The red head drove. The rain was falling harder and harder and the road could barely be seen. Her attention seemed to be solely directed at the road. He knew better. She never took her eyes off the road but he had absolute confidence that she did not miss a single move he made. She had taught him how to do it. But she was still the best. It looked like the road was her sole focus.
He looked up to the roof of the car. He closed his eyes. She asked, "What's wrong?" He smiled without ever opening his eyes.
She never asked the question again. She drove through the rain a bit too fast for safety or comfort. He did not love her. He didn't. Really. But she was exactly the woman he would have loved. She was smarter than him. More pragmatic and conversely and illogically more honorable. She was predictable in a way that made you only more disconcerted. If you knew her, really knew her, you feared her, at least a little. She scared him just a bit. He treasured the fear she had allowed him to feel.
"You let him live." The rain changed directions, working with the wind to make a fool of gravity so that it seemed perfectly normal for droplets to run parallel to the car. She did not slow a bit. He inhaled deeply Slow down, you are driving too fast, he never actually said.
She sped up a barely detectable mile per hour. You have ignored me twice and I am getting a little pissed about that, she never actually responded. They stayed that way for an uncomfortable number of minutes with her driving the route to his home more by memory than sight. They stayed that way in a mild state of bitterness that only two old lovers can.
"I let him live," he responded without really answering. It was a surrender on his part without giving up anything. She had taught him that too. She eased off the pedal - all the way back to her original speed that had unnerved him in the first place. And so they danced.
"Money is not an issue," she replied. Not "you have money" or "we have money" - she twirled away from him.
"Money enough to never,ever think of money again is always an issue." His reply - a sweeping bow and an outstretched hand.
"A con man who has studied you for at least 3 years..."
"Seven according to him..."
"For three years... has promised you a fortune. There is a joke there about Nigerian royalty."
He smiles again without looking at her. "He either means for me to share in it with him or he means for me to take the fall for it while he makes away with the money. I don't know yet."
She moves her head to the left. Really, only a slight tilt to the left - a centimeter or two, barely enough to shift her hair. But her hand, her right hand, came up and swept a strand of sunset red hair back over her ear. IF her lips had pinched just a bit - charmed. The lips did not pinch. If she had followed the hair sweep with a deep inhalation - pissed. Just the chin and the hair - vague disappointment and a little annoyed. The fact that he had left such a dedicated, knowledgeable threat with the original number of holes annoyed the pragmatist.
"Our cut," OUR CUT - OURS - MINE and YOURS - YOURS AND MINE , "would be roughly 2 Billion."
The car fish tailed and she tucked her head hard to the left with a deep gasp and fought the road and the wet for control again. She then peaked at him under red bangs that flirted over her green eyes and she bit her lower lip just slightly.
End Chapter Four
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