Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 60198 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 301(@200wpm)___ 241(@250wpm)___ 201(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60198 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 301(@200wpm)___ 241(@250wpm)___ 201(@300wpm)
Worse still, when I check my phone, there are ten emails from various subsidiaries of the pack’s interests, all looking to me for input and direction. I flick through a few of them, realizing I don’t care about any of them really.
I’ve got to focus on the business at hand, and I’m guessing these people know how to deal with whatever they’re asking me about.
Rainer Katsoff’s office is in a brick building in the center of town, one of the older ones. He’s established himself at the center of the community. I know enough about territorial behavior to understand instantly that is no mistake. His building holds several placards. There’s one naming him as a justice of the peace. There’s another declaring him a property developer. And above that, there’s an even bigger plaque declaring him mayor.
He’s the sort of person who collects every possible position of authority in their radius. I bet he’s the head of the PTA, even without having kids as well. I’d put money on him being the pastor at the local church if they’d let him. Any chance to have power of any kind, and this guy will be gagging for it. I almost feel sorry for him, being this pathetic a specimen.
I walk into the building, up the stairs to the third floor because of course he put his office at the top. Like a cat in a fucking cat tree. The door I open into that office is glass. There’s a reception area, small waiting room, and one door that has to lead to his office. I’d put money on that office taking up the entirety of the floor. This man likes his space.
“You can’t go in there! You don’t have an appointment!”
I ignore the woman wearing a silk blouse with a big poufy bow on the front. If this man wants his office guarded, he needs a more dangerous beast. I’m not afraid of a woman.
The man I’m looking for is in his office, which is ridiculously large. It’s bigger than my father’s old office, and it’s more sparse. There’s something about a very big room that makes men who want to seem big just seem even smaller.
Rainer Katsoff is the sort of man my father would enjoy doing business with. He’s in his sixties with silver hair and deep lines from being a general asshole.
“Karl Dulac,” I say, offering my hand to him as if I have every right to be here.
He takes it and shakes it with a brief, almost rough shake, as if he’s trying to impress me. He can’t impress me. He’s made of flesh and nothing else. He’s human, and as much as he might play power games, he’ll always be human. He can only imagine what it is to actually have the sort of animal power I have.
“You look like you’ve had some rough times,” he says, gesturing to my eye. Most people avoid mentioning it. I can respect his directness.
“Yep,” I say.
“How’d you get a scar like that? Deep and old and in the face.” He draws back his head. “That looks personal.”
“It was personal,” I say. “Real personal.”
He looks me up and down again. “You look like the sort of man who fights,” he says. “A soldier, maybe. But not military? A mercenary?”
While he tries to work me out, and I let him, the door behind us opens.
“You didn’t have an appointment,” the secretary says.
Smash!
That’s a bottle being broken over the back of my head. I drop to my knees as pain bursts across my skull. Bits of glass are stuck in my scalp. I can feel it.
“Ah, hell, Margaret. That was a good bottle of port,” Rainer Katsoff says. “I’m sorry, Mr. Dulac, my secretary can be overzealous in the matter of scheduling appointments.”
I rise to my knees slowly, put my hand to the back of my head, and sure enough feel thick chunks of bottle glass in my goddamn head. I turn toward the woman slowly. I didn’t really look at her on the way in. I saw a vague female shape and an old lady blouse and I figured she wasn’t worth a second glance.
This is the second time in my life a woman has gotten the drop on me. Twice in a week, it feels like. I must be losing my edge.
She’s not as old as I thought she was. She’s older than me, younger than Rainer. She’s dressed older than she is. I wonder if it’s on purpose. I wonder if she’s dressed the way Rainer thinks a lady should be dressed. She’s got dark hair tied up in a bun, and dark eyes half-hidden behind thick round glasses. Something about this tells me she’s hiding. I don’t know what, but it’s like looking at an animal in disguise.
I breathe deep.