Flying Too Close to the Sun George Jehn (best non fiction books of all time .txt) 📖

don’t have immediate access to the cash. It will take me a while to get—”

“Not my problem,” Erik interrupted, now in a businesslike tone. “Let me make it clear what will happen to you—all of you—if I don’t get every last dollar or if I meet with an accident.” Standing on his tiptoes craning over Woody’s shoulder, he added, “By the way, where’s your daughter? Um, what was her name? Stephanie?”

“Fuck you, you little—” Ingrid hollered as she tried to get to Erik, but Woody grabbed her by the arm and squeezed it, the red marks his fingers left clearly visible when she roughly pulled it away.

“Take your bullshit act to Vegas, honey. I’ve arranged for all the info to be relayed to my associate.” Now looking Ingrid directly in the eyes, Erik added, “I included your names, your daughter’s and this address. Wanna hear more?”

“But I can’t come up with the cash right this minute. The money’s not here,” Woody begged.

Erik hoped he wouldn’t have to wait, but was prepared. “You have until tomorrow morning to deliver it to me, here. If you fuck with me or take any, the letter goes out and you’ll all be history, including Billy, ‘cause another letter will go out early tomorrow with his plate number on it. Understand?”

Woody simply nodded his head.

“No excuses and no extension.”

A somber Woody nodded again.

“Any questions?”

“What time will you be here?”

“Not important. But, if the money’s not in my hands by sometime tomorrow morning, the info gets sent. Thinking about clearing out? Don’t bother ‘because we’ll track your asses down.” Erik turned and left. He heard the door slam shut.

.     .     .

After Woody closed the door, Ingrid’s facial red hot contours of anger began to melt, replaced by a cloudburst of fear. She immediately went to the phone and called the new cellphone number her brother had just given them. He was halfway back to his Manhattan apartment, content listening to the new Mercedes’ hum of the tires on the blacktop. He answered on the second ring.

“It’s Ingrid.”

“I said we’d have to keep in touch more often, but I didn’t mean—”

She cut him off. “There’s been a serious complication. We just finished with a surprise visitor and his call wasn’t a social one. It had to do with events in Boston a short time ago.”

“Holy shit! Is he still there? Who?”

“He’s gone. Just come back to the house—now!”

“I’m on my way,” Rhodes replied, making a tire-screeching U-turn on the roadway, oddly pleased at how well the Mercedes handled. A short time later he bounded up the steps and upon reaching the top Woody swung open the door. Both men plopped down on the couch.

“Who was it?” Rhodes pleaded breathing heavily, features so hard and pale they resembled a death mask. He was frightened out of his mind, afraid the reply would be Rosario.

“Erik Preis.”

Rhodes let out a whoosh of air and asked, “What the hell did he want? What did he know?”

Their expressions conveyed his worst fear. “The whole fucking thing. He even knew you were the one. He said he copied down your plate number and...”

“Okay! Okay! That’s enough, for Christ’s sake!” Rhodes yelled, waving his hand in the air. “What the fuck does he want? His cut?”

“I wish. He wants it all, every last dollar. If we don’t give it to him by tomorrow morning Rosario will come after us, including you and Stephanie. What the hell can we do?” Woody begged, with contorted features.

Ingrid shrilly broke in, “The little bastard’s blackmailing us. The hunter doesn’t fear the lion. Respect it? Yes. Fear it? No. When he comes to pick up the money we’ll get rid of him. We can’t—”

“Now you wait one fucking minute,” Rhodes shouted, his eyes compressing to the point they resembled surgical incisions. “What the fuck are you talking about? The heist was one thing, but murder is not in my DNA.”

“What the hell are we supposed to do? Just fucking hand over the money?” Ingrid hollered, the color of her face now matching the remaining Chateau Lefils in the decanter.

After a very short pause, a brooding Rhodes asked while shaking his head, “What other fuckin’ option we got? I won’t have any part of killing this prick ‘cause we really don’t know how many people he’s already told. No doubt someone would find out, including his partner and maybe the cops.”

“All right, you made your goddamned point!” Woody shouted. “Can we get the money here by tomorrow morning?”

“I’ll have to. It’s in a safe place and like I said, it’s even in the same bags. But it represents every last dime for the startup capital. I, we, can’t open the business without it. And my apartment and car will have to go too.” He hesitated only a moment, thinking aloud. “But the alternative’s worse. Come to my place tonight and I’ll have it there. Just make certain this motherfucker doesn’t follow you. He might have my plate number, but he might not be certain who I am or where I live.”

“Somehow he found out your first name.”

“What? How the hell? You tell him anything?” Before Woody could reply he added, “I don’t want his buddy to know anything about me. Who knows what that fucking lunatic might do?”

“I’ll leave in about a half-an-hour.”

“Make certain you’re not followed.” Rhodes reiterated. He turned to leave but hesitated and instead looked them both directly in the eye. “You guys better not be scamming me. If I find out you are...”

Woody’s face matched Ingrid’s as he pointed a fat finger at Rhodes. “Scamming you? Fuck you, asshole. We just finished dinner together and you offered me a job. Who the hell you think you’re dealing with; some lowlife scumbag?” Calming down, he asked aloud, “What the hell am I going to do?”

“Maybe you can get your job back?”

“No fucking way. Especially after what that bitch, Shepard said.”

“What exactly did she say?”

“That’s not important. All I know is they won’t rehire me.”

“I can’t