Текст книги "Lovers and Reprisals"

Автор книги: Lori Turner

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Текущая страница: 2 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

“Oh fuck” he muttered.  I’m screwed was his forgone conclusion.

“Do you want to know?”  That was the question.  The man wearing the black mask was quizzing him.  Seconds flew by and Tollin wondered; did he want to know?  The question pertained to who had paid these men to kill him.  Tollin leveled a cool gaze, purposely choosing not to give this man satisfaction, especially since he’d been sent to kill him.

The man repeated...

“I was told to tell you if you wanted to know.”

When Tollin still didn’t respond, the masked man acknowledged his silent response with a nod of his head.  Since this man was wearing a mask, Tollin couldn’t see his facial expression...but he could see his eyes, and his gaze was blue and cold; lacking any expression.

Tollin saw no since in dragging this out; because begging wouldn’t save his life.  He barked out...

“If you’re going to kill me–just get on with it!”

Karma was a bitch and now he was staring down the barrel of a loaded gun.  His year had started off with so much promise, then after six year old Amy Randolph had died; everything had gone to shit.  Shortly after that, Tollin had loss the love of his life and after that, he’d thought that he’d reached rockbottom.  But he’d been wrong, because in his wildest dreams, he would never have imagined a reality in which men would break into his home, with the intent to kill him.

The barrel of the gun was pressed on Tollin’s forehead but he wasn’t ready to die yet.  Not with so many unanswered questions.  Like–how did they get in the house and why did they kill Holly.

“Are you a religious man?”  the masked man asked.

Tollin shook his head.

“To bad...but I hear, it’s never too late.”

Tollin frowned when he said...

“Don’t bullshit a bullshitter.”

The masked man said...

“All piss and vinegar.  You’ll feel different when you’re standing face to face with your maker.”   He shook his head, before saying...  “Your funeral. ”

The next set of events occurred so fast, Tollin didn’t perceive the hit.  After that, the intruder pressed one gloved hand against Tollin’s nose and mouth.  He’d been drugged and it was all lights out.  Tollin’s body slumped to the ground.  Joplin stood over him, positioning his body, just so; before placing the gun in Tollin’s hand.  He knew exactly what to do, then–a muffled sound bounced off the walls, ricocheting waves on sensor panels.  The rebounding vibrations triggered the security system, causing the computer to say...

“Initiating systems check...”

Tollin’s body slumped to the ground.  The close shot to the head made him unrecognizable.  Half of his skull was splattered on the opposite wall.  Joplin studied the blood spray, before resuming his work, creating a scene that would look like suicide, instead of a murder.  The final touch was a copy of the letter sent from Gloria Wilcox-Randolph’s attorney.  The one that had stated, the plaintiff's in the Amy Randolph case have declined the settlement and had decided to pursue civil litigation.

Looking over his shoulder to survey the scene, Joplin Paddox slipped two fingers in his inner jacket pocket; he turned back to face the door, because he was satisfied with his work.  He withdrew a card containing a series of numbers and letters.  The Panic Room Security System was bio-activated but as a backup, a key panel had been installed.  He walked over to the sealed door, then he pressed an area that looked like a light switch.  Actually, it was a functioning light switch but it also disguised the key panel.  When he pushed it, the panel revealed itself.  Joplin entered the code...the computer said...

“System disengaged.  Locking mechanism deactivated.”

Then the solid door slid open.

“What took you so long?”

Dashiell was cleaning his weapon.  Joplin also noted crumbs in the creases of his mouth.  Stupid idiot.  He’d been eating on the job.  Joplin stepped over Holly, then he said...

“She wasn’t a part of the contract.

“Oh well.”

Joplin showed little emotion when he said...

“You could have knocked her out–then I could have drugged her.”

“Collateral damage.” Dashiell said and he looked too happy given that he’d just killed an innocent bystander.

Dashiell was backtracking, retracing his route, while looking over his shoulder when he said...

“Come on mate...we’re done.  If we leave now, we’ll have just enough time to shower and change before this nights all over and the New Year begins.”

Dashiell swayed, pretending to dance, while saying...

“There’s a pretty little lady waiting for me–and I don’t want to disappoint her.  She’s got an invite to the Gustafson’s party.  Lately, she and Fawn Gustafson’s have become pretty chummy.”

Joplin couldn’t picture Dashiell fitting in at a Gustafson’s party.  In his estimation, the Gustafson’s were an enigma best left unsolved but he’d be the last person to say that out loud.  Especially to young, impressionable Dashiell.

“First things first Dash...”

“All right–first things first.” he sighed.

Joplin and Dashiell had made one reprisal kill and one kill that wasn’t a part of their contract. They could justify her murder, or they could remove her body.  When the decision had been made, Joplin went to work.  This wasn’t his first unsanctioned kill and he knew better than Dashiell how to fool the local authorities as well as places to dispose of bodies.  As for Tollin–thanks to Joplin’s handy work, based on the scene, the police would think that Tollin had committed suicide.  The death of Amy Randolph had been big news, and the court case had been widely televised.  It wasn’t a stretch to suggest that Tollin had been under tremendous stress; especially after his breakup with Eliza Pendleton.  But if the cops didn’t buy his ruse, there wasn’t a shortage of suspects.  Over the years, Tollin had stepped on more than a few toes, and Joplin was surprised that a hit had not been put out on the man sooner than now.  In other words, he and his accomplice were in the clear.  As for the woman–unfortunately, due to her line of work, more than likely, her murder would be  found in a dead case file, for years to come, because after Joplin was finished with her; how and why she died would remain a mystery.

They were walking down the back stairwell, after dumping Holly in the disposal.  In his line of work, the end of the year meant many things; and settling scores was one of the dangers.

“Twenty minutes until Midnight.  Do you wanna wait it out here?  I mean...I ain’t got no enemies on this side of town...but what about you?”

Dashiell had raised the question.  Joplin wasn’t sure how to answer because he killed for a living and by definition, that should make him a target.  On the other hand, only a few people knew about this side of his life.  As a matter of fact, most of the year, he worked for a security firm, installing Panic Rooms–just like the room in Tollin’s penthouse.  In fact–two months ago, he’d sold Tollin on the Deluxe Series Sentinel System.  He sighed because–this business of killing was getting to easy.  Joplin considered their choices, then he thought about the party Dashiell had planned to attend to celebrate New Year’s Day.  He raised his watch, then glided his finger over the timepiece, programming it to alarm when twenty minutes had expired.

“We’ll wait here.”  He said.

“Good...  And thanks for the tag along.”  Dash pumped his gun in the air while saying... “Ever since I bought this little darlin...I’ve been wanting to pop off a few rounds–and I don’t mean that target practice bullshit.”  His grin was a toothy one when he said...  “And thanks to you...I busted the cherry on this badass gun.”  Dash holstered his weapon, then he said...

”You did me a solid...I owe you one.”

Joplin said...

“Don’t mention it.”

Dash nodded, when he said...

“I got your back man...so, I’ll take watch.”

“You do that...”  Joplin muttered.  Dashiell was two steps ahead of him, when suddenly the narrow hall echoed a small ‘pop’.

“Yep–this is getting to easy.”

Joplin stepped over his dead naive colleague.  The man had not been his mark and his eagerness was to blame for his murder.  Joplin thought ahead, mapping out exits and places to dump a body.  When he’d been assigned to  the Special Forces, Uncle Sam had foot the bill, and back then, for eight years, he’d killed for a living.  It felt good feeling the jerk of the gun, and then there was always the pop.  This explosive motion fulfilled his fixation to kill.  When he’d been asked to take care of Tollin, he’d checked his bases before plotting out the job.  Then, when he’d called up Dash, enlisting his help as a lookout; the foolish man wouldn’t leave well enough alone.  He’d whimpered like a two year old on a playground, begging for his turn to pull the trigger.  Dash had never killed anyone, and instead of doing the job that Joplin had paid him to do; the young man had placed himself beneath the wings of a trained killer.  The sad part about this scenario was that, Joplin didn’t feel any pity for Dash.  In his brain, it had been Dash who’d placed himself in harms way because he should have remained outdoors, covering his ass while he dealt  with Tollin.  When he’d been in the Special Forces, he’d been trained to make his mark.  This time had been no different, and he’d spun his web months ago, setting his Tollin trap.  When Tollin made a call inquiring about a new security system; Joplin had been monitoring his outgoing calls.  Joplin had played his role to perfection and after installing Tollin’s Panic room, Joplin had thrown in the security doors as a special offer.  Tollin had been extremely grateful.  He’d even given Joplin a tip, and told him he’d be sure to recommend his service to his friends.  Like so many rich people who think money can buy them whatever they want; Tollin had been over trusting and he didn’t employ an outside company to inspect Joplin’s work.  Had he taken this precaution, the security expert might have found the override code, hidden in the security system.  The same code that had allowed Joplin and Dashiell easy access–gaining entry inside of his penthouse.  Joplin had entered through the front, and Dash had come in up the rear.  Killing Tollin had been a part of his plan–but Dashiell–his death had been a necessary evil.  Before arriving at the apartment building across from Tollin’s building; Dashiell’s role had been as clear as ice.  Joplin had employed this man for one reason and only one reason.  Joplin needed a reliable lookout.  He’d worked on a few security jobs with Dashiell and he seemed to be loyal and the dependable type.  From the beginning, Joplin had never explained that he’d been on a mission to kill Tollin.  In spite of this, it had been Dash’s insistent prodding and probing that led to an outcome that could have been avoided.  At one point, Dash had outright said, that he knew Joplin had been sent to kill someone.  Joplin didn’t know if Dashiell had been guessing or fishing for information and in the end, it really didn’t matter because his suspicions had sealed his fate.  In other words, Dashiell had asked one too many questions.  One thing he’d learned during his years in service was that, intelligent soldiers don’t take chances.  If an enemy combatant threatens the mission; there could be only one outcome.  That combatant would be as good as dead.  Joplin stepped over Dashiell Wrightly’s body, leaving his combatant in the stairwell.  His timepiece beeped five times, signaling the midnight hour.  Like clockwork, even though he was still in doors, he could hear Midtown Holy Cathedral when its bells began to chime.  This noise was followed by the computer generated bells blaring from the Samaritan Conclave’s outdoor speakers.  The New Year had officially begun.

“Happy New Year.”  he mouthed to himself.  If people only knew about the secret dealings that occurred day in and day out all around the world, most would never leave the safety of their homes.  Joplin raked his free hand through his hair, then he stepped out of the stairwell, taking the hallway to the main lobby.  He passed the doorman, who smiled at him while sharing a bubbly drink with another employee.  They ignored him, returning to their impromptu celebration; welcoming in the New Year.  Joplin strode pass them, exiting the large high rise, using the front entrance.  Noise from the clanging bells filled the air.  It was a celebration of new beginnings.

He strolled down the sidewalk, passing a woman whose eyes were filled with tears.  He didn’t stop to ask if she needed his help.  Today there would be many tearful people, mourning the loss of friends and loved ones, but for most the world will reset as if these people never existed.  As for him–he would go home, shower, then change into a fresh set of clothes.  He held no emotions for what he had done and his only regret was that he’d not planned for the deaths of Dash and the woman in Tollin’s apartment.  He disliked loose ends but in this instance, he’d been left with few options, leaving improvisation as his remaining choice.  Regardless of the outcome...or the fallout, he’d done what he’d been paid to do.  As it concerned Tollin Pettier; that kill had been duly served.   And the others–their lives held little value because on one point Dashiell had been correct.  In the end, he would classify them as collateral damage.  In laymen's terms, this amounted to one phrase “wrong place–wrong time”–not his problem.

**********

Chapter 2

11:37 Am

Morpheus Gustafson’s,

Annual Celebration

Fawn wobbled down the hallway, and each step looked like a gymnasts endeavoring to master the balancing beam. During one of her steps, she’d misjudged the distance; wedging a tight fit of her stiletto snuggly in the hem of her gown.  She was on the verge of falling face first and from behind, Bolden had noticed her struggle.  He sped up his pace reacting fast, bracing her back to prevent a tumble and she’d wrongly misinterpreted his touch.  Fawn cursed at him.

“Take your fucking hands off of me.”

Aggravated by her rant, Bolden shook his head, and he’d decided that he might have been better off had he allowed her to fall.  He considered this when he shot back his response.

“Fine...next time, I’ll just let you fall...and we’ll see how silly you’ll feel then.”

Her speech was slurred when she carelessly hurled an accusation.

“Oh...I bet you’d love that.  Big man like you would love to see his sister fall flat on her ass.”

She hiccuped, then added...  “Jackass.”

Bo glowered, because if he was a jackass, then she was a calculating bitch.  As far back as he could recall, Fawn had always schemed to undermine him.  He stalked into the room behind her, slamming the door once he’d been assured that they were indeed alone.

He spread his feet apart, matching the width of his broad shoulders.  Bolden was annoyed–and every rattled nerve was fast approaching a frenzied rage.  He didn’t hold back when he shouted...

“I didn’t come here to get dicked around.  You said that you’d take me to dad.  So...where is he?”

“What?  Did I say that?”  She was feigning mock surprise.

“Stop fucking with me Fawn.

“Oh...stop being so melodramatic.”

“Melodramatic!”  Bolden fumed, when he said...

“Where is our father Fawn?  Where is dad?”

“Why are you in such a hurry?  Think you’re to good to socialize?”

From the moment Bolden had arrived at his father’s home, he’d been on edge, mainly because he’d been greeted at the door by his plotting, scheming, good for nothing half-sister.  Her welcome had made him feel like he was the Gustafson’s returning prodigal son.  Then she topped off their reunion by dishing up a heaping load of her usual bullshit.  He didn’t need this; her or any of her snide jealousy crap.  What had he been thinking when he persuaded himself to come.

The room was silent, except for the other sounds in the house.  A pounding beat played in the background.  Dueling sounds of drums, bass and treble rode waves, vibrating walls and chandeliers.  The house was filled with dignitaries, city and state official’s, contractors; all assembled to celebrate New Year’s Day.  Bolden had not seen his father in years and before arriving, he had prepared himself to deal with his half-sister no matter what she did or said.  And here he was–horn locked, reliving the same old childhood squabbles.  Bolden shook his head.  He tried to refrain from drudging up the past.  Bo’s voice held a warning tone, when he said...

“Fawn...I’m not interested in meeting any of dad’s friends, so it wasn’t necessary to point me out to them.  I have no interest in dad’s business or his affiliations.”

“You talk as if dad’s work is unmentionable.  Business–affiliations...  What in the hell is that supposed to mean.”

“Arms deals...that’s what I mean.  His companies do not discriminate and they will sell to the highest bidder–with no care for the outcome.  I won’t involve myself with that.”

“Oh pshaw!  Listen to mister high and mighty.  Can’t get his hands dirty cause, he’s a big important attorney.  Mr. Upholder of the law...did you ever consider the fact that our father has other companies that don’t involve armaments”

Fawn giggled while she walked unsteadily in the direction of the bar.

Bolden cleared up the confusion, but he doubted if her head would grasp hold of the information.

“Yes, I am aware...but as an attorney I am an officer of the law and I don’t want to involve myself with anything that might be called into question.”

Fawn held onto the bar to maintain her balance when she said...

“Sounds to me like you’re calling our father a crook.  You don’t think that he’s capable of doing business aboveboard.  You have such a suspicious nature.”

“It’s necessary–especially when I’m forced to be in your company.”

Fawn narrowed her eyes when she said...

“For the record brother, let’s get something straight–as far as I’m concerned, you never have to be in my company.  I know that you don’t like me; and the feeling is mutual.  And our father is a better man than you’ll ever be.”

“Thanks for clearing that up.”

Bo paced the room, watching his soused sister sloshing dark liqueur in a short stubby glass.  She gulped a swallow and he considered that perhaps he should abandon this visit.  If his father was in this oversized mansion, he hadn’t seen him, and he doubted if his sister would be of any help to him.  He was prepared to leave when his attention was drawn to her.  She said...

“Do you know why daddy asked you here today?”

“Fawn–it’s New Year’s Day–it’s a holiday.”

“Is that the reason you think you’re here?  After all this time–after everything that happened the last time you were here in the city...”

Fawn was referring to the big blowout between father and son.  Words had been spoken and when the dust had settled; father and son had parted ways, each refusing to reconcile their differences.  For the past two years, Bolden had lived his life accepting that perhaps their relationship would never be repaired.  But when his father had called him, inviting him to his home; Bolden had been stunned, when he heard a response that amounted to him acquiescing.

Bolden replied saying...

“I remember what happened the last time I was in the city...and it’s time to end the foolishness.”

She crossed her chest with folded arms, smirking, she berated him–

“Foolishness?  God–you are such an idiot.  And you’re supposed to be the smart one.”

“Fawn–apparently you’ve got all the answers–so spill!”

Her words wreaked of disgust when she said...

“You wouldn’t know what to do if I did tell you the truth.”

“And you wouldn’t know the truth if it bit you on the ass.”

“Oh boy–little words from a little man.”

He was tired of the tit for tat, because their interaction had always been dysfunctional.  However, it was obvious to him that from the moment he’d arrived, Fawn had deliberately steered clear of their father.  She’d been up to no good, from the second he arrived; even now, he could see a scheme brewing behind calculating eyes.

Bolden said...

“I didn’t come here to play games.”  He threw up his hands in defeat, while saying.  “I’m leaving Fawn.  When you see our father, tell him that I’ll talk to him later...away from here”

Bo headed for the door, when he heard Fawn behind him smirkily saying...

“I told dad that it was a mistake to invite you.  You don’t have what it takes to be a member of this family.  I told him this but he overrode me–and...”

Fawn threw her hands up in the air.  She walked over to the bar, then sloshed more dark liquid in a short stubby glass.  When she noticed that Bo had not left, she stared at his back, sipped her drink, then she said...

“I’ve said all I’m going to say”

Reacting to her words, Bo turned to face her then he said...

“Hell...you haven’t said enough.  Talk Fawn,”

He said... “Why stop now...like always...you’re dying to fill me in.”

“Look–I’m just being helpful.”

Bo’s stomach curdled when he said...

“Helpful!  You haven’t been helpful a day in your life...especially when it comes to me.”

Fawn perched her back against the bar.  Her eyes were glassy, but he could sense that she was lucid and actively plotting.  But why...that’s what he couldn’t get a handle on.

Why had she been gunning for him from the second he arrived.  She didn’t do anything without having a reason; and he wondered if jealousy was her poison.

Bolden said...

“I have a life Fawn–and I’m not here to mess up yours.  Whatever dad has–I want no parts of it.  It’s all yours...yours and yours alone.”

Fawn gulped her drink when she said...

“You are such a pansy.  Whose money do you think paid for all that highfaluting education?  I guess you didn’t care whose money foot the bill–as long as the money didn’t dry up.  Hypocrite.  Fucking snob.  You’re his gotdamn son and you want nothing to do with him!  He thinks that his brilliant Bolden is so gotdamn special because you graduated from Yale and Harvard.  Well...I went to Cornell...and so what if it took me six years to graduate; point is... I graduated.  I attended that stuck up school, rubbing elbows with women who didn’t think that their shit stinks.  I did it...because that’s what he wanted.  I did it to please our father...and it still wasn’t enough.  I wasn’t enough...because I’m not like you.  I’m not his ungrateful son.”  She snorted, and during her rant, Bolden had been stunned into silence.  Now that she’d taken a breath, he injected these words.

“I thought...I thought you wanted this...I mean...our father’s legacy.  The houses the businesses...I thought that you wanted me to step aside, giving our father no other choice except to will everything to you.”

Bolden was confused but Fawn corrected him when she said...

“Do you actually think that I need you to step aside?  Do you think that’s the only way I could ever have what is due to me?  Fuck you–Fuck you–you fucking pansy!”

Like all of their other disagreements; this one was no different.  Their anger roared like a fire flamed by a fresh spray of gasoline.

Bolden pounced on her remark, like a lion poised for the kill.

“What was I thinking–you are such an ungrateful bitch.  As far as I’m concerned, you can piss off Fawn.”

Spit spewed from her mouth, mixed with liquor and a vile layer of disrespect.  Fawn hammered him, saying...

“You piss off.”

“Fuck you!”

“Oh yeah–fuck you too!”

Brother and sister were gridlocked when a baritone voice cut through the profanity laden air.

“If anyone is going to get fucked–I’ll be the one doing the fucking.”

Morpheus Gustafson’s frame filled the doorway.  Their father leveled a cool gaze, eyeing his bullheaded children; then he glowered without changing the shape of his frown.  He entered the room, crossing the threshold, then closing the door once he was inside.  He was a towering massive man with broad shoulders and a mixture of Italian and Scandinavian handsome features.  As a young man, he’d decided that monogamy didn’t suit his way of life.  This choice amounted to numerous short term relationships, and two children with two different women.  He glared at his offspring, seeing bits and pieces of their parents.  Bolden took after his mother–but Fawn had taken after him.  His daughter was hell on wheels and he was certain she’d said something to fuel this argument.  But he didn’t have time to take sides or weed through their bullshit.  New Year’s Day was supposed to be a day of new beginnings, peace, love and a whole lot of other shit that he just couldn’t think of at the moment.

An unsettling hush overtook the room.  Morpheus grunted before saying...

“Oh...so now you decide to be quiet.”

His gaze pointedly landed on the ignitor; Fawn.  He crossed the floor, choosing to sit in one of the oversized chairs.

“What in the hell is going on in here.”

Fawn smiled while saying....

“Oh...we were just talking.”

“Talking...” Morpheus said.  He glared at her and he didn’t water down the anger in his remark. “It sounded more like shouting.”

There was something about her father’s tone that wiped the smile off her face.  Fawn cleaned up her story, when she said...

“I was just telling Bo about family–you know...talking about why you’d called him–asking him to come here today, of all days.”

Morpheus showed no outer emotions.  His face was a virtual blank, giving no impression of how he felt and there were no signs hinting that he believed his daughter.  Finally, he heaved a sigh, when he said...

“Bo–is this true?  Is your sisters explanation the reason  that your voices could be heard on the other side of that closed door?”

Bolden lowered his eyes.  He looked at his hands then wondered, what was he doing?  Why was he even here?  His mother had warned him that nothing good would ever come from associating with Morpheus Gustafson.  But what son doesn’t want a real relationship with his father.  And that explained his predicament.  Yet when he lifted his eyes; seeing Fawn’s utter hatred for him–Bolden knew coming here had been a horrible mistake.  After listening to his sister, he wondered if his father was worth the trouble.

Bolden met his father’s eyes, when he said...

“Fawn said a lot of things–but...  Well, I don’t care to repeat any of it.  Actually, I think I should go.”

“Bo...”  Morpheus stared at his son, when he said...

“Stay.”  His request had been a simple one.

Bolden sighed, when he said...

“No worries dad–you’ve got this party and your guest to entertain.  As for me–we can arrange to have lunch–or maybe dinner, on another day.”

Bolden was walking towards the exit when he heard his sister say...

“Let him go dad...Bo is just being Bo.  He isn’t happy unless the world hums to his tune.”

She sipped her drink, and Bo wondered if she could get any drunker.

“If he doesn’t want to be here...let him go.  He’s a conformist.”

Bo corrected her when he said...

“You mean nonconformist.  A conformist is a person who accepts established practices. A nonconformist goes his own way, and he doesn’t accept prevailing ideas or practices.”

Fawn smirked when she said...

“Conformist...nonconformist...it all amounts to the same thing and each word can spin either way.  Bottom-line–you want to leave–so go.”

It was all Morpheus could do not to laugh–or to choke some much needed sense into his daughter.  This duplicity was strange because on one hand, he admired his daughters unbridled spunk–then on the other hand, she was like a vulture–poised to dive right in, at the moment of death.  Fawn fortified her confidence by exploiting the weaknesses of others.  She would take her brother’s strengths then use these very assets against him.  But he’d heard enough, and he wouldn’t tolerate her fool-play–at least, not today.  The time had come for discussions.  The time had come to heal old wounds.  Hostilities had spoiled their relationship and Morpheus took the first step, because he’d decided to be the bigger man.

“Fawn–go see to our guest.  And be a good friend to that young lady...”  Morpheus snapped his fingers, trying to recall the name.  Fawn frowned when she said...

“Cynthia...”

“Yes–Cynthia.  I understand that she’s upset over something concerning her boyfriend–is that right?”

Fawn rolled her eyes when she said...

“It’s New Year’s Day daddy.  Who isn’t upset over a boyfriend–especially when that boyfriend is a simpleton like Dashiell Wrightly.”

“Fawn–you’ve said enough”

Morpheus raised his voice, asserting a firmer tone when he warned his daughter.  He chided her saying...”Leave.  Go be a good friend to Cynthia.  And be grateful that you aren’t experiencing the same disappointment.”

Fawn stared at him but her gaze had been a short one.  She knew her father better than most, and he wasn’t known for dispensing idle threats.  She didn’t waste time leaving, but she made a point to nail her brother with a blazing glare.  She hated Bo because he and his mother  purposely avoided her and every other member of the Gustafson’s family.  When she turned, her flowing gown lifted with the wind, then the train swept the floor as she ambled out at a slow pace.  She left the room, slamming the door when she was on the other side.

Morpheus was a complicated man and few people fully understood him.  He was a brilliant arms dealer, possessing the temperament to manage this type of enterprise; as well as a large assortment of industrial and real estate investments.  If need be, he could be a liar, immoral, a cheater and if all else failed, he would do unto others, before they did unto him.  He was no different from his father or his grandfather where business was concerned and the time had come for Bo to reconnect with this side of his family.

Morpheus changed the topic, taking their conversation, in another direction.

“Bo...your mother is here.  When we spoke, why didn’t you tell me that she’d be joining you?”

Bo defensively said...

“It was last minute.  Really last minute.  I was walking out of the house when she called out to me, requesting that I wait for her.  Frankly, I didn’t even know that you’d invited her.”

“Bo...son.  Your mother and I have a long history.  She’s always welcomed with or without an invitation.  She knows this...in spite of the fact that she’s never taken me up on the offer.  So you can see why I’m puzzled.”