“Much obliged, Virgil,” I smiled.
“Not a problem. My wife loves the paintings you’ve put in our living room. She swears by your work.”
“Happy to contribute. Tell Mary-Ann that I send all of my love.”
“Will do, darling.”
We waited outside in the sedan for a few minutes. Finally, an officer escorted Lex out of the building and removed his handcuffs, pointing towards our vehicle.
When he climbed into the car, he gave me a quick glance of acknowledgment. I wasn’t sure how much of my irritation to convey, so I simply kept a strong, impartial face.
Jess, meanwhile, immediately slapped him.
“Do you have any idea how difficult you just made my job for me, with that bullshit stunt of yours?”
“A… little?” Lex asked, nursing his cheek.
“Arrested! Arrested, on battery charges and disorderly conduct! What the fuck, Lex? How the shit do I spin that to Brett Barker?”
“Maybe he doesn’t have to know. They dropped the charges Jess.”
“They’re going to know. They’re probably printing up tomorrows tabloid as we speak. ‘Lex arrested for beating American youth!’, what the hell were you thinking?”
“There’s something you don’t know,” he elaborated, his eyes still focused on her. “I was setup. Alistair Pritch was in the crowd, and he knew exactly what was happening.”
“Alistair Pritch… is here?” Jess asked.
“The one and only,” he continued. “He was there in the crowd, grinning like a goddamn fool. He paid that kid to start a fight with me and take a fall. He played me like a damn fiddle.”
“You’re certain,” Jess asked.
“Yeah. Why?”
“Because Alistair should be in England right now… I’m going to have to check in on that and see what I can pull up…”
“Who the fuck is Alistair Pritch?” I finally asked. Whoever he was… if he was here in town, and they were that bothered by this fact, then I figured I should have a little knowledge about him.
“Alistair is one of my teammates,” Lex answered. “He’s an old rival from back when we were on opposing teams. Right now, he’s a subordinate on the National team, but he’s clearly angling for my sponsorship contract… and he’s followed me here to set me up.”
“Why would somebody do that?” I asked.
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Jess said. “Last time the tabloids had a spread on Lex only two people knew where he was holed up, me and Alistair. It was no coincidence the paparazzi showed up.”
“He wants my sponsorship… And he’s going to get it.”
They spent the car ride back discussing a plan of action for containing the aftermath of the arrest.
Worries for another day, he’d said, although Jess seemed rather less than convinced.
Jess dropped us off at the curb by my apartment. “It’s only a brief walk if you need to come back,” she told him before giving me a wink. “Try to keep him from getting into any more trouble tonight, yeah?”
“I’ll do my best,” I responded.
She headed off into the night, and the two of us stood in silence at the door to my apartment building. Lex scraped the toe of his sole against the pavement, wrists in his pockets. He looked so different now. Was I really going to do this? Could I really just let all of this go and invite him up?
“So…” Lex spoke, glancing up at my building with that trademark smirk of his returning. “I just got out of jail… Fancy a fuck?”
That accent… The words dripping off his lips… Yeah, I fancied it just fine, but I couldn’t go through with it. Not like this.
Maybe he’s not so changed after all.
“No,” I answered, unsure whether or not I believed the word as it came out of my mouth.
I turned my back on him, ascending the stairs to my apartment building. Half of me expected him to grab my wrist – and I’d snap at him over it, but maybe, just maybe, I’d let him pull me into a furious embrace and breath the fire in my lungs...
As I turned behind the door, I saw one last glimpse of Alexander Lambert. He stood at the edge of the curb, staring at me like a broken man. We made eye contact for a fraction of a second before the door fell shut.
Lex
Two days later, I stepped off of an airplane into the Heathrow International, crushed beyond recognition. I looked like such a mess that, even with just a thin hoodie and a pair of sunglasses, nobody recognized me as I navigated towards a taxi and back home.
It had all come crashing down around me.
Riley Ricketts was gone.
The Patrovo sponsorship was gone.
My rival Alistair Pritch had won.
All that I had left was Jess, and she was absolutely furious with me for fucking things up so badly. She barely spoke to me on the flight back, electing to get into a separate taxi and head back for her small countryside cottage.
In truth, I barely had her at all.
Three hours of traffic and drizzling rain later, my driver pulled up to the gates outside my lavish home. He finally realized with one look at the house that I was loaded, but still couldn’t seem to place me.
“You some kind of big deal, brother?”
“Not anymore,” I told him, slipping a substantial tip into his hand. “Not anymore…”
I realized that he was ignoring my words – mostly because his eyes were too busy counting the bills I’d handed him. He glanced back up at the gate, and the driveway that stretched beyond it. “You want me to take you up to the door? Looks like quite a walk.”
“Absolutely not,” I told him, pulling the hood up as the dismal rain rose in volume. I closed the door and let myself through a side gate, and then carried my suitcase up the lonely, sluggish route to the front of my small mansion.
Lambert House was priceless, mostly due to the sheer size of the property and the thick virtually impregnable wall surrounding it. It had belonged to a Duke of some nature, living out here in the countryside. A summer getaway spot for royalty...
I called it home.
My eyes scanned the windows in the distance as my shoes sloshed through the mud. Even with all this pea gravel, it did barely anything to hold back the natural consequences of consistent rainfall.
Chet, my groundskeeper, was sailing towards me in his little covered cart, maneuvering around thick puddles and loose, soggy earth to skitter to a stop near me.
“Mister Lambert! This is no weather to be taking a walk, good sir! Let me take you inside!”
I nodded, although I doubted he noticed the gesture in the rain. Instead, I lugged my suitcase onto the back tray of his cart beneath the canvas bonnet of the vehicle, and took a soaked seat in the passenger’s chair. He took one forlorn look at me before driving us towards the manor steps.
“Permission to speak freely?” He asked.
“Granted.”
“Mister Lambert, I’m afraid that you look positively dreadful.”
I laughed heartily to myself, naturally alarming him. After I wiped away the uncomfortable, dripping rain from my face, I commented: “Let’s just say I’ve had a rough couple of days.”
He kept his eyes forward, carefully whizzing us through patches of solid ground. “I take it that America didn’t treat you kindly, then?”
“My trip was… complicated.”
“Ah, I see.”
Of course, he didn’t really. But the sympathy was appreciated, and we sat in silence for the last three minutes of the drive.
Once I’d pulled myself indoors, a maid brought me a towel and took my suitcase up to my main bedroom. There were only a few members on my staff, but they acted quickly and diligently at my appearance, already having some arrangements made as soon as I appeared within the gates.
A fresh change of clothes – my usual business attire – was ready for me in the foyer. I wasn’t particularly feeling myself, so I left them where they were and wandered upstairs, changing into something a little more