As promised, part two. Enjoy an Erik/Meg catfight and a plot twist at the end! Much love to my beta, PhantomSith.
Left to his own devices, Erik closed his eyes and took a deep, cleansing breath, relishing the quiet solitude now that he was alone. The pain in his stump had ebbed into a dull but tolerable ache, and his heart slowed to a relaxed, measured rhythm.
Though his mood had soured, he had managed to find the calm in the storm. Turning back to the table, Erik removed the flute from the solution, placing it on a small towel for drying. Once he had finished wiping it down, he took a cloth-wrapped brush to the inside, giving it a thorough cleansing.
It wasn't long before he had it reassembled, the flute looking as good as new. Returning it to its case and then to its shelf on the wall, Erik pulled down a French horn. It had an unfortunate dent in the mouthpiece and was in dire of polishing.
Without the stress of Annette's incessant interrogation and any further unwanted interruptions, Erik became so engrossed in his work that he was heedless of the passage of time or anything else going on outside the confines of his sanctuary.
He was buffing the many valves and tubes one by one. It was intricate, tedious work that had him absorbed in concentration until a burst of laughter drew his attention. His head snapped toward the door, his eyes narrowing in irritation at the disruption to his focus.
From all the background noise, he surmised someone must've been standing at the front door. Erik had an exceptional sense of hearing, enhanced by years of musical composition, and over the bustling din of the city, he was able to hone in on two distinct voices, both young women. One was high-pitched with excitement and seemed to be talking up a storm. The other was much more subdued.
The front door closed with a thump, the vibration causing the chimes to jingle once more and the racket outside to cease. Also gone was the second, softer voice that Erik could swear reminded him of…
No. Don't be foolish, he admonished himself.
He pushed those thoughts out of his mind with quick efficiency. Christine wasn't here. Annette had told him as much. It was her day off, and he imagined she must be at home doing…whatever she liked to do in her free time. Like any person, he knew she must have a life apart from her job. It would be inappropriate of him to demand more of her attention than was reasonable at this stage of their…relationship.
The woman traveled further into the store and soon began a sarcasm-filled back-and-forth with Annette. Erik recognized that nasal intonation in seconds, the polishing cloth he held beginning to crumple under his now vice-like grip as disappointment filled him when he realized it was Annette's daughter, Meg.
A selfish part of him was desperate for it to be Christine. Needed it to be her, though he knew he should not feel this way. Worse, he was not unaware of where these emotions were coming from which gave Annette's assertions a worrisome amount of weight. More than he was willing to accept right then.
This train of thought was becoming overwhelming, and continuing to expend an increasing amount of energy on it was eroding Erik's self-control inch by inch. Focusing his motivation elsewhere was the only way he could keep his mind centered – and off of notions with dangerous implications.
He returned to polishing the horn, forcing himself with dogged determination to ignore all distractions. That lasted all of about ten minutes before Meg burst through the workroom door with all the subtleness of a category-five hurricane. She was carrying a package, various letters and other pieces of mail stacked on top of it as she sauntered in.
Meg's attention seemed to be diverted. She wasn't looking in his direction, her head turned toward whomever she was talking to as their conversation droned on. "You know you're too good for me, Ned!" She called out to their mailman, her voice saccharine-sweet, and was just swiveling to face Erik's way, teasing, "Besides! What would your wife – oh shit!"
She was so startled by his – or anyone's – presence back there at that time of day that she almost lost her hold on the package as she stumbled over her own feet. "Jesus, Erik! You scared the holy hell out of me!"
The arrogant little smirk that stole across his face lasted only a moment while he tamped down on the urge to laugh. Instead, still polishing, Erik tried to respond with bored nonchalance but instead wound up throwing out a biting remark at her expense. "By sitting and minding my own business? I suppose I should be flattered, but I know you tend to forget that some of us do actual work here."
Not missing a beat, Meg walked over to Erik's table and dropped the package she was holding right on top of his tube of polishing cream with a clunk. Whatever was inside the box must have been a bit heavy because the cap flew off and skittered across the room, the tube going instantly flat as the ointment splattered all over the completed horn pieces.
"Oh! I'm so sorry!" Meg's hand flew to her mouth as she feigned surprise. Her smile was far too overblown to be anything but phony, her giggling 'apology' the picture of innocence. "I mean…you do know how forgetful I can be."
If Erik had been a less disciplined individual, there was no doubt he would have throttled Meg by now. He was exerting a tremendous amount of restraint as it was out of respect for Annette, whose friendship and trust he held in high regard despite their often-heated differences of opinion.
Rage was simmering just underneath the surface of his well-cultivated façade, and Erik felt it brew to a slow boil as he walked with haste over to a rack of storage containers against the opposite wall. He jerked open a drawer, pulling out another towel and a handful of new cleaning cloths.
Erik turned back to the table and laid the towel out, preparing to move the soiled horn pieces over to a fresh work surface for re-cleaning, but her actions had thrown him off balance so much that he couldn't concentrate on anything but the slight tremble in his hands and escalating heart rate.
Rather than risk damaging the delicate pieces, he leaned forward and grabbed the edge of the table, his long, slender fingers latching on with a punishing grip.
Breathe in. Breathe out. Relax. Be still, Erik recited the mantra to himself. Once. Twice. Three times, until calm began a slow descent.
Grip loosening, the color returned to Erik's hands in slow increments as he retook his seat on the stool. Now transferring the pieces with slow, practiced movements he snarled, "That was an exceptional display of childishness."
"And you're an ass, but hey, nobody's perfect." Meg punched back with expert precision, long used to their verbal jousts. It was par for the course in the strange relationship they'd developed over the years, like that of estranged siblings who care about each other but make a concerted effort to avoid crossing paths.
"Was there something you needed, 'Little Miss', or was annoying me your idea of fun?" Erik bit out, well aware of her extreme disdain for the nickname he'd given her not long after they'd met. He knew she hated being treated like a child, this point having been the cause of a great many arguments between mother and daughter.
"I wasn't trying to –" Meg responded with an offended bark but cut herself off from further reply, huffing out a frustrated breath because she knew attempting to argue with him was pointless. "Look, I had no idea anyone was back here, all right? I've never known you to set even a toe out of that cave of yours before dark unless there's a disaster of epic proportions, so spare me your righteous indignation."
Sitting back with his arms crossed, Erik reiterated his earlier question, his patience growing paper-thin. "Again, what do you want, Meg? Thanks to your passive-aggressive temper tantrum, I have twice as much work to do, and my tolerance for your petulance only goes so far. Get. To. The. Point."
"Fine! Geez. Someone crawled out of the wrong side of the bed this morning." Meg continued to poke at him without remorse, shooting him a withering look as she crossed her arms and leaned her backside against the table. "Daae sure knows how to pick 'em."
Erik's ears perked in an instant at the mention of Christine, his gaze snapping to Meg. Did Christine tell her what had happened? He knew they'd been close friends since childhood, so the idea that they shared intimate secrets was not out of the realm of possibility. Still, in the short time Erik had known her, Christine didn't strike him as the type to make idle gossip about her personal life.
Like him, Christine seemed to prefer to keep things close to the vest, so it struck him as odd that she would be so forthcoming. However, he also knew that Meg could never let a matter drop when she believed something to be amiss. She was unrelenting in a maddening way, even more so when a friend was involved.
"Well, I guess there's no accounting for taste. Not that I'm judging or anything, you know. Anyway," her tone became syrupy as turned around to face him, leaning her elbows on the table. She picked up the mouthpiece it took him over half an hour to remove a dent from and began tossing it back and forth between her hands. "Speaking of our mutual…acquaintance…I was wondering if I could ask you for a massive favor."
Gesturing at him with the hand holding the mouthpiece, she was quick to continue before he could cut her off with what she was sure would be a negative reply. "And before you say no or tell me to get lost, I want you to know that this isn't for me, all right? It's for Christine. Remember that."
All he could see were the oily fingerprints she was leaving all over the mouthpiece that he'd worked so hard to restore. He'd like to break those dainty little fingers right now, but that would only serve to anger Annette. Rather, he conceded that if he kept quiet and appeared to listen to what she had to say, Meg might finally leave him in peace.
And this is about Christine, Erik's mind reasoned as he made his decision.
Plucking the mouthpiece out of her hands before she had any opportunity to react, he set it down beside the other pieces on the clean towel. He then returned his attention to the small brass tubes she'd made a mess of, muttering, "Go on."
She stood there, stunned into silence, hands frozen in front of her as if she were still holding the tiny item. Lips pursed, Meg rolled her eyes in annoyance and began to explain, "See…there's this guy I've been seeing for a while now – and if you tell my mother you will live to regret it – and we were planning on going to the Loft tomorrow night. That's a club up –"
"I know what it is, Meg," his tone was acidic as he cut her off. The assumption everyone had that he was oblivious to the outside world was grating. "Moving on."
"Um…ooo-kay," she acquiesced, the squeak in her voice laying claim to her nervousness. "Anyhow…it's pretty low-key, so I thought it'd be a good place for Christine and me to hang out. No pressure, you know? Just some drinks and dancing. It's been a long time since she went out and had some fun. I thought this would be a great way to…get her back in the swing of things."
"But see… since my boyfriend coming with us, Christine's gonna think she's a third wheel. And I don't want her to feel that way. So…I was kinda hoping…since you two sorta…like each other…you might want to…come with us?" Meg could already see Erik's head shaking in consternation, the 'hell no' on the tip of his tongue, so she threw in a last-ditch hail Mary. "I mean with her! With Christine. I mean…you wouldn't want her to have a terrible time…would you? Not after everything she's been through…"
She was batting her eyelashes at him as if that would somehow help weaken his resolve. Not a chance in the seventh circle of hell. His whispered reply was sharp enough to cut glass. "Do not try to sweet talk me, Meg. You have no idea what you ask. This may be beyond your ability to comprehend, but I am not comfortable in that kind of environment. My reasons for this should be more than obvious. Find someone else."
"Hey! Don't get all 'high and mighty' with me!" she clapped back, sick of his condescending tone. She rolled up her figurative sleeves and went in for the kill. "Look, it is a big ask. Of course, I get that. Despite your low opinion of almost everyone, Mister 'I-have-an-ego-the-size-of-a-mountain,' I do understand. More than you know."
"Not so long ago, I was Christine's shoulder to cry on during the most difficult time in her life. She shut herself away from the world because the pain just got to be too much, no matter how hard I tried to get her to let me in. You two have more in common than you realize, you know. Did you ever stop to think that maybe that's why you managed to connect with her when the rest of us who've known her most of her life couldn't? All I want is for her to have something to hold onto that might bring her happiness again, and I would hope if you gave a damn about her as much as I think you do, you'd want the same."
Fuck. How am I supposed to argue with that? he admitted to himself, the implication clear.
For once in his life, Erik had no witty comeback or cantankerous rejoinder to spew to disabuse her logic. He did care about Christine, with a fierce intensity that bordered on frightening. He knew from terrible experience what it was to feel the weight of loneliness upon one's soul; what it was like to be shattered into a million pieces, bereft of all hope.
He would never want that for Christine if it was within his power to prevent it. Doing this for her would require an enormous sacrifice on his part. He'd be throwing the privacy and solitude that he coveted out the window…but just thinking about her sinking back into that cold, desolate place he knew all too well…
He couldn't stand what it would do to her because he'd been engulfed in that abyss every moment of every day for the last five years. Letting Christine in brought him to a place of solace he didn't think he'd ever have again.
As much as it pained Erik to admit, Meg was right. Even after knowing each other little more than a day, he could deny Christine nothing, and he would pay any price to receive the gift of her smile.
"All right." Erik sighed in beleaguered resignation, that inflexible wall he'd built around himself losing yet another brick. "I will accompany Christine to this…club. But don't expect me to mingle. Or dance. I will sit with her to give her comfort so she will not feel left alone. I make no further promises."
"Yes!" Meg fist-pumped the air, exalting in her success at closing this deal. Erik's unflinching stubbornness meant convincing him to do anything was like pulling teeth, but she knew just what to say to make him crack.
"Thank you, Erik!" Meg squealed, and he winced, the high-pitched noise like fingernails on a chalkboard to his sensitive ears. She was about to give him an elated hug when he put a hand up between them, pulling back with an emphatic headshake.
Not in a million years, blondie, his mind shuddered.
"You won't regret this, Erik. I promise," Meg tried to assure him, her toothy grin beaming.
"Now, will you please leave me alone?" Erik asked, arching a weary brow. "I have work to do."
Meg stuck her tongue out and blew, almost spraying Erik in the face. "Party pooper." He narrowed his eyes, daring her to continue trying his patience. "Fine. Be that way."
She shrugged, turning away and strolling toward the door. "Later, jerk," she crooned as she disappeared into the store.
Less than a second later, Erik tossed back a biting, "Be gone, reprobate."
To his concerted relief, no one else dared to bother him further for the rest of the day, and Erik managed to finish cleaning and reassembling the French horn by close of business. Annette popped in once or twice to ask if he wanted something to eat, and he suspected she was trying to make a show of goodwill, but he wasn't hungry. Nor was he in the mood for distractions.
She bid him goodnight at five o'clock, and he heard the soft patter of feet as she and Meg left for the evening. There was the click of the light switch, the snick of the door being locked, and the whine of the security gate as it was pulled down.
And then…blessed silence.
Erik spent the next several minutes packing up his supplies and clearing the table of trash. He could've stayed for a few more hours to work on something else, but it had been a trying day, and he was worn out. He wasn't used to being up so early, and fatigue was starting to weigh him down, his back and leg stiff from sitting in one place for far too long.
Erik clicked the light off and locked the door behind him, then hobbled up the stairs to his apartment. He used the bathroom and made himself a simple dinner of tomato soup with half of a baguette.
Drying his dishes a short while later, Erik considered heading out to LaGuardia to have some time at the piano but in the end, he found he was just too exhausted. Deciding a nap would help ease his aches and pains, he clicked off the living room light and ambled into the bedroom.
He dropped onto the bed, his limbs becoming heavy as he used the last of his energy to remove his prosthetic and lay down on top of the covers. He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.
In Erik's dreams, his mind was filled with song - a nocturne brimming with emotional conflict. It was a tale of love unrequited and sounded very much like his final composition. This time though, instead of an abrupt and jarring end where the piece was unfinished, it shifted into something new, the ethereal whisper of a beautiful aria joining his melody.
He couldn't make out any of the words, but that didn't matter. When the two, distinct strains became one, the result was the most perfect symmetry that he had ever heard.
Erik couldn't discern the singer's features, as she was draped in a hooded cloak and hidden behind wisps of smoke. But he didn't need to see her to be certain of who she was. He would know Christine's beautiful voice anywhere.
As the song began to reach its natural end, her voice fading away, he reached out in a desperate attempt to find her in the shadows, to no avail.
"Christine!" Erik shouted, his eyes shooting open and his hand extended outward as if he was grasping for something in the nothingness. His gaze made a rapid sweep of the room with some deep-seated hope that he would find her lurking in a darkened corner or sitting at the foot of the bed, watching him with a bemused grin.
But there was nothing. No one. He was dejected to find that he was alone, as always.
He rubbed his eyes with the edge of his palms as he let that reality sink in for a moment and let out a long sigh. It soon turned into a yawn and then a full stretch that allowed him the pleasure of feeling his back crackle and pop.
Erik sat up, running a hand through his mussed hair and looked over at the small clock on his nightstand. He wasn't sure if what he was seeing was correct, but the strands of moonlight spilling across the room confirmed that his eyes were not betraying him.
It was almost nine o'clock. He'd been dead to the world for over three hours. It was hard to believe his sleep had been that deep, but the vision he'd seen had been so…vivid. So…real. Erik had fallen so far into the vision that he had a hard time leaving as his body came to wakefulness.
Reattaching his prosthetic, Erik limped over to use the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face to shake off the last vestiges of slumber. The extended rest had made him feel much better, but now his mind was on overdrive with a desperate need to make what he'd experienced in his dream a reality.
After the accident, he was in too much pain at first to even think about writing anything. While in rehab, he fell into a deep depression, unable to accept the truth of his new situation as he vented his rage at anyone who crossed his path. Finishing the composition had become a distant fantasy.
Just thinking about the piece only served as a bitter reminder of all that he'd lost and would never have again. Erik couldn't even bear to look at the sheet music for fear that it would break him even further. But neither could he dream of parting with it. That nocturne was the culmination of everything he'd spent close to a decade working towards.
So, he told his mother to pack it away with the rest of his belongings and put everything into storage. He no longer cared what happened to any of it after that, but when she later remarried and had to sell the house, Erik was well enough by that point to get over there and remove what was his before her piece of shit new husband tried to throw it all in the trash.
Now, standing in front of his bedroom closet filled with trepidation at opening this scrapbook filled with splintered hopes and broken ambitions. There was a fair amount of anticipation coursing through him too, as his mind screamed at him to bring this spellbinding piece of music to life.
Erik rummaged through the totes, his fingers finding the smooth leather of his beloved old violin case. Lifting it out and setting it on the bed, he snapped the clasps open and lifted the lid, a fond smile spreading across his face as he once more laid eyes on the resolute old friend who had graced him with countless beautiful harmonies over the years.
Passing his hand over the once-smooth cherry-colored wood, Erik could feel the smooth, polished wood beneath his fingertips. The case had done well to protect his violin from the elements, despite years of disuse. He traced the strings, plucking one and then another. They were rusted and needed replacing, but that was an easy fix. Still, the sweet sound was a balm to him after so long without.
Turning back to the tote, Erik dug a little further until he reached what he believed to be the handle of his old sheet music portfolio. Grabbing and pulling, he managed to uncover and haul it out. The case was made of butter-soft, deep red leather and embossed with his name on the front in a silvered, Victorian-style font: Erik LaGarde.
Erik held the case in his hands as if it were his most precious possession. For most of his youth, the papers it held were his entire life. His eyes watered as he let the memories wash over him. He remembered when his parents had first given it to him when he was twelve years old and just starting middle school. They knew even then that he would be destined for great things. Looking at it now, he was assaulted with the unrelenting reminder that, for all their faith in him, they would never see that future realized.
A lone tear fell from his eye and ran in a slow rivulet down his unmasked cheek, and he took a ragged breath, blinking his eyes hard to regain his composure. Erik knew he couldn't keep doing this anymore. He couldn't keep allowing himself to drown in the nightmare of his fall from grace.
Erik took the portfolio and violin into the living room, setting the instrument case on the coffee table as he sat down on the couch. Positioning the portfolio on his lap, he grasped the zipper and pulled, opening the case with deliberate slowness. Spreading it out, the hardcover sheet music holder attached inside fell open as well, thick with his many compositions.
The oldest ones were at the bottom, written when Erik was just a child, but it was the topmost sheet that held him in thrall. It was his most recent piece, the one that he had poured his heart and soul into over his four years at LaGuardia. This would have been his final grand presentation and a chance for the scouts from Julliard to see Erik in his element.
His acceptance to the renowned university had been a foregone conclusion, and at the time, he'd been excited to start this new chapter in his life, having the honor of studying under the most prestigious musical scholars in the world.
He ran a trembling hand over the sheet of parchment, relishing in the sensation of the dips and whorls of his penciled notes under the pads of his fingers. At the top of the paper was written the title, in his flowing, immaculate script: Le Melomane.
The Music Lover.
Determination settling in his bones, Erik leafed through the pages until he reached the last one, casting his gaze downward to the final section. It was incomplete, lacking only a few more measures to make the piece whole.
He set the folder on the table in front of him and pulled some unopened strings from a compartment in the case. Picking up his violin, he began the process of removing and replacing the old ones and then tuning the keys until the instrument sounded just as he remembered. Erik gave the bow a generous coat of rosin and now ready, slid the instrument into place below his chin. Before he could write, he had to play. To remember the piece as it once was, so that he might hear her voice with it and know what he wanted it to be.
Erik began to play, and it was as if all the years of tragedy and heartbreak fell away in the unearthly cascade of his song. Though the piece would always be meant for the piano, translating it to the violin diminished none of its splendor. As he lost himself further into the music, Erik could hear Christine's waif-like voice inching forward and growing with an overwhelming intensity of emotion as it joined in perfect synchronicity with his music.
As the melody reached a crescendo, Erik's flowing movements came to an abrupt halt. Breath caught in his throat as newfound inspiration surged through him like a bolt of lightning. Erik knew now what needed to be done.
He set the violin on the table and pulled fresh sheets of parchment and a pencil from the portfolio's pocket. Then…he began to write.
Erik buried himself in a haze of frenzied composition for what felt like hours. In truth, he had no idea how much time had passed, but that was the least of his concerns. When all was said and done, his original nocturne was no more.
What sat before him had the same foundation as the original piece, but it was now entwined with the beginnings of a brand-new aria. Bursting with unbridled passion, Erik had imagined an epic saga of love and devotion born out of horrific tragedy.
It was nowhere near done, but Erik wasn't worried. Even the most famous composers couldn't work miracles overnight. Despite his fevered accomplishment this evening, it would take many more days, perhaps weeks of unwavering commitment to see his new arrangement to fruition.
Now, though, Erik had a desperate need for the fruit of his labor to be performed in its proper medium – on the grand piano. There was nothing for it. The violin was no longer enough. He had to have the resonant acoustics of the practice hall.
LaGuardia it was.
Erik packed up the portfolio, locked up his apartment, and made his way outside. He faded into the shadows as he swept through back alleys and around darkened corners, keeping to older or abandoned buildings as he headed to the school.
He made short work of the back door and soon found himself in the practice hall, seated at the baby grand. Opening his portfolio, he removed the new pages and laid them out on the sheet music holder. Not wanting to delay any further, Erik's fingers danced over the keys, the new notes and refrains caressing every facet of his soul.
The nocturne ebbed and slowed as Erik reached the last measure he had worked on, and his hands stilled. Gazing at the sheet music with a new light in his eyes, understanding dawned with crystal clarity. He was always meant to compose this piece, and no one but Christine could sing it.
Erik slipped the key cover closed with a soft thud, ghosting his hand over the fallboard and buoyed by a renewed sense of optimism. Pulling out his pencil, he inscribed the piece with a title that was a perfect blend of the past and the future.
Les Melomanes. The Music Lovers.
Satisfied he'd made enough headway for one day, Erik packed up his things and headed out. As he passed through the darkened hallway leading to the back door, he noticed a small sliver of light emanating from a point in the distance.
A feeling of foreboding overcame him as he proceeded onward toward the source. It was out of the ordinary for there to be any lights left on at the school overnight, other than the customary exit signs and safety bulbs.
Erik conceded the possibility that the janitor may have missed something, but the likelihood of this was low. They had been laid off in droves the past year, and he was sure any one of them still working would not risk the chance of being fired.
As he inched forward, his vision coalesced, and Erik was now able to discern that the glow was coming from the door to the basement. Walking up to it, he could see that it had been left ajar just enough to allow those slivers of light to peek through.
Now Erik was sure something was wrong. The janitor was responsible for ensuring that all offices and storage areas were locked and secured before he left for the night, and the basement was the most dangerous place in the entire building. No doubt he would have double-checked that the door was locked and bolted before any other room, to say nothing of leaving the light on.
He could just walk away. Leave well enough alone. But he would never forgive himself if something terrible had happened, and he did nothing. Besides, the only other time he'd found this door left open –
No. Not again, Erik's mind railed. His hand curled into a fist, a flash of intense anger overtaking him as he had to force himself not to punch the wall.
"Damn." He swore under his breath. "Dominic, you reckless moron. What the hell have you done?"
This couldn't be happening. He'd been more than clear the last time when he'd told – threatened - those three overgrown idiots with an obscene amount of pain if they continued to involve him and the school in their fucking business.
He didn't want to believe that they'd do something so stupid again, but his cousins weren't the sharpest tools in the shed. He couldn't leave without being sure, and he wasn't about to let someone from the school make a dangerous discovery.
Walking with caution down the steps, Erik made it to the bottom and began a search of the room. He concentrated on dark corners, hidden nooks, and areas where he knew the floorboards were pliable. He didn't find anything in the place where he'd come upon their stash before, but he didn't think he would.
They might not be the brightest minds in the world, but he doubted they'd use the same spot twice.
Nothing appeared out of place. Erik was starting to think maybe the janitor did screw up and he was just being paranoid when he happened to notice that an old exhaust vent behind the water heater was uncovered.
Could they have…? Erik wondered, stunned. Perhaps he had overestimated their intelligence.
He wandered over to the opening and peered inside, at first unable to make out much of anything in the small, dark space. He moved further in and, sliding his sleeve over his hand to avoid leaving fingerprints, extended a hand into the blackness, rooting around for something anomalous. In just moments, his fingers passed over what felt like smooth fabric.
Hooking a covered finger around what he thought was a pocket flap, he slid the object forward. Erik was careful when undoing the zipper because it was difficult to feel the clasp under the fabric of his jacket, but he was just able to make out the contents through the small fissure.
It was money…and a lot of it.
If he could guess, it was probably payouts from shakedowns or laundered funds out of one of their supposed 'legit' businesses.
Erik couldn't let them do this again. He had warned them – in explicit terms. He didn't know why he was so surprised that they wouldn't listen.
He had to call the police. He had no choice. But if he did…
Erik knew his late-night excursions strained the boundaries of what was legal in the eyes of the law. Still, what he'd found was far worse than him trespassing on private property.
It was a risk he had no choice but to take.
Erik remembered the detective in the RICO squad he'd talked to the last time this happened. Maybe, if he was lucky, the guy would give him another break.
He went back upstairs and picked the lock on the door of the nearest office he could find. Picking up the phone and taking a deep breath, he dialed the number that would connect him directly with the detective's desk at the precinct…and waited.
It rang once, twice. Erik counted the seconds as tension flooded his gut. On the third ring, someone answered with a tired, "Coffey. It's your dime…"