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It was going to be a great summer.
CHAPTER 3
Easton
“Hey, man. Do you want to grab a beer in celebration?”
Marcus had more than his usual shit-eating grin on his face as he swung into my office. He’d been my buddy since we’d both arrived at the university about the same time. With his expertise in psychology, we’d had lively discussions late into the night over a bottle of gin while playing cards. Hell, the discussions had often become existential, leading us to weird and wild conspiracy theories, each one of us trying to top the other.
He’d even mused on psycho killers, as he’d started to call them, enjoying my take on the dark and evil men of society. Marcus Shelton was a little psychotic, and the kind of guy who refused to talk about his awful family he’d disowned.
That made us far too similar in nature, which had led to several bizarre conversations over the last couple of years.
“I have a mountain of papers to grade. You should too.”
“Yeah? So what? All work and no play. Come one. Let’s grab one beer.”
I laughed and shoved my laptop into my briefcase, glancing up at the clock. “It’s not even three-thirty in the afternoon.”
“So the fuck what?” He tapped his index finger on his watch. “You know what they say. It’s five o’clock somewhere. But in my mind, it’s always time for a cold one.”
I had to admit I’d been keeping my nose to the grindstone over the last few weeks in both illustrious careers, including my work as the CFO of the Saint Corporation. We’d been busier than I’d been able to grab a handle on, our lucrative weapons and security system designs sought after by almost every government in the world. While our less than scrupulous business activity was down in comparison to this time last year, I still had my hands full juggling two full sets of financials.
Anyone who believed that powerful crime syndicates didn’t take business seriously was a fool. “Yeah, fine. But one beer. One. Do you hear me?” I pointed my index finger at him, as if that would deter the man from trying to pull me into the dark zone.
“I heard you.” He held up his index finger in return yet entirely different than I was doing. “Just one. I promise.”
“Uh-huh. Which bar?”
“Let’s go to our favorite dive bar. What do you think?”
As if there’d been any other choice over the last couple of years.
The place reminded me of the one I’d been in the night before, only closer to where I lived and worked. It wasn’t the typical college kid haunt, which made it more attractive. “Let me finish what I was doing, and I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
“Hell, no. I’ll drive. I know you too well. Remember, brother?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“The faculty Christmas party where you said you’d be right there and jumped ship. I almost sent a search party out after you, especially since I was stuck flirting.” He laughed as my mind drifted back to that night. The Angel of Death had made an unexpected appearance, the first in a few months, the asshole janitor trying to assault a student at one of the residential facilities the night before. I’d followed him home, using a wire to slit his throat.
“When has flirting ever been an issue for you?” I chided.
“When it was with Mrs. Olsen.”
“Ouch,” I said, laughing softly. The woman was likely more than twice my buddy’s age. “Sorry, dude. I just had a family situation to deal with and you know it.”
“Yeah, so you said but you hate your family. Anyway, water under the bridge. Come on. One beer won’t take up that much of your oh-so precious time.”
“Asshole.”
“Yes, I am. Proudly so.”
I glanced around my office, grabbing a couple of my personal books I’d yet to have time to look at, shoving them under my arm before snatching my keys and heading out of my shoebox-sized office, shutting and locking the door. “Maybe a beer will taste good.”
“That’s the spirit.”
We chatted about basketball and our plans for the summer as we walked out into the parking lot. Suddenly, I lost him while I was discussing the best team in the industry. I stopped short, turning and trying to figure out what he was looking at. “Something wrong, bud?”
