick my legs up and-"
"Listen, save the shop talk for main event. I want you to wear that blue teddy. The one
with the ruffles. Understand?"
"Uh-huh. Yeah, I get you."
"Thirty minutes."
"I'll be waiting, baby." Veronica squeaked into the phone and then hung up.
Graves replaced the phone back into its cradle and took another pull off of the bottle.
Veronica was one of Marilyn's finest girls. A sweet looking nineteen-year old brunette
toting the tone body of an athlete and a pair of pouty lips that were made for kissing
things. He pushed off and started gathering his things. Graves snatched a few blocks of
legal pads, some computer disks, a gram on cocaine crammed into metallic vial, his cell
phone and laptop then placed them into his briefcase, snapping it shut. He got up and
shut the lights off in his office, making his way though the door, past the reception
area, towards the elevators. Graves pushed the button for the parking lot, still puffing
on the Cuban. The doors parted and he stepped inside, letting the lift whisk him to the
ground floor.
Graves stepped out of the elevator and looked around. The parking structure was almost
empty, save for a few cars. He briskly walked across the lot towards his vehicle, a 2004
cherry-red Infernus. His footfalls clacked audibly against the concrete, the shine of his
imported shoes gleaming, almost capable of blinding someone who started at them for too
long. Graves made his way to the car and his the locking mechanism attached to his set of
keys, making a "boop-beep!" sound. Graves opened door, placed his briefcase on the
passenger seat, then placed the keys into the ignition when a pair of hands grabbed his
neck from behind, putting a vice grip on his larynx. Graves made a funny sound, the cigar
dropping his mouth into his lap.
Graves started to thrash about, his hands clawing at those that were draining his lungs of
oxygen, but it was no use. The fingers has dug deep into the thin flesh of Graves' throat,
squeezing his Adam's apple. Graves' eyes started to bug out, and he could feel the
breath of his assailant hot against the nape of his neck. To Graves, his vision was
starting blur, everything began to lose its color as he struggled to breath, but could
not. He whipped his head back and fourth, causing his John-Lennon styled wire rims to
shake off, and he started to lose his vigor, feeling his strength sapping from his body as
the world began to get swimmy. Graves' Cuban cigar had began to smolder into his
expensive designer slacks, as he made a few more peculiar noises of death, then went limp.
***
Vegas withdrew his hands from Graves neck and waited. Graves slumped down in his seat,
devoid of life. Vegas noticed something smoking in the lap of the dead man. He leaned
over and saw it was the last third of a fine looking cigar. He plucked it from below and
ran it under his nose. Cuban, no doubt. He took a few puffs, and indulged the sweet
flavor as the buzz from the cigar instantly hit is senses. Clenching the Cuban in his
teeth, he opened up the driver side door, causing the dome light to come on. Vegas pushed
open the seat and got out, and took a look at Graves; he was dead alright.
Vegas leaned over, pulled the keys from the ignition, yanked Graves out of the Infernus.
Vegas hauled him around the trunk, noting how incredibly light he was, opened it up, then
unceremoniously dumped him in. He shut the trunk and got back into the Infernus, a trail
of cigar smoke following him. When inside, he grabbed the suitcase, and forced it open,
bringing out Graves' cell phone the Dell laptop. He opened it up, a glow of the screen
illuminating his face. He started to root though the files, and then he smiled. It was
there, all of it. He closed the lap, put the keys into the ignition, hearing the powerful
engine roar to life. Vegas pulled out, and drove out of the parking structure. While
driving down the road, flipped open the cell phone; he had a certain call he had to
return…
NEXT: CHAPTER 10---LUCK BE A LADY TONIGHT
SNIP!
Lawson Graves III cut off the tip of his Cuban cigar, then placed it in his mouth, using
the antique table lighter to set it ablaze. He puffed out clouds of gray smoke and sat
back in his giant sized leather seat, so large in comparison to his relatively thin frame.
Graves wasn't a compulsive cigar smoker, like some of his contemporaries. For some odd
reason, almost every successful San Anderas criminal defense lawyer had a penchant for
cigars. Graves never really gave it much thought, just took it as an odd coincidence.
The only times that Graves indulged in his contraband Castros were only after tremendous
sex or when he was incredibly nervous. This occasion fell into the latter category.
Five minutes previous, Vladimir Makar had phoned in. Graves wasn't expecting a call from
the notorious San Andreas crime boss he certainly didn't expect an angry call from the
notorious San Andreas crime boss. Apparently one of Makar's fronts had been busted up,
and there was the possibility that San Andreas' finest could be snooping though the
wreckage and turning up credible evidence to place the racketeering charges. Of course,
being charged was no big thing, charges came and went, but nothing ever stuck; Graves saw
to that. But still, Makar sounded very concerned, which made Graves very concerned.
Graves spun his seat around to face the San Andreas skyline visible through his wall
length office window. The city was lit up like a set of candles in a church, lights
flashing everywhere. Graves checked his diamond studded Rolex. The time read 11:57. It
was just about that time, and Graves desperately felt the need to relax. He'd deal with
Makar and his troubles tomorrow, first thing in the morning. He picked up the phone
again, and hit the number 9 on speed-dial. Buttons rapidly beeped in his ear and the
line started ringing.
"Yes?" a husky voiced female answered.
"I'd like to speak to Veronica."
"Oh, Veronica is out right now with a client. She should be back in a few-"
"Impossible. I had made an appointment for twelve-thirty and I'm calling to confirm.
She's there. Check again."
"Well then," the voice replied, sounding a little bored, "I already did. She's not
around. Who did you say this was, again?"
Graves puffed on his cigar.
"I didn't. Get Veronica. Now."
"Listen, mister, there's no reason to get snippy with me, I told you that she is gone and-"
"This is GRAVES, you stupid bitch. Now go get her."
"Oh."
Graves heard the receiver being set down and subtle noise in the background. He waited,
opened up his desk drawer and pulled out a bottle of Johnnie Walker. Graves unscrewed the
cap and tipped it back, smacking his lips after tasting the sweet bourbon. Soon, a
high-pitched voice came on the other line.
"Lawson? That you, honey?"
"That's right. What's the deal with the runaround."
"Oh, that's just Candy. She's new. I don't think she recognized your voice. Sorry, babe,
I didn't mean for you-"
"Have her replaced."
"Lawson?"
"I mean it. Tell Marilyn. I want her gone."
Veronica sighed.
"Okay, baby, whatever you want. So are we still on for tonight?"
"Bet your sweet-ass we are. Park-View Hotel, thirty minutes."
"Ohh, I can't wait babe. I've been thinking about you all day."
"Why."
Graves could hear her smiling on the other end.
"You know why."
"Tell me."
"Because. Because I want you...to fuck my brains out. With that big dick of yours. I
want you to kick my legs up and-"
"Listen, save the shop talk for main event. I want you to wear that blue teddy. The one
with the ruffles. Understand?"
"Uh-huh. Yeah, I get you."
"Thirty minutes."
"I'll be waiting, baby." Veronica squeaked into the phone and then hung up.
Graves replaced the phone back into its cradle and took another pull off of the bottle.
Veronica was one of Marilyn's finest girls. A sweet looking nineteen-year old brunette
toting the tone body of an athlete and a pair of pouty lips that were made for kissing
things. He pushed off and started gathering his things. Graves snatched a few blocks of
legal pads, some computer disks, a gram on cocaine crammed into metallic vial, his cell
phone and laptop then placed them into his briefcase, snapping it shut. He got up and
shut the lights off in his office, making his way though the door, past the reception
area, towards the elevators. Graves pushed the button for the parking lot, still puffing
on the Cuban. The doors parted and he stepped inside, letting the lift whisk him to the
ground floor.
Graves stepped out of the elevator and looked around. The parking structure was almost
empty, save for a few cars. He briskly walked across the lot towards his vehicle, a 2004
cherry-red Infernus. His footfalls clacked audibly against the concrete, the shine of his
imported shoes gleaming, almost capable of blinding someone who started at them for too
long. Graves made his way to the car and his the locking mechanism attached to his set of
keys, making a "boop-beep!" sound. Graves opened door, placed his briefcase on the
passenger seat, then placed the keys into the ignition when a pair of hands grabbed his
neck from behind, putting a vice grip on his larynx. Graves made a funny sound, the cigar
dropping his mouth into his lap.
Graves started to thrash about, his hands clawing at those that were draining his lungs of
oxygen, but it was no use. The fingers has dug deep into the thin flesh of Graves' throat,
squeezing his Adam's apple. Graves' eyes started to bug out, and he could feel the
breath of his assailant hot against the nape of his neck. To Graves, his vision was
starting blur, everything began to lose its color as he struggled to breath, but could
not. He whipped his head back and fourth, causing his John-Lennon styled wire rims to
shake off, and he started to lose his vigor, feeling his strength sapping from his body as
the world began to get swimmy. Graves' Cuban cigar had began to smolder into his
expensive designer slacks, as he made a few more peculiar noises of death, then went limp.
***
Vegas withdrew his hands from Graves neck and waited. Graves slumped down in his seat,
devoid of life. Vegas noticed something smoking in the lap of the dead man. He leaned
over and saw it was the last third of a fine looking cigar. He plucked it from below and
ran it under his nose. Cuban, no doubt. He took a few puffs, and indulged the sweet
flavor as the buzz from the cigar instantly hit is senses. Clenching the Cuban in his
teeth, he opened up the driver side door, causing the dome light to come on. Vegas pushed
open the seat and got out, and took a look at Graves; he was dead alright.
Vegas leaned over, pulled the keys from the ignition, yanked Graves out of the Infernus.
Vegas hauled him around the trunk, noting how incredibly light he was, opened it up, then
unceremoniously dumped him in. He shut the trunk and got back into the Infernus, a trail
of cigar smoke following him. When inside, he grabbed the suitcase, and forced it open,
bringing out Graves' cell phone the Dell laptop. He opened it up, a glow of the screen
illuminating his face. He started to root though the files, and then he smiled. It was
there, all of it. He closed the lap, put the keys into the ignition, hearing the powerful
engine roar to life. Vegas pulled out, and drove out of the parking structure. While
driving down the road, flipped open the cell phone; he had a certain call he had to
return…
NEXT: CHAPTER 10---LUCK BE A LADY TONIGHT