Dead Wrong (A Cal Murphy Thriller Book 7) Jack Patterson (good beach reads .txt) 📖

Do something quick.

“Look, I know how you feel. I don’t get paid either, so I’m in the same boat as you.”

Tonya huffed. “Same boat as me? I don’t think so.” She turned around and stared through the glass window onto the streets of D.C. below. “This is your office and you’ve got plenty of other athletes who break their backs for you so you can get your fifteen percent of their mega contracts and—”

Perry stood up and stamped his foot. “Without me, they have no mega contracts. You understand that?”

She spun around and glared at him. “Yeah, I understand. I understand you’re a snake, leaching off of someone else’s talents because you’ve got none of your own.”

“Sounds like we’re cut from the same cloth then.”

Tonya’s eyes narrowed and she drew a long breath through her teeth. She held up the document he’d given her and lumbered toward his desk. She slapped it down on his desk and leaned forward as her eyes met his.

“So, Mr. Money Maker, it looks like the only income I can expect is the two hundred thousand SuperSport was scheduled to pay him.” She paused. “Minus your blood-sucking fee, of course.”

“Hopefully,” he answered.

“Hopefully? What are you talking about? He shot the commercial. They have to pay him.”

“That’s why I put an asterisk by that one. You see, there’s a thing called a moral turpitude clause—and they’re fighting me on this one. They’re never going to run the commercial, not now anyway. It’d be brand suicide.”

“So, I may not even get that?”

Perry shook his head.

She snatched up her purse and headed toward the door. “What did my fool of a husband ever pay you for?”

“Call me if you have any other questions.”

He slumped into his chair in relief the moment the door latched shut. He dug out a flask of bourbon and took a long pull.

Then his cell phone buzzed. It was his wife, Scarlett.

Out of the frying pan and into the fire.

“Hi, honey,” he said.

“Don’t ‘hi honey’ me.”

“Wait, wait, wait. Slow down. What happened?”

“You. That’s what happened. I was down here at the club eating a nice breakfast when the bill arrived. I put it on our tab but the waiter returned a few minutes later and discreetly told me that we were over the limit for our monthly allowance at the club. No problem, right? So, I pulled out my credit card—and it was also declined.” She paused. “Do you mind telling me what the hell is going on?”

“Just calm down, honey. I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation for all of this.” His phone beeped. “Look, I’ve got another call that I need to make. Just pay with cash and I’ll sort this out with the club later.”

He switched over calls.

“Jarell Howard, how the heck are ya, my man?” Perry answered.

“Not good.”

“Oh, why’s that?”

“You.”

“Take a number. I just switched over on a call from my wife complaining about me.”

Perry could hear Howard sighing through the phone.

“This is much more serious than a marital spat,” Howard said.

“Oh, really?”

“Yes, really. I’m giving you notice that I’m going to terminate our contract.”

“Oh, come on. You know I can get you top dollar during free agency negotiations. You just gotta give me a shot.”

“Look, I appreciate what you did in getting me my first contract, but I think I need a change.”

“And why’s that?”

“I need someone with fresh eyes to look at this, someone with some real clout—not some guy livin’ off a 20-year reputation.”

“That hurts me.”

Howard laughed. “Seriously? Get over it. You’ve made millions off of me and others that you can cry yourself to sleep with.”

“So, who are you spurning me for?”

“You’ll find out soon enough. It’ll be in the papers—right after you receive my termination letter.”

“It better not be that big shot rapper guy. He doesn’t know anything about—”

Click.

Perry looked at his phone and saw that the call was over. He tossed it onto his desk and buried his head in his hands.

When the morning started, he had no idea Hurricane Tonya would be a breeze compared to the rest of his interactions that morning.

His phone buzzed again with a text message:

Did you see this?

Perry clicked on the link attached to the message and read the article. Then he texted back:

We’ve got to do something about this. Handle it.

***

TONYA JAMESON WAITED until she cleared Scott Perry’s high-rise office building before placing a call. If he was half as deviant as her late husband described him, Perry likely had listening devices throughout the building. As crazy and paranoid as she felt for thinking such a thought, she controlled her urge to dial her phone until she was a half a city block away.

“Otis,” she said as she spoke softly and firmly into her phone.

“What, baby? How’d it go?”

“Kelvin didn’t leave me a dime.”

“What? How—how can that be?”

“I already told you that the life insurance policy was out. But so is his NBA contract, which doesn’t pay out in cases of drug abuse.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“I wish I was. And get this—those SuperSports guys are invoking something called a moral turpitude clause and are refusing to pay him for that commercial he was working on.”

“And this agent guy isn’t gettin’ it done? He ought to be fighting hard. It’s his money, too.”

“Well, this screws us over big time. But—” she paused and took a deep breath. “I’ve got an idea. But I’m going to need your help.”

“If it means getting our hands on your millions, I’ll do whatever you want me to do.”

She smiled as she glanced around at the faceless pedestrians scurrying up and down the street. “I was counting on you to say that.”

CHAPTER 11

CHRIS BUTLER JAMMED his pilot’s cap on top of his three-year-old son Ty as they rolled on the floor, roughhousing. Ty saluted his father before lunging toward him. Butler darted to the side and grabbed his son just before he flew past him. He put Ty in the always-escapable “Daddy Lock” and