“I know him from a mutual friend. We get together and play ball every week. He recommended that I come train with him at the place he works and I told him I’d swing by to check him out for myself. I tried catching up to him when I saw him walking in, but I guess I took too long to park. If you could just point me to the gym he trains in, I can go pop in on him.”
My balls were sweating. I lie with the best of them, but adrenaline was pumping as I felt myself getting closer to Jacobs. I wanted to know more about this lowlife.
The kid at the front desk wrinkled his eyebrows as he lowered the phone. I didn’t immediately know why, but I could easily discern I’d fucked up.
“Sir, you say you’re looking for Mr. Azmir Jacobs?” his eyes set quizzical.
Fuck me!
“Yes, I can find my way back there if you point me the way,” I tried to disarm him, fighting hard as hell to not apply my natural official’s tone.
“Sir, you’re going to need an appointment to see Mr. Jacobs. And I’m sorry, but I cannot let you past this point without verifying your membership.” He stood, buffing out his chest.
The kid could be no more than five-nine. I could squash his little beetle ass if I wanted. He wasn’t attempting to appear threatening, just authoritative. I guess that came along with the job. In all honesty, the little shit was polite and apparently witty. He saw the holes in my fucking story. I had to come up with something on the fly.
I’d be damned if I was going to let a petty job as a fitness manager come between me and getting to this worthless twat. I knew what would shake his pathetic ass. I was on the clock with Munick. He granted me an extension after my last deadline. The stiff! I knew he wouldn’t extend his graces anymore. His retirement was nearing and who knows where that would lead me in terms of an assignment. I had to take my chance and it needed to be now.
“Do me a favor,” I asked while pulling out my card and writing on the back of it. “Give this to Jacobs…” I handed him the card. “…along with this message: 'He doesn’t want to fuck around with me', Got it?” I asked the young lad.
He never looked at the inscription on the back of my card but damn it if I didn’t see the spark in his eye when his suspicion of foul play was confirmed as I turned on that official’s tone and scowl. His mouth hung open and softly nodded his head as I pivoted and made my way out of the building.
It wasn’t until I’d slammed the car door shut that it hit me—Azmir Jacobs was more than a manager at this recreation center. The pisser was the fucking owner. I’d had his financial jacket on file but never familiarized myself with the details of his empire. I blew my opportunity at a face-to-face with Jacobs. I was outsmarted by a kid! Just when I was so close.
Motherfuck me!
~~~~~~~~~~
Rayna
We arrived at JFK Airport in New York City and immediately the energy changed from West Coast placidity to Empire State bustle. You had to appreciate the antithesis of the two. We claimed our luggage and located our driver from the car service Azmir arranged for. We had muscle with us and I had no idea why, but hadn't found the heart to ask up to that point. Azmir had been distant during our entire commute, not giving much away. I dismissed it as him coming down from an already long morning seeing that we ascended into the friendly skies around noon.
We pulled up to The Peninsula; talk about opulence. I was only familiar with this place because of my days interning for the practice. Mr.'s Smith and Katz would have me book rooms there for them and their families during Christmastime. This was extravagance at its best.
When we approached the front desk Azmir told the concierge, “Jacobs, A.D., check-in.”