Banksters 50: Transcendent

But the bouncer did. He heard the difference, and when he pulled the curtain back he saw the difference, too. He threw Dylan against the far wall, and shoved Ryan to the floor, where he stomped on his chest. Before either Morgan could even ask a question as to what had happened, he was on the phone with the police.      

“You don't understand,” Dylan said as he was being led away in cuffs. “She begged us for it, she was practically demanding it. Tell them.” He looked at me, himself begging.  

“She wanted it? That’s your excuse? Kids these days. Christ,” I said, and shook my head.

“Sir?” the policeman asked me. I was disappointed it wasn't the pretty homicide detective, but of course nobody had died, so there was no reason it would have been her.

“At first, everybody was having a good time, but you know these trust fund kids, they took it too far, you know? And when I tried to stop them,” I pointed to my swollen jaw, “they hit me, put me out cold. But how is she?” I nodded in the direction of the coat she left behind when the paramedics took her away.

“Hurt, but most of the damage is superficial. And psychological.”

“It's just... you go most of your life, feeling like humans are better than their instincts, that we're civilized and we've risen above all of that. But under it all, we're animals. Ready to do terrible things to other people to get what we want.”

“Yeah.” It was in his eyes. He'd seen that world I was alluding to. He worked in it. Breathed it in. He had a ring on his finger, and every time he thought about Grey, he touched it. She either brought out his protective instincts, or reminded him he needed to beat his wife some more.  

When I was done with the police, went back to the office. I still smelled of sweat and sex, and I knew I should probably shower. But I'd spent so long working, fighting, for this moment. I didn't take the elevator. There was a single glass stairwell on the south side of the building, with a view of the harbor. I wanted to savor every moment of my ascension.

When I got to the executive floor, I wheeled Richard's chair by the window. I checked them all, to make sure they were locked, because I was wary of becoming some kind of Icarus cliché. And I sat, for hours, looking down at the city from my new perch.

When she was released from the hospital Grey came looking for me. The fact that she found me without having to call, or even question, made me feel warm inside. Julee understood me, like an entomologist understands a beetle, on account of having some similarities. But Grey got me, without trying, without needing to.

She sidled up to my chair and straddled me. Even in the limited light coming off my desk lamp, I could tell her face was misshapen, swollen and bruised around her lips, her right eye, and cheek, with several smell cuts to punctuate it. “I don't know if it's a turn on right now, but the police confiscated my panties. Under normal circumstances, sure- but the Morgans did not pull their punches.”

She felt self-conscious, beat up like she was. “You were wonderful,” I told her. “More than transcending your physical beauty. If I weren't tired from taking the stairs up here, I'd have you over the desk right now.”   

“You're full of crap. But it's nice of you to say,” she said, resting her head against mine. “What's next?” she asked, and I was certain she meant more than our Morganciding scheme.

“There's almost literally no one left. The board was going to name me CEO a few days ago, had it not been for George- who at the time they could have potentially sought out, but didn't. And now, after Hookergate, they'll find a way to strip him of his vote.”

She got up off my lap, and walked to Richard's liquor cabinet, and got us each a glass of his best brandy. “And the Morgan twins,” I continued, “thanks to an inspired evening, are going to lose their vote, as well. The board will probably beg me to take the post, now.” She handed me on of the glasses, and clinked with me as she sat side-saddle on me lap.

“You've got the power, the booze, the girl, what do you want now?”

“A trip to Disneyland?” I asked, not quite sure what she was getting at.

“I was worried you'd never stop looking, for more.” It was the same self-consciousness from a moment before, and again directed at herself.

“I think you misunderstand me. Most of my relationships have been means to an end- which I'm sure you can sympathize with- and I mean that both professional and personally. But more? From here, I can't imagine what more there could be.”

“You'd better mean that,” she said, and kissed me very softly on the neck, “because you're not the only one who knows how to push people out windows.” She hopped off my lap, and jogged on over to Richard's flat screen TV. It was the evening news. At first, it was just the wrap up of a segment on pet hats being sold to benefit a local charity, but then they broke away for continuing coverage of a developing story.

I recognized the picture immediately, but it took me a moment to hear the words the reporter was saying. Sam Warwick was shot in a break-in at his home. He was dead. “What did you do?” I asked her.

“Consider it a wedding present.” She kissed me. Well, she kissed me and put her hand down the front of my pants. But that seemed like a slightly less romantic note to end on.