Charade

Vic

Mr Wright's building was just as I remembered it – stale, crisp-white walls, plush red seats, well-dressed men and women, and an abundance of strange, abstract art. Benjamin looked around like a child who steps out into rain for the first time – some potent mix of awe and wonder, with the tiniest amount of confusion.

"Where are we?" He asked.

We approached the receptionist desk where a petite twenty-something year old sat, wearing a pair of thick black rimmed glasses, blue button-up shirt, and a black skirt. Her auburn hair was tied back in a slick bun and her smile was polite but meaningless.

"How can I help you?" She asked.

"We're here to see Mr Wright." I told her, admiring how naturally beautiful she was.

"Do you have an appointment?"

"We don't need one. Tell him it's about Mr Lustig. He'll know what you mean."

The secretary, who I'd never laid eyes on, dropped her polite smile.

"I'm sorry sir, but Mr Wright is very busy."

"I assure you, Miss, whatever he is doing, he is not too busy for what I have to say. Now please, go get him. He won't like it if I leave without seeing him."

The girl looked at me, puzzled, but did as I said. Benjamin pulled me aside.

"Vic, why are we here? Who is this Mr Wright guy and who the hell is Mr Lustig?"

"Calm down. Like I said, you're only here to observe, so when we get in, don't talk."

"Mr Langley," the secretary said again, calling me over.

"Yes?"

"Mr Wright will see you now."

I nodded.

"Thank you."

I led Benjamin away from the pretentious lobby and to the elevator, where he stood anxiously beside me, fiddling with his hands while we waited for the doors to open.

"What's wrong?" I asked, sensing the discomfort.

"Nothing," he said quickly. "Just not a fan of elevators, is all."

I held my hands in front of me, wondering how long it had been since I was here. Fifteen years? Twenty? It seemed like only yesterday. When the doors opened, we both stepped inside and Benjamin's anxiety scale sky rocketed. I might not have had his sixth sense, but I wasn't too old to read body language. Tapping right foot, cracking his knuckles, jittery stance. The poor boy was terrified.

"Why elevators?" I asked.

Benjamin smiled nervously.

"It's a long story."

I squinted at him, trying to figure out what he meant, but the doors dinged open again before I could. We stepped out into an office space, filled with segregated cubicles and unhappy people yelling into phones, and walked through a maze of chaos to the only proper office in the building. Luckily, Mr Wright found comfort in familiarity, and his workspace was the same as I remembered. I knocked on the clear glass door and he waved us in from his desk.

"Victor," he said, scribbling something down at his large mahogany desk. "Who is this you have brought with you?"

"He's my partner, Mr Wright." I told him, sitting down.

"You know I don't negotiate with liabilities in the room."

"Then I assure you he is not," I told him. "It's been a long time, Mr Wright."

"So it has been, Victor. Oh, you, boy, shut the door, would you?"

I glanced around as Benjamin stood there awkwardly, pausing for a second too long, before closing the door and sitting beside me.

"Well we both know why I'm here, Mr Wright."

"Yes, of course."

"And our terms remain the same?"

"Absolutely."

"Good. September 2nd, 2p.m."

"Agreed. Now get out."

I got to my feet, nodding my head sideways at Benji to tell him we were leaving, and was endlessly amused by how confused he was. He shrugged his shoulders at me, but I just made the same gesture again.

"Thank you, Mr Wright." I said, leading Benjamin out into the cubicles of chaos again.

"Vic," Benjamin said, struggling to keep up as we strolled towards the elevator. "Would you mind telling me what the fuck just happened?"

"Negotiation, Benjamin." I said, pressing the elevator button.

"Negotiation for what?"

"Well, Mr Wright is an old friend of mine."

"Didn't look too friendly to me."

"He's rough around the edges, but he's good for business. What you just saw there was us negotiating a time to bring in a tourist and pretend this is all ours for a few short hours while we pull the biggest scam you've ever witnessed."

I looked to Benjamin, smiling, watching his confusion.

"Benjamin," I said. "We're going to sell the Adelaide Casino."

© A.G. Travers 2015