SO….THANKS FOR PLAYING "GUESS THE KILLER?"
Everyone. who guessed VALDA…you were close, but unfortunately no. Save that name for later as he is an important player coming soon. (same for the one Ivan – that's another distant player too). Just hold tight and don't get too bored with what happens next.
Those who guessed PHILIP PETROV…
Have you been stealing peeks at my notes?! He's the killer.
As promised, the FIRST ONE to guess got their name written in. Hope you enjoy your guest appearance. The particular scene was one I had planned on using but never knew how to incorporate. It was an interesting hurdle to cross cause as mentioned, I hate writing HG. She's an interesting woman who requires an interesting level of patience. I lack said virtue.
THANKS FOR ALL THE SUPPORT!
LOVED THE COMMENTS, YOU ALL MADE ME EITHER BLUSH OR LOL…THANKS!
WARNING: LANGUAGE, LENGHTY DIALOGUE, RUSHED EDITING, AND LOTS OF BACKSTORY AHEAD.
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SNATCH – CHAPTER 13
4:24 P.M. – CONNECTICUT
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Artie was swirling his drink in his glass.
Had he been holding a shot of whiskey, the image would've been fitting, but the middle-aged attorney was holding a tumbler filled with lukewarm milk. On a China plate was a spread of butter cookies. The tin container on the side of the plate said that the cookies were imported from Denmark, but that was far from the case, he had made them himself. Artie looked up from the center of his glass and dropped his gaze onto the man seated far across from him in front of a widescreen television. The TV was on mute and aside from the Volkswagen commercial that was playing; all that Artie could see was the back of the man's head which was covered in thinning gray hair.
"Are you certain?"
Artie repeated.
The question led Warren Bering to shift uncomfortably in his seat. He had been holding himself tense ever since he'd sat down nearly an hour ago.
"Positive. He said six years ago, no more, no less." Warren replied.
A slow tiredness covered Artie's face, he sighed just a little before speaking again.
"Well, what did Kosan say? Didn't he call you too?"
"He said he got a call about an hour after me," Warren's met his gaze with a twist of his neck, "He pretty much said the same thing."
"Why didn't I get one?" Artie said. He sounded hurt to be left out.
Warren tossed his hands in the air.
"Beats the hell out of me."
At these words Warren dropped back into his seat and Artie thoughtfully gnawed a cookie. The only sound in the room was the faint buzzing of an overhead ceiling fan and because the window was open, the thwack of a tennis session that was occurring on a court just feet below the window. Artie's new girlfriend, twenty something year old Sally Stokowski, had moved in with the longtime bachelor four months ago and along with her came two French bulldogs, a massive collection of "Contemporary Art", and a ridiculously handsome yet unbelievably gay tennis instructor. Sally was an artist who owned her own gallery, they'd met in New York during an Banking Convention. Despite their obvious age difference, and even more so, contrasting careers, it was love at first sight according to the couple. Being who he was, Warren wasn't sure if he approved of that and he made sure to vocalize his opinion on that matter every chance he got. If it wasn't for Myka's kidnapping they'd still be bickering about the much younger woman. But for now that would have to wait.
Though they appeared to be in entirely different spaces, their minds were on the same subject–
The Millennium Project.
"Everyone who was involved is dead and buried," Warren softly began. His gaze was focused on the television screen, a commercial for Palmolive cleaning solution was playing. "There is no way in hell, do you hear me Artie?" he swiveled towards his friend, his eyes were wild behind his glasses. "There is no way in Dante's god-blazing Inferno, that any individuals survived that."
"No way!"
Warren spaced his hands out roughly like a referee calling "safe!" then he slapped his palms to his knees with a deep exhale. If one was to examine at him closely, you could see he was literally shaking in his boots.
"Yeah, well, we never exactly checked this out for ourselves had we Warren? Just think about it for a second. How else would he have known? If they're all dead who would've told him?" Artie's tone was testy as he was shaken. His furor appeared to have turned his bushy eyebrows even bushier. "I'm no Ghostbuster, but the dead show as hell don't talk and though I'm a God fearing man, there's no such thing as ghost!"
Eyes on the television, Warren halfheartedly grunted in reply.
He'd long gave up on the solving this conundrum, he was so sick of it, he was now at a point where he rather just pretend it didn't even exist. Just beyond his shoulder, Artie handed another cookie and angrily crunched it. His blood pressure was nearing explosion and the sweets weren't doing any help whatsoever.
"Sloppy jobs?" he tossed out.
Without turning Warren replied, "Petrov was no amateur Nielsen. We had him work plenty of others long before this. He wiped out Secord for us, remember?"
"Oh yeah, that's right. That's what happened to him?"
Artie scratched the side of his forehead in recall. Normally he had a great memory but the stress of the events was taking that from him as well. There was quiet as he thoughtfully sucked on another cookie. Since day one of this drama he tried doing the friendly thing which was standing by his friends side, but with the phonecall and his lack of one, he found himself questioning things differently.
Why hadn't MacPherson contact him yet?
He wasn't just Warren's childhood bestfriend, his confidante, or even just his righthand man- he was the Bering family attorney. If anyone should've received a call it should've been him. He'd put as much time, effort, and energy into the plots that Bering and Sons manifested for the last thirty years. Hell, he'd even scouted and handpicked each and every scientist they had contracted for their projects. Unlike Warren, Artie's strongest discipline was science and engineering, because of this, from day one he'd acted as Warren's advisor in that sense as Warren could only daydream and financially back his schemes.
Artie stopped pondering and gazed across the room. There was at least twenty minutes before the news and right now a sitcom was playing. Artie couldn't remember the name but he recognized it as the show the TIMES labeled a "wildly entertaining must see". Though he'd been meaning too, he never had the chance to watch it. In all of his years, this is the first time he could say he remotely had time off around this hour of day, normally he was in his office picking apart a last minute report or attending some pre-evening meeting. He focused his gaze onto the back of his friends head. Warren was sitting so rigid it looked as if his back could snap.
"You know I don't like speculating about things, but hypothetically speaking, what if…" Artie paused, tasting some leftover crumbs on his lips.
"What if this was a deliberate act Warren?"
Though Warren made no sign of response it was obvious that he was listening. Artie could practically hear the sound of his bestfriend pricking up his ears. This was all the fuel he needed to press on.
"What if he purposely allowed one to get away alive!"
Warren suddenly whipped around, his eyes were ablaze.
"Why in the hell would he do something like that?" he snapped.
Warren was so angry, the hairs along his head had stood up like a dogs back breaking into burrs, "That's sloppy, not just for us, but for him! He's dishonoring his own name by pulling a stunt like that, that's putting a target directly on his back. Do you know how much of a traitor he painted himself as? He'd never get a job again!" his voice had risen all the way to yell.
Artie held out his hand in a placating motion.
"Think past the image standpoint Warren, think big here. Why not go that route?" Arties voice had taken on a more gravelly tone from his excitement. "There's so much that he could've garnered from that one little slip up, him having his own back marked wouldn't have meant a damn thing. With this one move look what he could do to us - hold leverage over the company, create distention amongst benefactors, paint us into monsters in front of the Media! He's got all of our balls in a vice and there's nothing we can do about it!"
Somewhere in the midst of his spiel, the impassioned attorney had thrust one of his cookies in the air as if it were a pointed finger. Now that he was finished, he sheepishly lowered his arm and hurriedly shoved the sweet into his mouth. Across from him, the magnitude of the event had sunk in and Warren's face blanched free of any remaining color.
"This is an absolute nightmare…" Warren breathlessly muttered.
"Exactly."
The two men simultaneously jumped and turned around to the door. Standing before the entrance with her hands neatly clasped together and her hair spun into a clever knot was a woman they hadn't seen in years, Irene Frederic.
As if she'd just called them to attention, both men sprung to their feet.
"Mrs. Frederic!"
Artie spoke for the both of them.
His caterpillar brows shot high off his forehead, his hand trembled as it shot to wipe his crumb coated lips. Mrs. Frederic gave him a prim smile then allowed her eyes to divert over his shoulder to Warren Bering. The Senior Bering had an air of defiance in his stance that his blanched skin and worried eyes didn't match. To the ex-CIA director, Warren Bering was the image of a king without his crown.
Mrs. Frederic nodded to each man then gestured to the seating with a sweep of her hand.
"Don't mind me gentlemen, do sit down." she said.
There was a brief shuffling noise as both men reclaimed their seats.
Still smirking Mrs. Frederic crossed farther into the room and joined Artie at his table. Almost automatically, Artie poured some coffee into a cup and with suspiciously stiff hands, handed it over to her. Mrs. Frederic accepted the glass with a slight nod then added in some cream then one lump of sugar. Her motions were smooth and ladylike, there was rapt silence as the men watched her take her first sip before settling the cup off to the side.
"Gentlemen, did you know that a mysterious pipeline was discovered about three weeks along the borderlines of Croatia by a group of surveyors last Friday?" Mrs. Frederic opened.
"No, I didn't know that." Artie adjusted his glasses with a push of his finger, "Did you Warren?"
"Eh…" Warren grunted.
Artie's dark eyes narrowed, "Sounds like something that should've been in the evening news, especially with those goings on with Russia and the Taliban. Sounds very suspect."
"Suspect indeed. That's what the UN is saying but we're not supposed to know that of course," Mrs. Frederic paused taking another dainty sip of her tea, "Apparently soil samples were also taken from the location, typical routine, and much to the scientist surprise the ground was host to several corrosive unidentifiable materials, many of which were verified carcinogens, and what may or may not have been the splintered remnants of over a hundred human skeletons."
Artie tossed his hands in the air, "If you're not going to say it, Irene, I most definitely will. This absolutely reeks of terrorism. Remember what I said last time when we spoke? About those war weapons?" the attorney pointed his finger, "The endgame's always the same, it's all in all just a very nefarious game of hide and seek. The very moment we cried war, they dismantled the operation, destroyed all evidence on the spot and took whatever else was salvageable or too valuable and threw it into hiding somewhere least suspected– a nice bombshelter underneath some kind Nona's kitchen, maybe a pool in Berlin, hell, even underneath a University football field even. It's nothing new or even original, Hitler did the same thing with the Nazi's!"
"I never said your theory was wrong back then Artie," Mrs. Frederic calmly replied, her head was slightly tilted and she looked vaguely amused, " You and I both know that certain things require a little sensitive handling before release to the public, the good ole' pre-press hedge trimming as they used to say."
Artie rudely snorted, "Bloggers abound are running exposés on the Illuminati and Oil Crisis's, it's getting pretty darn hard to trim any hedges around here." One of his peppered brows rose high, "Hell, I'm honestly beginning to doubt some the things you told me about back then, like that gov facility you said was hidden in plain sight carved inside of a mountain. Can you imagine an exposés on that? CNN will go bonkers with eco-warriors."
"Funny you should mention that, actually it's still in use today." Mrs. Frederic sat her tea to the side and folded her hands across her lap, "In fact, locals are claiming that the humming noise it's been emitting is in fact a sign of it's otherworldly healing abilities. How crushed do you think they'll be when they realize it's just noise from all the heaters in the winter?"
Artie crisply bit into a cookie and grumpily huffed, "The world is backwards."
"Not quite. " Mrs. Frederic countered. The attorney poised his mouth to disagree, but the ex-agent raised her hand, "But we're getting away from the point."
There was a brief quiet as she exchanged a glance between the pair of gentlemen. Artie had his eyes focused on her, he looked mildly annoyed but interested. Just over his shoulder, Warren was visible, well the back of his head was visible, and his silence could've been mistaken for him being asleep. Mrs. Frederic was no fool to that.
"Assuming you two grumps want to hear the rest of my story. Want to know something even more peculiar?"
Warren's reply was silence, Artie filled in with a joke.
"I'm gathering that little green men are not part of this Croatia agenda?" he said.
"Unfortunately, no."
The tone she used wiped what was left of Artie's smirk. Mrs. Frederic's face remained calm but there was a graveness in her voice that put an icy chill in the air.
"After further investigation, it appears that the pipeline was built on land that was allegedly home to "Komandorsky Trust" a charity owned by none other than…"
Her eyes flitted over to the back of Warren Bering's balding head.
Whereas Artie near broke his tooth mid chew, a haughty snort erupted from the back of the room. Not even a full beat passing, Mrs. Frederic continued as calmly as ever.
"The CIA has long turned the other cheek when it has come to your enterprises Mr. Bering, and according to the rumors I've been hearing, your well of favor has ran dry. Perhaps this discovery is merely coincidence, or perhaps its repercussion from the recent events. I can only imagine the pressure that one of your wealth and stature can withstand without proper backing to straighten this out…"
Mrs. Frederic allowed her words to trail as she lazily stirred her coffee. Her eyes were fixated on the Billionaire seated across the room. Either it was his stubbornness, or he really was that disrespectful, Warren Bering had simply refused to turn around in his chair to face her directly. Mrs. Frederic took the obvious snub in good stride as she done his last show of rudeness.
"When this news get's out to the public, you aren't going to be able to hold up this charade for much longer Warren, people are going to want answers, they're going to want to know the truth in the end. Can you promise them that?"
At last, the Senior Bering turned.
Plastered across Warren Bering's face was a look that was as smug as he was rich. In that instance, he was no longer the living legacy of oil, steel, and American determination, he was arrogance incarnate.
"As long as I have breathe in my body and enough money to cover this cursed nations debt 10 times over, I don't owe God, let alone you or anyone else, any goddamn explanations for anything I do," he spat.
Mrs. Frederic rose her brows only a little, "Those are some big words Bering,"
Hearing her say that, Warren made a pleased expression as if he'd just been patted on the back, however that was far from the case. Mrs. Frederic raised her coffee to her lips, one corner of her mouth raised in the slightest of a smirk.
"Especially for one cowering in fear from a said James Macpherson," she finished with a proper sip.
Warrens face had just fallen short of his lap the moment Artie chanced a peek over in his direction. Noting his friend looked grimmer than ever, Artie nervously returned his gaze towards Mrs. Frederic. As a professional he respected this woman more than any of the so-called business men he worked with on a regular, but all in the same, he was loyal to his friend to a fault.
"Irene, what the hell do you want? Weren't you in retirement? Shouldn't you be in Bermuda or wherever the hell catching up on sleep and watching daytime soap operas?" the overweight attorney's jowls shook as he spoke, he was speaking so fast spittle formed on his lips, "What? Your henchmen dug you out of archives because the gov needed more funding?"
"That's right, I doubt those drones are building theirselves," Warren quipped.
"No boys," Mrs. Frederic spoke lazily allowing the word to exaggerate, both Artie and Warren were softly cracking at their joke about drones and the CIA as they outright ignored her.
"I came here as a warning."
Politeness aside, Mrs. Frederic pushed away her cup and switched her expression to something more severe. As the men hadn't seen her in nearly a decade, six years to be precise, the affect of this new expression weighed heavily on them. Maybe Warren was still playing toughguy but as for Artie, he was regretting having said anything now, he edged his plate closer to himself and tried to focus keeping his face blank of any immediate traces of fear.
"As I recall, 6 years ago marks the ending anniversary of a certain project you were working on, the alleged "private" venture that even the President was waitlisted to gain privy to yet according rumor, all of the worlds most powerful Billionaires and Physicists had banned together in a hush-hush operative to evade the world's ending." Mrs. Frederic was looking directly at Warren, his jaw was held tight and his expression was that of a losing man fighting hard not to fold. "Back then when I heard this news I figured it was another one of those arrogant little games you billionaire clubs love to play so much, and to be precise, I all but swept it under the rug when it was first called to my attention…"
As if to showcase exactly how she felt, Mrs. Frederic carefully flicked the lint off of her blouse.
"So you can imagine my surprise when exactly six years later, just days before the anniversary to date, Myka Bering is kidnapped, and my niece calls to say that her husband, a psychic, knew of her whereabouts and that together feared for your safety Mr. Bering." A saccharine smirk curled at the corners of the woman's lips, "Only the gods could've set up such a fated event."
Milk and cookies forgotten, Artie was entirely still as he absorbed in the words of the woman before him. If he were to turn his head, he would've seen that his friend was in a much worse state. Warren Bering had his hands clamped knuckle white around the armrest of his chair. His nails were dug so tightly into the leather, severe indentations had formed around his fingers. On one hand this could've very well read of pure unadulterated rage, on the other, and this was from Mrs. Frederic's analyst, it was the grip of salvation. Warren would never fix his face to say it, especially to her, but he was close to drowning in this situation. His idiot daughter was missing, with each "tipoff" he was literally losing millions, he just found out his top assassin had betrayed him, and to make matters worse, his billion dollar secret was soon to be no longer a secret. It would be a lie to say he wasn't feeling the worst he ever felt in his entire life. But in a sense, none of these things even compared to the one whooper that was the forefather to all of his ire feelings. If one was to pinpoint exactly where Warren's bad feelings were conceived, a particular breakfast call had been the culprit. Mrs. Frederic already knew about his phonecall from MacPherson and all the others as well. In fact, she'd received one herself just an hour before her plane landed in London for her meeting with Detective Wolcott. Not that Artie or even Warren knew of that.
After a seething moment of silence, Warren Bering fixed his face to speak.
"I got this Irene, I don't need this bullshit I've got enough on my plate as already. How about you do us both a favor and show yourself out the door?" he puffed out his breath, his bravado was too faded to even produce a snort, "In fact, do the world a favor and go back to whatever grave you clawed your way out of."
Artie's jaw dropped.
For as long as he knew Warren, he had always had a scathing way with words. But hearing what he just said right then, Artie was absolutely stunned. Those were the meanest, most disrespectful words he'd ever heard anyone say, and he was an attorney.
Artie's mouth trembled as he quickly tried to come to his friends defense.
"Uh, I, what uh, Warren means is that he's uh, he's not feeling well. How about we put an end to this evening kids, and uh, Spritz to go?"
He pushed the plate of cookies over to Mrs. Frederic as if they were a peace offering. The woman arched her brow at the gesture, she actually seemed amused.
"No hard feelings Artie, but I hadn't imagined I'd be seeing either of your faces so soon into my retirement, but when my own blood became involved in this little nightmare…" hearing his choice description thrown back at him, Warren grimaced. God knew how much this horrible woman had eavesdropped on. Mrs. Frederic's smirk seemed to become more acidic. "This has become as much as my problem as it is yours and Warren's."
Three beats of silence passed as the two forces stared at each other.
Warren had released his hold on his chair and pressed his hands through the little hair that covered his head. Just this morning's stress alone had added a nice crop of grey to his already peppered scalp. With a dramatic exhale, Warren straightened in his chair and humbly as he could began to speak.
"Irene… I never meant to involve you or your family into any of this. I wish I could say I could help out, but frankly none of this is in my control. And to be honest, it's all Myka's fault!"
As he'd heard this rant over a hundred times already to no avail, Artie dipped his head in interest of his cookie plate. Mrs. Frederic being the newcomer, rose her brows significantly high at the accusation. Had either of his guest decided to leave the room at that very instant, Warren wouldn't have even noticed as he was looking off to the side shaking his head in slow disgust.
"Every single thing that has shot to hell within the last forty-eight hour span believe me when I say it, it was of Myka's own damned conniving. She always thinks she's so smart, that she can go over my head with every goddamn thing and undermine me. I gave her too much leeway with that Martino boy and now she thinks she could just drag me around by my balls and I'll bitch up and agree with everything! I'm not stupid, I wouldn't be surprised if the truth comes out that that little ingrate plotted this whole thing as an attack against me and everything I stand for!"
Warren jabbed a finger to his own chest, he was breathing furiously though his nose. He was so wrapped up in his emotions regarding his daughter, he didn't notice that Mrs. Frederic glazed over expression.
"Are you quite done?" she asked.
Warren's mouth hung open for a few milliseconds before closing with an angry snap. Across the room, Artie's face was glistening with nervous sweat, his eyebrows twitched as if they were alive as he stared between his friend and Mrs. Frederic.
"Irene, I think maybe it's time that you…"
One look from the agent, the bumbling attorney's mouth ran dry.
"You're smarter than this Warren, and because I know you are smarter than this, it disappoints me to see that you've fallen this far." Mrs. Frederic's gaze was unwavering as she locked eyes with the green eyed man. In his youth, his eyes were so much like his daughters but with age and bitterness, they'd darkened and become empty. "You and I both know Myka has nothing to do with this. If anything you shouldn't be pointing fingers, you should be putting yourself in the minds of the kidnappers. Why was Myka taken? Why not Tracy? Why not your precious firstborn grandson even?"
That hit a nerve.
Warren's face mottled but he didn't say a word.
"I'm sure you've considered the notion, that if this was a real kidnapping, your grandson would've been best bets. Especially if they wanted money, but have you received a plea bargain yet? Any threats?"
"No," Warren mumbled.
"Not even one." Artie added.
"But I see you had no problem cracking open Myka's trust and giving away to charity."
Arties face burned, he dropped his eyes shamefully whereas Warren only puffed.
"Look, I had legitimate reason for that. I know my daughter, if you knew her the way I do you would've did the–
"It's the premise Bering, what type of statement was that you called yourself making by doing that?"
Warren frowned, "If it were to match half the hell she's given me all the years, it was "Fuck you very much," statement."
"See, that's your biggest problem Warren your head is so far up your rear-end, you don't ever stop to think and look at the big picture." Frederic drawled.
Hearing his friends words echoed back to him, Warren pressed his lips into a tight line.
"I don't know what type of beef this is you have running with your daughter, but listen to me Warren and listen to me good," Mrs. Frederic looked both gentlemen over, her expression was so stern had they not been both obviously grey and several years into middleage, they both could've been mistaken for as naughty schoolboys squirming before a superior. "Whatever it was that you did or were planning to do six years ago, you must end it today Warren. This is blowing out of proportion and you can't risk more of your dirty secrets being exposed."
Mrs. Frederic sat her cup down one last time and stood up.
"In less than an hour, you will receive a call from Detective Wolcott. What he says may or may not jeopardize your evening as you'd planned."
Adverting her attention from the billionaire, Mrs. Frederic exchanged pleasantries with Artie. Though her final words to him hadn't sat quite right, Warren was too stubborn to ask what it was about and could only phantom its implications. For a split second his eye went over to the television and he realized that the early evening news had finally come on. As he'd been waiting for this all day, he turned up the volume and sat back in his seat with his eyes closed, he heard Mrs. Frederic greet Artie goodbye followed by the sound of Artie fumbling with his tin to give the ex-agent a snack for the ride home. He wasn't in the mood for goodbyes of any sort so he didn't even bother to turn around to see her off.
Just as the door closed, Artie's footsteps quickened to his seat.
"I'mma have to make extras of the Bour-BonBon's next time. It seems people like those best despite the alcohol content."
Artie lightly chuckled to himself.
There was more rustling as he moved things around on the table fussing privately about his schedule, cooking, and of course, spending more time with Sally. Warren tuned him out completely to focus entirely on the news. As predicted, his daughter's "kidnapping" was first priority and following this, the Public Relations advisor he'd hired for the occasion was speaking to a reporter about him and his wife's grievances. Though that type of talk made Warren scoff, in a sense they were partially true. Unlike himself, Jeannie had been showing signs of being distraught over Myka's wellbeing and to be honest, she's the whole reason why the search had continued this long.
Warren nodded his head at his PR's wordplay and figured he surely picked the right person for this type of thing. He was going to cut off the TV after the segment finished but following this, a "BREAKING NEWS" story came in.
Apparently there had been a riot at a bank in upstate New York.
"Unsettling events transpired over an hour ago at a well respected New York bank branch. Police and fire department had arrived on the scene after the fire alarm was sounded from a private sector in the headquarters. Once they arrived on the scene, civilians were discovered running and screaming from the building in sheer terror…."
Warren jerked as Artie shook him by the shoulder to get him to open his eyes.
"What?"
"Warren, that's your bank!" Artie yelped.
The billionaire shot a glare to the television. There on the screen, a plaster faced reporter was speaking live on the scene of some place in New York City, her eyes moving side by side as she was obviously reading a script.
"... Investigations will take place as guards were found beaten and others were discovered in a comatose condition thanks to a group of Terrorist…."
As the reporter dropped away from the screen, Smithe's was in full view, patrol cars and ambulance surrounded the base of the building. He only had ten seconds to register this madness before the image cut directly to a commercial.
"What the, are you fucking kidding me? Run it back! Where's that damn remote?" Warren yelled.
He fumbled around his chair and the nearby table for the remote. As he did this, the phone started to ring. On his knee's busily peering underneath the chair, Warren threw his head upwards to shot a glare at the statuesque Artie.
"Are you going to answer that?" he snapped.
"Well excuse me," Artie moodily replied.
After shooting his friend an equally dark glare, Artie wheeled his way over to the phone and picked it up with a sharp jerk.
"Nielsen, what is it?"
There was a pause as Artie placed his hand over the receiver and harshly whispered over to Warren.
"It's that Detective guy."
"What the hell does he want?" Warren grumbled.
Artie leaned back into the receiver to relay, "And I quote him, what the hell do you want?"
More silence followed as the look faded on Artie's face and he'd sobered quickly.
"Oh…I see…Are you certain?"
Artie flicked his eyes over to Warren, he never found the remote and he was forced to turn the channels manually. The effort was a struggle as he was pressing the buttons too harshly so everything was turning too fast.
"No, No…That won't be necessary." Artie concluded.
The portly gentlemen gently lowered the phone back onto its cradle. He stepped back over to Warren's chair and without expecting, he discovered the remote on the side of the lamp where his friend always kept it. His fingers itched to pick it up but deep down he knew that he just was looking to stall. Taking a deep breath, Artie met the eyes of his longtime friend. The billionaire's face was disgruntled as he was holding part of the TV that had broken off in his violence.
"Well?" Warren said.
"It was a match."
…
PART 2 is NEXT chapter, didn't like how it looked on the same page so moved it...