“That would be nice. My sons didn’t have any interest in helping out.”
“What about Margot?” Jigsaw asks.
“Margot’s our cosmetologist.” Cedarwood flips his hand toward the door in a dismissive gesture. “She can’t run the place.”
You favor sons over daughters. Got it.
The casual sexism isn’t my problem yet. So I continue making my sales pitch.
“What’s the catch?” he asks when I’m finished.
“I’ll handle the books.”
“Our bank has a lot of protocols in place to spot any—”
“I’ll handle the banking too.” This is non-negotiable. “And occasionally, we might ask to borrow the facilities after hours.”
That part he doesn’t even question. Just how many off-the-books bodies has Cedarwood burned in his lifetime?
“What did your sons end up doing, if they didn’t join the family business?” Murphy asks.
Not a question I’d planned to ask, but I’m actually glad he brought it up. I want to see if Cedarwood’s answer matches the information I uncovered.
“One owns A-1 Wine and Spirits in Slater.”
“I love that place,” Jigsaw says. “They carry all the good stuff.”
Cedarwood answers with a pinched face. “Yes, James works very hard to stand out from the rest. Aaron is a dentist.”
“He thought fixing teeth was better than playing with dead people?” Jiggy asks.
“We don’t play with our clients,” Cedarwood huffs.
Rock shoots a shut-the-fuck-up face at Jiggy who thankfully sits back and zips his lips for the rest of the meeting.
After our sit-down, Cedarwood finishes our tour of the entire facility, including the family’s living quarters on the third floor and the cremation chambers.
Rock works out the details for our lawyers to get together and draw up paperwork. I’ll have to sit down with someone at Glassman’s firm this week, which will be annoying as fuck, but necessary.
When we’re finished, the four of us stand next to our bikes at the back of the parking lot. Every few minutes, a car drives by, but otherwise, the neighborhood is serene.
“Got lots of room for renovations,” Rock says, studying the wide, paved area. He glances at each of us. “How’s everyone feel about this?”
Murphy shrugs. “Sounds like work for Teller. You’re going to be spending a lot of time here.”
“Once it’s straightened out, it’ll be fine.”
“You’re talking at least a year.”
Does he think I don’t know this? “Don’t worry. I’m not tagging you in for anything other than a visit once in a while.”
“Jiggy?” Rock prompts.
Jigsaw presses his palm to his chest. “You want my opinion?”
“You’re standing here.” Rock tilts his head. “I assume there’s a functional brain between your ears. Any thoughts?”
He glances at me, then Rock again. “I thought it would be creepier but it’s kinda homey. I get that the markups are high, but can the club really make enough bank to justify the hassle?”