The North Shore Club was the place to see and be seen by Atlantic City’s elite. Mostly, it was rich old men playing golf, feeling up the staff, and pissing in the bushes. A real circle jerk of privilege and corruption. I owned every single one of the members there, in one way or another. I wasn’t like my father, who’d watched one too many movies and relied on a “horse’s head in the bed” approach to managing the business. Fear and threats could only take you so far. I preferred leverage and mutually assured destruction. We were not the same.
People who’d crossed my father, they’d gotten their ass beat, or a member of their family might have been taken hostage. People who crossed me? I buried them socially, professionally, and then, once they’d suffered through that, physically.
It wasn’t enough to kill a man like those who frequented the North Shore Club. You had to embarrass him first. You had to destroy his reputation. Then you killed him. Everything at its right time.
I waited with Elio until Commissioner Reynolds and Judge Ellens were at the hole farthest from the club before heading toward them.
“Good morning, gentlemen, what a coincidence. I didn’t know you played here.” A lie, of course, obvious to everyone present. I knew every goddamn thing about these slimy excuses for men.
Commissioner Reynolds recovered the fastest. “Renato! I didn’t know you played? I’ve never seen you on the links before.”
“What can I say, my work keeps me busy, and I neglect my hobbies. Something I suppose you aren’t familiar with, Commissioner. You never neglect your hobbies, do you?”
The commissioner’s face turned red as he gave a strangled cough.
Reynolds’ hobbies were pretty standard. Drinking, snorting whatever illicit substances he could shove up his nose, gambling away his life savings, and chasing down some poor escort for the night, disappointing her with a poor performance. I knew exactly how poor because I’d seen the footage. With Giada’s skills at my disposal, it was easy to get exactly the kind of evidence that could ruin a man.
“Meaning?”
“You’ve been going hard lately. We talked about credit before, if you remember?”
Reynolds licked his lips. “I remember.”
“Bene. So, that particular part of the conversation doesn’t need repeating. How do you know Juan Castillo?”
Reynolds blanched, and Judge Ellens got fidgety, suddenly very interested in the grass at his feet.
“Who?” Reynolds asked weakly.
I smirked at him. “You’re going with that?” Playing dumb wasn’t going to work for me, but Reynolds had never been the brightest bulb.
“What?”
I sighed heavily, irritated by the fact that I might get blood on my suit. I hefted the club in my hand, giving it a short spin before I smashed the heavy head against Reynolds’ cheek. A couple of teeth flew out onto the grass, and the man fell to his knees.
“Did that jog your memory? Shake something loose?”
Reynolds gripped his jaw like it was broken or dislocated. Maybe it was. I didn’t care. Elio handed me a stack of photos, and I tossed them on top of Reynolds.
“I want to know where this man hides out, and don’t try and tell me you don’t know.” The CCTV showed Reynolds meeting Juan, the same smooth ambassador who’d recently strolled into my warehouse on Clements Drive.
The patrón of the cartel.
“What does he want?” I asked, dropping to a crouch beside Reynolds.
“Just those two nobodies, the nurse and her sister – and to get rid of you. Obviously, I told him to take a hike.”
“Sure, you did. Let’s get something straight. You can’t fight me, Reynolds. You can’t take me, not even with the Castillo kids behind you. You can’t change my grip on this city, and you can’t erase the leverage I have over you.”
I stood. Judge Ellens cowered by their golf cart. This was the same judge who signed off on all the questionable paperwork Commissioner Reynolds sent his way, and yet he was dumb enough to look surprised that he’d pissed someone off.
“Detectives Vane and Whitely. Do they work for you?”
Reynolds rolled around on the ground, clutching his mouth and spitting blood down his chest.
“Call them off, if they do. If they don’t, find a way to make them back off. I’m tired of them, and the next time I have to come and talk to you about it will be the last.” I held out a hand for the sand and seed bottle and frowned at it as Elio passed it over.
I’d been planning on pouring some sand down Reynolds’ throat to get the message across, but the disgusting pigs had pissed in the bottle used for maintaining the course.
I sloshed the bottle threateningly over Reynolds’ body. “I see you with another Castillo, and this conversation goes very differently. You can’t take me on in my city, Reynolds. Don’t even try it.” I poured the piss-ridden mixture over him before tossing the bottle at Judge Ellens, who fumbled as he tried to catch it.
“See you soon, gentlemen.”
