Once they were seated, Arel opened a cigar box sitting on the small table between the two chairs. Arel smelled the cigar. “Ah,” he murmured. “So perfect.”
He turned the box toward the Judge and waited expectantly for him to remove one. As Judge Moore sniffed the cigar he was aware of several guards entering the room and coming to stand near their backs. Arel often kept men nearby, but something about their silent entrance was bothersome.
Arel lit both of their cigars. Then, he took several puffs of his cigar, taking his time to enjoy it. With each moment of silence, the judge felt his tension rise, bit by bit, until he was ready to come unglued. Carefully, he kept his expression neutral, but his mind raced with possibilities, none of them good.
“So,” Arel finally said. “When were you going to tell me about the journal?”
His first inclination was to play dumb. The judge started to speak and Arel held up a hand. “Don’t deny what I know already, or you will sadly regret your action, Judge.”
The judge swallowed. Hard. He couldn’t let Arel have that journal. What if it exposed his activity with Dragonfly? “I have it handled. My wife caused more trouble than I had hoped. I didn’t want you to feel I couldn’t take care of things.”
Arel eyes narrowed. “You didn’t take care of things. I did. She might still be a problem had I left you to your own solutions.”
He cleared his throat. “That’s why I didn’t want you to have to deal with this. I knew you would be angry.”
Arel smiled, his lips twisting in an evil grin. “I don’t get angry.”
The judge felt his empty hand tremble and clenched it into a fist. “I have this handled. It’s a small problem.”
“You, Judge, are the problem. Be careful or you may be one I no longer tolerate. Answer me these questions. Why is Ms. Harrison holding the diary? And why is the sister of the dead wife missing? These things happen, yet you bring me Monsieur Walker. He controls her. He has the journal.”
His mind raced and the truth seemed his best defense. “I believe the journal is how he found out about you, yes, and why I thought getting him inside our operation making money would ensure he was loyal. You saw how he controls her. She won’t do anything he doesn’t want her to do.”
“If Monsieur Walker is as good as he seems to be at manipulation, he may want to use it against me at some point.”
Arel leaned forward resting his arms on his knees. “Consider this handled as of now. I will resolve it.”
“But–“
Arel’s hand sliced through the air. “Non! I am done.” Then he spoke over his shoulder in French to one of the guards before speaking to the judge again. “You will go with Fredrick. He will remind you why I don’t like secrets.”
The judge went cold, fear shooting through him at the speed of burning fuel. “Please, no. I won’t ever-“
Arel cut him off. “No, you won’t.” He spoke to the guard in English this time. “Take him.”
Two guards grabbed his arms as he struggled. The soft sound of a gun being cocked made him still. The judge looked up.
Arel pointed a small gun at him. “I suggest you walk calmly from the room, perhaps even smile a bit. It would be a pity to dirty my carpet.”
With more courage than he felt, the judge said, “You’re bluffing. The guests will hear the shot.”
“Ah, but that’s where you are wrong. A silencer makes this gun the perfect choice, non?”
Marco walked from the shadows of the room and stood next to his brother. Arel stayed focused on the judge as he spoke again to the guards. “Take him away. If he makes even one wrong move, kill him.”
One of the guards drove a fist into the judge’s stomach making him bend at the waist and grab his middle. They wouldn’t kill him, he told himself. They needed him. Slowly, he straightened only to find himself spun around toward the exit door.
The guard, who he knew only as Rodriquez bent toward him, forcing a wave of horrid, sour breath against his cheek. “You heard the man. Smile.” He laughed, evil and tauntingly low. “Or else.”
Marco looked at his brother as the door shut, leaving them alone. “He’s trouble.”
“He has been useful,” Arel said walking to the cigar box and offering one to Marco.
Marco waved it away. “He needs to be dealt with.”
Arel said, “We need him.”
“Like a hole in the head, brother,” Marco insisted. “He lied. That spells trouble.”
Arel lit his cigar and took a long draw. Blowing out the smoke, his expression became resigned. “If you are so certain he’s trouble, get rid of him.”
Marco started to speak.
“Non,” Arel said harshly, changing his mind. “Only after I have the journal, and ensure we don’t need him. Then, and only then, are you to dispose of him.”
“Brother–“
Arel scowled at Marco. “Enough of this,” he said sourly. “Don’t you cross me, Marco.“
Marco’s voice was low, his expression resolved. “I have never crossed you nor will I now.”
Arel was quiet for a minute as if he was deciding whether or not he believed Marco. Abruptly, he smiled. “Good,” he said. “Call Dragonfly and set up a test for Monsieur Walker. If he’s trying to bust us, Dragonfly will find out. Tell him to come here, tonight.”
Marco pulled out his cell phone and made the call. When Marco was done, he joined his brother, sitting down in the chair the judge had occupied. “He’ll be here in two hours.”