Lost in the Shadows

Chapter 2

                   

Max reached for the bourbon, decanting it from the cut-crystal bottle and into the squat tumbler at his elbow. He'd drained the last glass so quickly that the ice hadn't even started to melt yet. The rich, amber liquid burnt a path down his throat as he swallowed, thin lips pulled back in a grimace as he pushed the wire-framed glasses back up along the strong slope of his nose with a long finger.

'Can I tempt you with another?' he asked his companion, tilting the un-stoppered carafe towards the empty glass on the table. 'No?' he laughed, taking in the silent shake of the head at his question. 'Well, I'll certainly not say no.' For the third time, he topped up his own glass though he sipped more civilly this time. The ice clinked against the crystal tumbler as he leant forward and set his drink down, resting his elbows on his knees.

'Let me clarify the situation here,' Max leant back in his plush armchair, clearly uneasy. He crossed one leg over his knee, his loafered foot jigging as he caressed his smooth upper lip with a single finger, eyeing the man opposite him. 'You are planning to relocate to Santa Carla and you need my assistance in doing so?'

'I need your assistance only momentarily, my friend. Santa Carla has already become our home, I would like to say you're on to a good thing here. However, moving as we have done comes with great risk.' The tone was smooth and resonant, lilting with a delicate European accent - Italian, perhaps? It matched the stocky man's sleek, dark exterior. His narrow eyes, lending him a permanently suspicious air, took in Max's disquiet with silent amusement. 'Let me speak plainly, my friend. We need jobs.'

'Jobs?' Max laughed, relaxing a little, though the sound was edged with a shrill nervousness. 'Jobs I can do! I have perhaps one of the most extensive business profiles in all of Santa Carla. What kind of business were you thinking?' He drained his drink, setting the glass back down before he stood up and twitched at his sharply creased trousers, crossing the spacious lounge to open up a filing cabinet tucked away in a corner, beside his expansive marble desk.

Max was a tall man of middling age, his mousey brown hair flopping over his wide forehead and brushing the tops of his ears. His round, thin rimmed glasses often slid down his nose and the overall look, when coupled with his en pointe cutting edge suits, was too try-hardy. He began to flick through the manila folders suspended in the top draw as the shorter, darker man came to stand beside him. He was almost as broad as he was tall, his thick black hair which had been swept back gleamed in the light of the Tiffany lamp on the desk.

'Perhaps we should stick to stereotypical ideologies? In which case, a restaurant I think.'

Max chuckled and slipped a folder from its identical mates.

'I may have just the thing. A nice little tourist trap on the Boardwalk. Santa Carla is a hive for visitors all year round, not just the summer season. How long do you think you'll be with us here?' He handed over the folder to the other man, who flipped it open immediately and began to scan the business details listed there, lingering over the average turnover of covers per night.

'Ahh, we're in no hurry my friend. This seems a friendly place, full of the right kind of... custom.'

'The police are prominent here, especially on the Boardwalk. You'll need to exercise a great deal of caution,' Max warned, still feeling unsure. The other man laughed, slitted eyes glittering as he clapped his new partner on the back.

'I'd expect nothing less from the Murder Capital of the World,' he said. 'Makes life a little more interesting, more of a challenge I think, no?'

Max swallowed mirthlessly, wondering what the hell he'd just agreed to.