Page 73 of Sweet Ruin

“I got a call this morning,” I say. “Delilah Dorsey spent Monday morning in a law office downtown. In and out in thirty-five minutes.”

Niko sets his plate down on the water. “You’re having her tailed?”

“I put a man on my collateral, yes. It’s called protecting investments.”

“We’ll circle back to your flagrant abuse of that terminology,” he decides. “Thirty-five minutes. That’s not that long.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“Divorce lawyer?”

“Jack of all trades. Family law, matrimonial, some landlord-tenant. Storefront practice.”

“Then it’s the divorce.”

“Probably.”

“But you don’t think so?”

I plant my hands on the edge of the table and gaze out at the map of Brooklyn. “I think she’s had a long weekend to wonder if she can wriggle out of the trap I’ve put her in.”

Niko chews as he thinks. He’s got our father’s jaw and our mother’s hands, though he was too young when we lost them to remember either one in that much detail.

“So let her wriggle,” Niko suggests. “Who cares? There’s nothing to find. The note’s good. The pledge is good.”

“The signature isn’t hers, dumbass.”

“That’s her and her husband’s problem, not ours.” He points his fork at the white square. “Besides, she doesn’t have enough time or resources to give us any trouble. January 15th comes, we swoop in to enforce, and bada bing, bada boom, the building’s yours. You color it in with your little marker and we all go get a drink.”

I scowl at my brother. “It isn’t that simple.”

“Says who? It is exactly that simple! Do you need reminding of how this whole thing went?” He drops into a nearby stool. “Eighteen months ago, you sent me running on a wild goose chase until at fucking last, we found the exact way in. This shit-for-brains gambling addict in debt up to his eyeballs just so happens to be married to the owner of the last parcel you need? I worked a miracle for you, bro! And then you did the rest of it. You approached. He signed. Just like we knew he would, he defaulted before the first payment came due. It’s the best work you’ve ever done.”

I grit my teeth. “I’m aware of what I did, Niko.”

“Then why are you throwing such a hissy fit now that we’re almost done?”

I don’t answer him.

But ignoring Niko has never been an effective way to get rid of him. He’s stubborn like that.

“Okay,” he says eventually. “Let me ask it another way. Why don’t you just let the loan enforce? It’s quite literally the easiest thing in the world. Do nothing and in three weeks, you win.”

I shake my head. “You’re not thinking this through.”

Niko eyes me like I’ve lost my mind. Shit, maybe I have. Some of my reasons for today’s foul mood have nothing to do with deeds or parcel ownership or signatures that may or may not be forged. Some of them have everything to do with a flour handprint on an apron straining across the most perfect hips I’ve ever seen.

But there are still some practical things in play. Legal ramifications.

“Just because the lawyer she ran to is a fool doesn’t mean fools can’t win in court. If she shows up in front of a sympathetic judge with the plethora of evidence she showed in that slideshow, then she might get a judgement in her favor. A freeze, an injunction, a wrench in my plans.”

“A pain in your ass, you mean,” says Niko.

I nod. “Exactly. And a year of waiting around while this bullshit crawls through the judicial system is a year that my enemies can use to nibble away at the edges of this territory. I don’t have any intention of giving them that chance.”

“Hm,” he says. “Shit. I didn’t think of that.”

We brood for a quiet few minutes, contemplating the map.