The Mistake

Chapter 1 Part 4

"Mr. Bonducci? It's Bondra Croft. I'm calling to talk to you about our arrangement. It seems we ran into a little glitch." She didn't expect Wiggens to accomplish anything, let alone by eight o'clock that night, and waiting for Bonducci to act was not an option. Bondra hoped to smooth the runway a bit and gain some time.

"If you're sellin' somethin' it better be your body cause I ain't interested in anythin' else right now."

"I don't appreciate being spoken to in that manner, Mr. Bonducci, and if I was selling my body it certainly wouldn't be to someone who couldn't afford it." Now are you going to hear me out or what?"

Bernie put down the papers he was looking at and rocked back in his chair. This was some ballsy broad. "Okay, Miss High-Priced Croft, whatta ya want?" Bondra began her spiel but barely a few sentences in Bernie stopped her cold. "I don't talk business over the phone. You want to talk business with me, we do it here, in my office."

"We made our original arrangements over the phone."

"My office."

She counted to ten and released her tongue from between her teeth. "Very well, tell me where you are and I will come right over."

Bondra exited the cab two blocks from the address Bernie had given her. She waited until it was far enough away before starting down the sidewalk to his building. The neighbourhood was middle class in every way, and Bondra immediately slipped on a huge pair of sunglasses, questioning her choice of clothing for this part of town. Bernie's office was in a plain, cement structure with a dark blue awning over the window of an auto parts store that occupied the street level. She pushed through the windowless door into a tiny entry at the foot of a long wooden staircase. Garish wallpaper covered the walls stairs to ceiling, which in turn were sprayed with graffiti, the only break being on the left side, a banister painted black. She climbed the worn stairs and reached the top landing just slightly winded, read the name on the only visible door, and entered.

The change was abrupt and quite jarring. Bernie's office was a picture of taste and breeding, and quite large. She crossed a thick oriental carpet, taking off the sunglasses and taking in the elegant furnishings and accessories with surprise and appreciation. She stopped in front of a beautiful, polished oak desk, behind which the owner of this impressive collection remained seated.

"Mr. Bonducci? Bondra Croft." She held out her hand in a regal gesture.

"Grab a seat." He said, ignoring the proffered hand and continuing to pare his nails with an evil looking knife.

"Nice to meet a gentleman," she replied sarcastically, perching comfortably on an upholstered armchair.

"You're a feisty broad, aren't you?" Bernie folded the knife shut and dropped it in his desk drawer. "So, what's this about a glitch?"

She turned her head and let her eyes dawdle on the portable bar across the room. "The climb up begs something to ease a lady's thirst."

"You wanna drink?"

"Why yes, thank you."

"Help yourself." He watched her with coal black, beady eyes, reading the tension in her body language. When she raked him with a filthy glare and started to rise, he held up a hand. "Take it easy, Bondra. I was jerkin' your chain." Bernie moved easily to the bar and mixed a dry martini, without asking, and brought it to her with a slight bow.

She took the drink, appraising him over the rim, and sipped slowly. He was medium height with short hair, greying at the temples. The face was lightly tanned, close shaven and smooth, but it was the eyes that held her. They seemed to bore right into her head, probing, dissecting. She set the glass on the table, having to reach around him and consequently brushing his jacket.