Jonah McAllister turned his full attention to me. A thin smile pulled up his lips, although his face had been so sandblasted by Air elemental magic, no lines appeared anywhere. The curve of his lips did little to disguise the cold, calculating glint in his eyes. Still, he had a presence about him, a commanding sort of air that probably made people promise him their first-born, if only he'd give them a moment of his time. The hard stare made me want to chuckle. McAllister was nothing compared to some of the folks I'd been up against as the Spider.
"Now, Ms. Blanco," he said in a smooth voice. "Let's talk. "
"Sure," I replied. "Let's chat. "
"Now, I know about your difficulties with my son the other night, but you have to realize that he just wasn't feeling like himself. Were you, Jake?"
Jake McAllister stared at the floor. "No," he muttered and kicked the underside of the booth opposite him.
Jonah nodded his head at the expected answer, no matter how sullen, fake, and reluctant it had been. "As you can see, my son feels terrible about his part in the incident on Monday night. I came here today hoping we could resolve this situation without any further interference by the police or the court system. What do you say?"
For a moment, I just stared at him. The man had a set of silverstone balls, I'd give him that. Jonah McAllister had nerve to spare, coming into my place of business and trying to talk his psychopathic son out of a lengthy jail term. I thought about stringing him along, pretending to be the weak, country bumpkin he so obviously thought I was. Letting him try to manipulate me the same way he did all those juries, all those people who tried to stand up to Mab Monroe. It'd be a hell of a show, if nothing else. But I had other things to do today, other problems to take care of, namely finding out why Tobias Dawson wanted Violet Fox dead. I didn't have the time or more importantly the inclination to go along quietly. Besides, I'd never been good at playing the victim.
"Let's be clear," I replied. "You're asking me to drop the charges against your son, right? Recant my statement to the police, refuse to testify, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. That's what all the eye contact, oily words, and fake charm are about, yes?"
Jonah McAllister frowned, taken aback by my blunt tone. His eyes narrowed, and I met his gaze with a level one of my own. Something in my gray eyes must have registered with him, because the smile dropped from his face. Time to change tactics.
"All right," Jonah McAllister said. "You want to be compensated for your trouble. I can certainly understand that. "
He reached into his suit and pulled out a slim black checkbook and a matching Mont Blanc fountain pen.
"How much do you want?"
I laughed.
The chuckles rumbled out of my throat like motorcycle exhaust. Low, thick, black. Once more, McAllister's lips tightened into a thin, hard line, even if the rest of his face couldn't follow suit. The attorney didn't appreciate being laughed at. Too bad. Because he'd just tickled my funny bone with his blatant bribery attempt, whether he'd intended to or not.
"Sorry," I murmured. "I didn't actually expect you to bring your checkbook along, much less whip it out. You certainly have a style about you, Mr. McAllister, trying to bribe me in my own restaurant. "
"I'm just trying to get this mess taken care of, Ms.
Blanco," McAllister replied in a smooth tone. "It's not the first one I've cleaned up for my son, and I'm sure it won't be the last, no matter how many reformatory schools I've shipped him off to over the years. So why don't you just answer my question, and we can be done with this little charade. "
I raised an eyebrow. "And what charade would that be?"
McAllister allowed himself a brief chuckle. Low, thick, black, just like mine had been. "The ludicrous idea you're going to testify against my son in any court of law in Ashland or anywhere else. The absurd notion I'd ever allow such a thing to happen. "
"It's not a charade, Mr. McAllister," I said. "I fully intend to testify against your son - and there's nothing you can offer me to get me to change my mind. Certainly not money. "
Jonah McAllister leaned forward. His brown eyes burned now, though not with Fire elemental magic. Instead, the lawyer put the full force of his charm into his gaze. "Come, come now, Ms. Blanco. There's no need to play the upstanding citizen with me. I've researched you. You're an orphan, aimless, a drifter who lucked into running this restaurant after the owner, the distant cousin who took you in, was murdered a few months ago. Hell, you can't even decide on a major so you can graduate from the community college you take so many classes from. "
Good to know the Gin Blanco cover identity I'd worked so hard to build over the years had passed the thorough inspection of someone like Jonah McAllister.
But that didn't stop the knife of pain that sliced through me. Because his words were truer than he realized. I had been something of a drifter, aimless, until Fletcher's murder.
That brutal event and its aftermath had made me take a hard look at my life - and made me start to change.
I was still a work in progress, but I'd be damned if Jonah McAllister was going to threaten anything that was mine.
McAllister took my silence to mean I was considering his proposal and decided to up the ante. "Besides, I'm certain there's something I have you might find of value or interest. "
I shook my head. "You don't have anything I want, McAllister. Not a thing. Now why don't you drop the charade of a concerned father just trying to do what's best for his son? We both know little Jakie is an embarrassment all the way around. Did he tell you he was going to kill two girls just for kicks?"
"Shut up, bitch," Jake growled from his booth. "Or I'll fry your ass. "
I stared at him. "You don't scare me, Jakie. I would have thought our encounter the other night would have proven that to you, even if you were high on your own Fire elemental magic at the time. "
More sparks of hatred flashed to life in Jake's eyes, and the red, magical rage slowly filled his gaze. Jake opened his mouth, but his father held up a manicured hand. It was as free of wrinkles as his ageless face was.