"What the hell did you expect me to do? Run her off the road like they do in the movies? Make her car go up in flames on Route One? I'm a mechanic, not a fucking stunt man! You wanted 'an accident'. That's what you got."
"What I got was nothing!"
Avram slammed the phone down. He fell back into his chair. A furious scowl twisted his face as he obsessively turned the pen in his hand.
Why can't she mind her own business?
He took a deep breath, and exhaled.
She doesn't matter. She's not going to affect the deal with Holiday.
Avram slipped on his tailored jacket, carefully tucking the pen into the inside pocket. He stepped out of his office, locking the door behind him.
"I'm leaving now, Barbara. I'll be in tomorrow."
"Yes, Mr. Solomon," said the office manager.
He ignored the sales activity as he crossed the showroom floor. He was headed for his Jaguar, blatantly parked front and center outside, much to the consternation of his own salesmen.
Sliding in behind the wheel for the short drive to his Beacon Hill townhouse, thoughts of Julie O'Hara intermingled with Avram's plans for the evening. He had a call girl coming to his house and he was looking forward to it. She wasn't going to enjoy it, but that was the point, wasn't it? Otherwise, he wouldn't have to pay her. Too bad it wasn't O'Hara.
Avram was a dangerous man. And he was fully aware of it. The epiphany had taken place when he was eleven. It began with a fight. He chuckled, remembering it.
I beat up the fag. I caught him in my bedroom.
Marc, who was eight, had to be taken to the hospital. They had recommended that Avram get some help with "anger management".
After several visits and tests, the psychiatrist had telephoned his mother. Avram had picked up the bedroom extension as soon as he'd heard his mother say, "Oh, hello, Dr. Weissman..."
The doctor proceeded to tell her that, in his opinion, Avram was a sociopath and not likely to change. The doctor apologized about having to give her such an "unwelcome diagnosis". He suggested that she might want to get a second opinion. Oddly - to Avram - his mother never took him to another shrink and never mentioned Dr. Weissman's call to his father.
The very next day, he had looked up the word sociopath in the school library. It was enlightening. Simply put, Avram didn't care about other people. He could hurt them without "caring" about it, and they sensed it. It was just a confirmation, really. Avram had always noticed the fear in their eyes, how they moved out of his way. But now he knew why. He was wired differently, and he was glad. But he was also smart. This was an advantage that had to be handled carefully. Although he enjoyed thinking of himself as a lone wolf, he saw the advantage of pretending to be like the sheep and deliberately set about deceiving his parents, particularly his mother. He controlled himself with Marc thereafter, too.
He smiled, disdain etched on his face.
The psychiatric literature said that people like him had no "moral compass".
He laughed out loud.
They didn't realize that he was North on their stupid compass and they were all simply relative to that.
Or not.
Life had evolved into a sophisticated game for Avram. Moving among the sheep and manipulating them.
Of course, the money was important. The player with the biggest pile was the winner. And so far, Avram had over $6 million in the Caymans.
He chuckled.
I win.
* * * * *