Page 42 of Wicked Roses
“People go out of town all the time! I was visiting family. You’ve got a problem with that? Take it up with my lawyer. I haven’t been charged with nothing.”
“I expected a better story. Visiting family, were you?”
“That’s right! My Aunt Fiona’s birthday. Want her number so you can call her?”
“Alright, Ralphie. I believe you.” I move over to the sofa and sit down so that I’m opposite him on the recliner. “You’re store manager of the Mobile Planet, right?”
“So what?”
“Bet you sell a lot of phones. What’s the most you’ve sold in a day?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know.”
“Here’s your chance to brag on your profession and you’re sitting here moping like the fat kid chosen last during a dodgeball game. What woman would give up pussy to a man lacking so much confidence?”
“A hundred,” he blurts out, his face reddening. “No, a hundred and fifty!”
“Finally some confidence. You probably have girls all over you wanting cell phones.”
“Maybe... some ladies...”
“There’s one phone in particular I want to ask you about.”
Ralph’s gaze shifts from me to the door. Stitches has returned with the supplies I’ve asked him to pick up. An instant line of sweat shines on Ralphie’s forehead.
I’ve wasted enough of my Sunday on him. I snap my fingers and force his attention back to me.
“A phone purchased at your store belongs to someone I know. Can you guess who?”
“I can’t control what people do with my merchandise!”
“You’d think so. But the situation’s very interesting. A couple weeks ago, you hit one of my men’s kids with your car. That kid had to go to the ER. My guy couldn’t show up for his security shift. Something very bad happened that night; something he could’ve caught before had he not been at that ER.
“Then, we find out the guy who was supposed to replace him had his phone hacked. Guess where we traced it back to? A phone bought atyourstore. It gets worse. After some digging into your sales history, we discovered Giorgio Belini is a customer of yours.”
“So what? I have thousands of customers—”
“I don’t believe in coincidences. Who do you work for, Ralphie?”
“I’m a store manager. I’m my own boss!”
“You must think I’m easily fooled. Is that what you think? I’m a fool?”
He gives off a nervous laugh. “I’d never think that. You’ve got to believe me.”
“Giorgio hired you to do a couple jobs on the side for him. Is that it?”
“I swear on my Aunt Fiona I haven’t had a thing to do with him—”
“Nobody gives a fuck about your Aunt Fiona, Ralphie,” I say bluntly. I taste my whiskey, letting another few seconds pass us by. “We checked your financials. You’ve been struggling. Your house. It’s being foreclosed, right?”
“Money troubles. Who hasn’t had ‘em? I’m. . . I’m working hard to get on the right track.”
“Except, we found something interesting. Certain deposits into your account.”
“This the part where you try and catch me up? I ain’t talking ‘cuz I ain’t got anything to hide! You’re barking up the wrong tree.”
“Some hefty paydays you’ve been receiving from somebody named Volchok. Care to tell me who that is, Ralphie?”