"New York Harbour," Max ordered, and he slipped into the back of his father's limousine. The chauffeur, who had been standing outside, tipped his hat in response, then he closed the passenger door and took his own place in the driver's seat. When he set the vehicle in motion, it lurched forwards, but the ride slowly smoothened out as they took to the road. Behind the tinted windows of the Cadillac XTS, the bustling streets of New York gradually descended into twilight, marking yet again the end of another busy day.
Max leaned back with a relaxed sigh, crossing his arms—or atleast attempting to. The insulated down coat he was wrapped in was so thick and pudgy that it limited all movement, making him resemble the Michelin man. Albeit his Eskimo attire was a crime punishable by death in the fashion world, the temperature outside had plummeted to 'glacial' over the course of a couple of hours; he preferred not to risk pneumonia for the sake of looking good.
The interior of the limousine, however, was a different story. Maybe the chauffeur had an issue regulating his core body temperature or something because the man had raised the intensity of the heat to the extent that Max was practically melting into a puddle on his seat. He was tempted to lower the partition glass to talk some sense into the driver, but for once he was in a pleasant mood, and thus preferred not to annihilate it with trivialities. He resorted to unzipping his coat and chucking it on the seat across him, but when he remembered the consequences of his impulsiveness, he immediately gathered it up, wrestling it in place on his lap. His father's ominous words echoed in his ears:
Use my limousine to get home tonight, he had said, his benevolence a rare gift, but if I find even a single scratch on my leather seats, I will not hesitate to emasculate you.
Max subconsciously placed a hand over the crown jewels, quaking in fear at the thought.
He reached up and absentmindedly ran a hand through his hair, his thoughts careening off the potential nightmare towards the lunch with his father. The food was truly exquisite, as it emulated the true elegant and rustic nature of French cuisine. It had been a while since Max had been able to share a bite with him, as the two seemed to live seemingly disjointed lives, but he had felt a sense of accomplishment when his father had invited him out. He was proud of him, and although he hadn't used that exact word, Max could sense it in his actions. Although the confession hadn't eroded Max's bitterness towards him, it had succeeded to scratch its surface.
Words would never be enough to recuperate years of dereliction and anger, but it had sufficed for the duration of their rendezvous. Over a Blanquette de Veau and a Pot-au-feu, the bleak and cold afternoon was forgotten over meaningless talks of current events and their respective lives. At one point, Max had even brought up the strange encounter his father had had with his subordinate, hoping for an explanation. But his father's face had turned to a mask of stone, and so he had decided not to press any further.
It did give him food for thought as he wondered what their short conversation had been about. It could have been about Max's earlier denunciatory monologue, but at the same time, it could've been about something completely different, and worse. Either way, Max didn't dare bring it up again, as he feared that his father's explosive temper would get the better of him and cause a scene.
Alright, maybe his mannerisms were more refined than that, but at times his father's behaviour was highly unpredictable, so it was better not to play with fire.
Now, rather than going home as his father had instructed, Max was on his way to the harbour. He needed to discuss his recent findings with his cousin, and hopefully, get him to give him a list of the names of his underlings.
Max was pulled out of his reminiscing from the slow buzzing of the partition window rolling down, which revealed the illuminated road and the nocturnal traffic ahead.
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Deadly Secrets
General Fiction[NOW FEATURED IN GENERAL FICTION!!!] Everybody has secrets, something to hide. Some say your secrets are your blood; when you shed too much of it, you die. For Zara DeRealis, nothing is as heavy a burden as her tempestuous past. Orphaned as a young...