Forever with the Duo

PHIL

* * * *

"PHIL, I am scheduling a meeting between you and Mr Peter tomorrow," she said to me, busy over a glass of juice.

"Why?," I protested, surprised. She seemed to be forgetting something.

"He is due a delivery," she said, unmoved by my protest. She believes she is always entitled to have things done her way.

"But I told you about my meeting with the Mayor at Los Angeles," I argued further, clearly determined to not let her win.

"That's the reason I'm sending you there."

"How? We both know Mr Peter has no business in L.A.," I reminded her, just in case she had forgotten.

"Well, he used to have no business in L.A., but..."

"Can't you just send someone else?," I interrupted her. I just wasn't ready for a meeting with Peter. I guess I had no choice. "Why must it be me?," I went on.

"You already know Peter is a high risk client. I can't trust someone else with the package," she had said.

My mother always triumphs. She would never take no for an answer. Not that I didn't understand what she meant by 'high risk client,' but I had an important meeting with the Mayor...and he didn't like to be kept waiting.

"You f*cking owe me, Phil," he had angrily said to me when I told him I won't make it early for our meeting.

I knew what he meant by that, and I obliged...not that I had a choice. "I'll make it up to you, Mayor, I promise."

Unable to convince my dear mother to send someone else, I packed whatever I needed for the trip, got a few of my men ready and headed off to the airport the following morning. It was going to be a long and hard day, I had presumed. I seldom traveled, except on business trips. But even this one didn't appeal to me.

Having successfully scaled the security checks without any hitch, I sat down, ready for the punishing six-hour flight to Los Angeles. I had barely had a break when I noticed the beautiful eyes that were fixed on me. I swear, those ladies were nothing but gorgeous. They could melt any heart, their eyes. Not that the stare was unusual... who wouldn't want a piece of me... but I just wasn't in the mood to have my eyes fixed on anyone. I had more important things to take care of.

The flight had not been up in the air for long when I dozed off. How I needed it. I had barely had enough sleep the previous night. My father's Ill health had really got me worried. He had been diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease and, according to the various medical experts we visited, his had gotten to a stage where it was incurable. We all knew he was going to die, but no one was ready for it yet. Even on his sick bed, where he had been confined to for the better of two years, he still controlled business.

How I admired him.

My family must surely be the most famous in New York City. Anyone in the city who claimed not to have heard of the Brandons must surely be a newbie. We practically controlled the City the way Adolf Hitler controlled Europe in his prime. To the outside world, we were a very successful furniture producing family, but we were much more than their eyes met. Only those special business partners knew what we were about. Even at that, they were all bound by the oath of secrecy. No one dared to go public about us. Anyone who did only got one response from us...

Death!

You would think we would go after such, but no, our bullets had far better targets. Their families would be at the mercy of the 'boom' sound of our gun. That alone was enough reason for them to remain our ardent business partners, our secrets forever buried with them.

Finally, we arrived in L.A by noon. Mr Peter's men were already waiting for us at the airport. Smartly suited in black, with sunshades that made it nearly impossible to know what they looked like, they appeared stone faced, as if they were ready for combat. Ushering us into the waiting black van, they sped off.

After about fifteen minutes of non-stop driving, we finally arrived at our destination. The security men at the entrance thoroughly searched us, to ensure that we had no weapon on us.

"You may go in," their leader, a broad shouldered man, said, satisfied.

"Hello, Phil," Mr Peter said, exchanging hands with me.

"Hello, Peter, it's been a while. You don't look bad," I remarked, giving him a smile.

"You can say that again, my friend. How's my old friend putting up? It must really be tough for him."

"He's in good spirits," I quickly said, in a hurry to move on from the topic. I didn't have the patience to discuss family matters with a man of Peter's standing. I just wanted to get done with business and get out of his sight.

"Here," he said, offering me a glass of whisky.

"Thank you, Peter."

Continuing, he said, "Where's the package?"

"Here," I said, giving him the black suitcase I had held in my hands.

"Complete," he said, having examined it. He had one of his men hand over to me a suitcase which was filled with cash. He waited until I had confirmed it before proceeding to speak further. "You know, I have always enjoyed doing business with you and your family. Unlike some of those motherfuckers who can't keep a simple code, you know where your onions are, and you keep them safe, always."

"Thank you," I said to him. "It was nice doing business with you, and I look forward to more deals. Thank you for the drink."

"It's nothing, my friend. My best wishes to my old friend. Tell him I wish him a smooth exit."

"Thank you." Quickly, my men and I took the exit in a waiting van. As we drove out, I dialed the Mayor's line, but it was not connecting. I tried it again, but it was the same.

"Damn!," I let out, allowing my frustration overwhelm me.

This meant that, much to my frustration, I would have to come back to L.A if I couldn't get in touch with him before I went back to New York.

"Take us to Santa Monica," I said to the driver. Instead of just flying back home without seeing the Mayor, I decided we would buy some time by having a nice time out at the beach. No place appealed more to my tired body than Santa Monica.

Clean, with super-wide, soft, sandy beaches; an amusement spot; a beachfront boardwalk, amazing restaurants and restrooms, Santa Monica was equal to none. The beaches have an old school, East Coast feel, with the addition of bike paths and plenty of outdoor exercise areas. The classy motels made for more fun.

We got checked into two rooms, with my men lodged opposite mine. Not that I feared for my life, but, considering my status, I thought it wise to carry extra bodies along. You never know when the enemy is nearby; you just have to guard your paths.

Since I needed to cool off, I headed straight for the beach. Dressed in my swimming shorts, I looked f*cking hot, and I knew it. Just as I stepped out, my eye came in contact with hers.

"Who is she?," I thought to myself. She made beauty look so underrated. "Damn!"

She was damn hot! My heart raced, skipping , not one, but several beats. I didn't know I had stood at that spot for way over one minute! I was brought back to reality when a couple of ladies came racing towards me, either wanting me to sign an autograph on their flashy boobs or wanting a photoshoot with me. Some even offered to swim with me, but I wasn't interested, for I had my eyes firmly fixed on one price. Before I could finally free myself from their grips, she had melted away from my eyes. I looked for her everywhere I could, but there didn't seem to be a sight of her anywhere. Like angels, she had disappeared. Frustrated, I went back inside, having lost any appetite there was to swim. The thought of her had invaded my space.

"A glass of whisky, please," I said to the bar man. "Another glass!" I had gulped the first as soon as he had brought it..

"Hello, handsome," a young lady said as she approached me, all smiles. "I see you're all alone. You don't seem familiar. First time?"

"Yes." I wasn't interested in whatever she had to say. My mind and thought were glued to the strange lady I had met earlier.

"Business or pleasure?"

"Business."

"I'm Lucia. If you need anything, I'm here," she said, seductively caressing my skin. Seeing that I clearly wasn't interested in what she was selling, she went back to her seat, frustration weighing up in her face.

After five extra glasses, I stumbled to my room, drunk. I couldn't even switch on the light. My body was on fire. Sex was all I thought of, even in my drunk state. Luckily, a savior walked in.

We both seemed to want the same thing; we were both horny. First, I gently brought my mouth down hers, and engulfed her lips in a harsh kiss. She curled up round me and returned the kiss more passionately. In a moment, my hands gently travelled down her smooth skin. I got to her hips and stopped at her zipper. Quickly, I unzipped her trouser and pulled it off. Like a hungry lion, I climbed her, devouring every part of her, with her moaning doing little to stop me. I don't know how long it lasted, but it was so intense, and I didn't want it to stop.

It must have been a long night.

The Mayor's call had woken me up very early the next morning. I had to quickly meet with him.

My sex partner...or whoever she was...was still asleep. I put on the light! I was about to be shocked. Lying down there was the strange lady at the beach who had got my heart racing endlessly. "How!?," I whispered to myself, dazed.

I wanted to wake her up, but I gave it a second thought. Quickly, I wrote a note and dropped it on the small table. I hoped she would get in touch with me as I took the exit with my men.

Sometimes, it feels like a mistake, but then, it could be fate playing its part.

Whichever, I must be prepared for the outcome!

* * * *