Color Me Pretty: A Father's Best Friend Romance

I dropped the file onto the glass desk that was too flashy for me but perfect for the egotistical asshole sitting behind it. He looked down at the manila folder in front of him for a microsecond then moved his eyes upward with an arched brow that held amusement more than confusion. For someone in his early fifties, the fucker’s speckled gray hair was faker than he was, like he thought it made him look more distinguished.

“I was wondering when you’d pay me a visit,” The Dick said all too casually. I didn’t sit in the seat he gestured to or reply when he’d offered me a drink. I didn’t want to stay longer than I needed to, and I certainly didn’t want to drink whatever he handed me.

“Anthony Saint James,” were the only words out of my mouth.

The other eyebrow raised to join the first as he leaned back in his chair. I didn’t like the way he draped his arms on his lap or how he cocked his head to the side for me to continue without so much as a question as to why I was bringing up a dead man. We both knew the reason. He just didn’t think he’d have to hear about him again. Plain and simple.

I pointed toward the document. “I don’t know who’s cock you had to s

uck to try getting those documents destroyed, but clearly you’re shit at a decent blowjob since it didn’t take much to collect information on what you’ve been up to over the years.”

The moment his face turned red, I smiled. Tendons in his neck tightened and my anger grew for the bastard who acted like he didn’t give a shit about anything or anyone. Least of all a man he hired somebody to get rid of. “You come into my office and—”

“It’s annoying, isn’t it?” I cut him off. Shrugging, I leaned my hip against his desk. “I’m curious, though. What made you think that getting Rodney Scott a new gig over in the San Fran area was going to get him to keep quiet? Was it threatening his reputation? Or his sexual orientation? Fuck, maybe it was the dirt you dug up on how his marriage was fake. Deidra Scott took that money you offered her real quick, didn’t she? Can’t say I blame the woman. It must have been challenging to watch your husband parading men around her all the time knowing she was the last person he was giving his dick to.”

His nostrils flared. “You want to explain to me why you’re bringing up Saint James’s defense attorney? Seems a little pointless at this point, doesn’t it?”

That made me laugh. Loud, deep, rumbling laughter escaped my previously pressed lips, only flattening his more in reaction. He loved watching people when he played the game, but he was shit at taking it. “I’m sure you’d like to think so considering the circumstances of his untimely death.” His jaw ticked as I pressed on without giving him time to argue. “It’s not a secret that Rikers Island is known for their unjust brutality. In fact, with the right amount of money, anybody could get away with a few crimes inside. You already know that though, so I’ll skip ahead to the good stuff. Phone records. Video recordings. Oh, and one very talkative guard with an overbite. Officer Johnson? I’m sure you know the one I’m talking about because you padded his bank account with over $100,000 dollars just weeks before Anthony was beaten to death in the section he was supposed to be monitoring that night.

“Come to think of it, the video alone says plenty. But you didn’t know that because the money you gave him was blood money to ensure the cameras were turned off during the attack. The phone records may not reveal a lot in the grand scheme of things because Scott wanted one on one time with Saint James without being recorded to go over their meetings, but your name was said enough to make the federal judge question why you weren’t more involved in questioning during the trial. You and Henry Murphy sure were lucky all this time. Must have been a relief knowing you two could keep living your lives knowing somebody else was taking the fall.”

Slowly, Pratt stood up with a deadly glare on his face. He didn’t even touch the folder I dropped in front of him, much less look down to figure out what was inside. I’d wanted him to, to see what kind of evidence was stacked against him so he knew he wasn’t the invincible asshole he thought he was. Money talked. Counterfeit money talked louder. Other businesses Pratt was known for, drugs, weapons, sex trafficking, practically screamed. As did the audio of Rodney Scott and Anthony Saint James discussing appeal tactics by gathering names to help prove Anthony didn’t act alone. “I’m giving you ten seconds to get the fuck out of my office before I call security to escort you out themselves.”

I figured he’d say that, but I didn’t give up the smile I’d had since seeing his eyes glaze over with the fear he pretended not to feel. “You know George Malik, right? Real standup guy, that one. He was arrested and put on trial for stealing government funds while he was in office, remember that? Got away with it and to a lot of people’s shock. There was a great writeup on it in The Times by Nicholas McAllister. From what he told me, he had a great approval rate because of that piece. Was even offered a hefty promotion that came with a raise The Times couldn’t afford to pay out. Seemed fishy to me. So did the interviews with Malik that nobody else could get besides him. He said he had connections to get him on top, make sure he told the right story. Not the truthful one.”

He picked up the phone and held it to his ear pressing one of the buttons leading out to the front desk I passed when I stormed in. “Daphne, I need you to call sec—”

“Nicholas McAllister had connections beyond you though. Slimy motherfucker was working both sides. Playing you. You don’t even know that do you? Michael Flamell ring a bell?”

He dropped the phone back into the cradle with force before narrowing his eyes at me. “What game are you playing here, West? Don’t think I won’t play it right back. I have—”

“What?” I challenged, stepping forward and crowding his space. “What do you have on me that’s as bad as first-degree murder on top of a slew of other charges which are coming your way? Whatever hold you think you have on me is worthless compared to what’s in that folder right there, and the folder in Flamell’s hands as we speak.”

“Who the fuck is Flamell?”

I chuckled. “Your problem, Richard, is that you only care about power. You think the more people you control, the more money you can make, and the more authority you have over everyone else. What you forget, though, is that you’ll never be able to control everybody that works under those you blackmail. People talk. Things get out that you don’t want out. Like the operation you got in the south side of the city on 10th. Or how about the one three places down from the old warehouse on 5th? I remember you at Anthony’s funeral looking like you actually gave a shit for about two seconds before someone came over, whispered in your ear, and you both left. You went to the old shoe factory, right? Makes sense given what’s made in there. There’s plenty of space, lots of filtration so the people you hire don’t die from the toxins of the drugs you have people produce and distribute.”

He paled.

“Back to your question. Michael Flamell is a friend of a friend. A trustworthy friend, unlike the jackasses you pretend are yours. Can’t exactly be friends with the people you blackmail into giving you control of their businesses to use as strongholds for your dealings. That tends to piss them off.”

I’d hired Dallas for a lot of reasons, but one of the biggest being his former background in criminal justice. He worked for the police force upstate before moving to the city and retiring when his wife and him decided to expand their family. He was offered a gig working for the NYPD because of his reputation, but he turned them down. He’d gotten calls from the chief asking to help with a few profiles, which was how he got into tracking. He accepted smaller jobs along the way which led him to me. I knew the tasks I’d given him weren’t what he was used to, but I paid him well and offered him plenty of incentive when the situation called for it. And the best part? He came with connections. A lot of them.

Not to mention, he cared about Della. That reason alone made me pay him more than most so he’d stick around and look after her.

“This friend told me about Flamell a while ago, said I’d be interested with the intel he had on a high-profile case right here in the city. Wasn’t quite sure why the fuck I’d care, frankly, but when your name was mentioned?” I didn’t hide the shit-eating grin on my face. I relished in it—relished in the fact his lips turned downward, how his face drained of color, because he knew. He knew where I was going with the story, knew who my friends were. I didn’t have many, which meant targeting the ones that were around wasn’t hard. Which also meant he knew who Dallas was, including his background. He had people for that too.

“Flamell wears a badge now for the feds. Made real good friends with McAllister from what I learned after our conversation. In fact, between him and McAllister, I found out you and Flamell have a lot of mutual buddies. He enjoys talking to them as well. And guess what, fuckface?” I grinned. “They like talking to him too.”

“You’re lying.” He didn’t even believe that, but it was about time he tried acting like the powerful man he made himself seem. He knew he didn’t have any of his men here to get past what I was laying down. He had nobody.

“Am I?” I challenged. “If I’m lying, you wouldn’t hesitate to open that folde

r to prove me wrong. You’re a coward, Richard. Always have been and always will be. See, you may be able to scare other people into doing your bidding, but unlike the other scum you keep around, I don’t get mixed up in the dark side of the city. So, you can threaten to out my feelings for Adele all you want but it won’t make a difference.”

He stepped up to me with hard features like he was willing to throw down. The fucker was a few inches shorter than me, leaner, and had barely any muscle because he let everybody else do the fighting for him. I could take him down with one punch, but I knew I wouldn’t need to. “How do you think people would react if Adele were caught with drugs? Do you think they’d leave her alone knowing she was starting where Daddy Dearest left off? Just because you don’t want anything to do with the dark side of things doesn’t mean your little young pussy doesn’t.”

I wanted to hit him—to cave his face in with one blow. But he was expecting that. It’d look bad, even with Dallas and Flamell in my corner. They wouldn’t be able to stop me from getting arrested if they knew I threw the first punch and I wasn’t about to let The Dick get to me like that. “She doesn’t do that. You’ve been talking out of your ass about her for months and have no goddamn proof, so I suggest—”