A Matter of Trust

2 - Meeting Vincent

Vincent Crocadero paced up and down the sidewalk in front of the garage waiting for the valet to bring his car. He was thoroughly pissed that he hadn't reached the woman before lunch; it would have felt so good to brace her over the phone while she was at work, and on an empty stomach.

Now it would have to be when she finished at the office. He reviewed in his mind exactly how he would handle Miss Howard; give her a taste of what it's like playing in the big boy's sandbox.

The car arrived, tires squealing to a halt at the exit, and the young, acne-complected driver emerged, stepping into his booth and punching Vincent's ticket.

"Eleven-fifty, chief."

Vincent glared. "Eleven-fifty! I was only here a half an hour."

"That's why it's only eleven-fifty."

Disgusted, he peeled off a twenty-dollar bill and thrust it at the young man. "I want a receipt for that."

"For twenty?"

"No! Not for twenty, for eleven-fifty. Wise ass."

The young man made change and handed it to him along with the receipt. "Our customers usually tip," he added with a mild sneer.

"Yeah? Well here's a tip for you Jocko, I ain't a customer anymore." Vincent pocketed his changed and climbed into the car, tramping the accelerator and leaving a coat of rubber on the pavement. Through the mirror, he was treated to a particularly aggressive hand signal.

Traffic was a nightmare, construction barricades, delivery vans, and the motorist's bane-pedestrians. Vincent made a sharp right turn, raced half a block to a red light then turned right again and sped north, heading miles out of his way to avoid the downtown congestion.

He returned to rehearsing his coming confrontation with Gretta Howard as he weaved through the city streets. This was going to raise his image in Gravestone's opinion, the establishment of his commandments, his Moses moment.

Grinning evilly, he leaned on the horn and sailed through an amber light, scattering the startled crowd.

*****

Gretta stood behind Arnold until he had finished typing and stopped to read his work. She touched his shoulder and bent down to speak more intimately.

"Could I ask a favour of you, Arny?"

He threw a quick glance about the office to see if anyone noticed his proximity to the desirable Gretta and smiled self-consciously. "Uh, sure, sure you can. What is it?"

She brought a small cloth bag from behind her back and slipped into his hands keeping it low below the desk. "Would you hang onto this for me? I can't explain right now but it would be a real favour if you would take it home with you and keep it until I call you tonight."

"Tonight?" Arnold gulped.

"I will come to your place to get it back."She bit her thumbnail. "It might be late."

"Tonight?" He gulped again.

"Please, Arny? It's really important."

He looked at the bag he was squeezing so hard that his knuckles hurt. "Uhmm, yeah, sure. No problem."

"You're a pet, Arny, thanks." She straightened up and scurried back to her desk.

"Yeah . . . see you . . . later . . ." He opened his desk drawer and dropped the bag inside, this time glancing furtively at his fellow employees. Ha-ppeee Birthday, Arnold old boy, he thrilled to himself.

******

Vincent jerked his head back and swore aloud as the doctor yanked his dislocated finger back into place. He glared sullenly at the other medical people who reacted to the outburst with barely concealed grins and nudges.

"There," the young doctor beamed, "good as new . . . almost. I'll splint it for you and you can take it off in a couple of days and loosen it up." Vincent just humphed a mumble and sat stoically while the splint was applied. "There we go. I'll get you some painkillers in case it acts up a little. It shouldn't, but you never know." He pushed his tray aside and left with a self-satisfied gait.

Vincent examined the splint holding his little finger to its mate and frowned; it looked like he'd jammed his fingers into a toilet paper roll. He cursed and shook his head, reflecting on how he had blown his biggest opportunity.

Gretta had exited the office building and hurried toward the subway entrance only to find him with a huge grin, blocking her path. Without a fuss, she had walked with him to his car and allowed him to drive her out of the city to the parking lot of a community playground where he parked the car and turned to her with his well-rehearsed demand for the statue Gravestone sent to her.

When she refused to follow his imagined script, he had lost his temper, shouting, threatening and finally slapping her hard across the face. Gretta took it rather well, he remembered, considering how his hand had stung. Then she had grabbed his fingers and snapped them back with such excruciating pain he nearly fainted.

While his mind struggled with the turn of events, she reached across, opened his door and shoved him out onto the lot, driving off in his car. His Car!

The doctor returned with a small packet of pills and with a brief instruction for their use, saluted smartly and left for his next challenge. Vincent hopped down from the gurney and fumbled into his jacket, trudging out of the hospital with murder on his mind.