Page 42 of Requiem

“I see. Well, based on your previous record …”

“I’m sorry, what record is that?” I lean forward, brows knitted together.

“Uh, well, the death of Calvin Burridge …”

“Was I arrested for that and I didn’t know it?” I ask Glenn next to me.

“Not that I’m aware of,” Glenn plays along.

“Then, you can hardly call it a record, can you now, Braaaaady?” I taunt. “What’s in that little folder of yours anyway? Hmm? Nothing that indicates I’ve ever had more than a speeding ticket. And that was when I was sixteen-years-old. So, unless you’ve got something else to show me, I’ll be leaving now,” I inform him, getting to my feet.

“Actually, I do.”

“You do what?”

“I do have something else to show you. So, if you’d please just indulge me for a few more minutes,” Brady requests.

I look to Glenn who nods, so I sit down again.

“Can you please get to it already, Counselor?” Glenn grits in his best ‘irritated New Yorker’ accent. “Seems to me you should have something better to do than harass one of the top musicians in the world.”

“You’re correct, Mr. Garibaldi. I wouldn’t have requested this meeting if it weren’t important. So, let’s just get down to it, shall we?”

When no one responds, he leans forward with his forearms on the table, pencil in hand. He taps the eraser on the table.

“As you know, Jennifer Ruiz’s horn was stolen. As I’ve just mentioned, Jimmy Woo has admitted to taking it and then trying to pawn it. The instrument was already on a police watch list, so we were tipped off by the pawnbroker and the horn was recovered. The police departments forensic unit confirms the presence of Mr. Woo and Miss Ruiz’s fingerprints only.”

Well that sounds good to me. Maybe they’re all here to offer me an official apology so I don’t sue the shit out of them for slander. Garibaldi is on that train too, apparently.

“We already knew that,” he grumbles with more than a hint of irritation.

“Yes, well, there is young Mr. Woo’s testimony,” Brady says.

“Please. His word against mine,” I mumble.

He ignores me. “And then there’s the audio …”

All heads swing to him.

Glenn is the first to ask. “What audio is that?”

“The audio from the wire that Jimmy was wearing when he approached your client outside of the concert hall the other day. The audio that has him clearly coaching Jimmy on how to lie to the police. The audio that clearly implicates Jeremy Corrigan in the theft of the instrument.”

Before either of us can comment, Brady Bell hits a button on a remote control and suddenly there is sound hissing through speakers mounted on the wall. I can hear the street noise in the background, and then Jimmy’s voice. And mine. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!

Glenn senses where I’m headed, and puts a hand on my sleeve lightly. “Okay, Mr. Bell. If you’d wanted this to go to the police, it would have gone to them already. What is it, exactly, that you do want?” he fishes.

I know what he wants, and he’s not going to get it.

“Jeremy, it’s simple,” Brady begins with a smile. “We want you out. Same deal as before, you resign immediately, and we’ll pay out six months of your salary. No one wants any negative press associated with the orchestra, so you sign a non-disclosure agreement and we’ll agree, in writing, not to give any more information about your departure than a press release, over which you’ll have final approval.”

I lean across the table and fix my hardest stare on Doug, who is mopping his disgustingly sweaty brow with a handkerchief. “Seriously, Doug? You going to trust this suit to protect your … best interests?” I menace.

Brady waves a hand at me. “Oh, I already know about the threats, so don’t bother trying to intimidate Doug, Jeremy. And that, by the way, is non-negotiable. The second you even breathe in the direction of him or his family, or even his pets, we will take this recording straight to the police and prosecute you. And let me assure you, Jeremy, we may be trying to avoid the publicity now, but if we feel you are in any way a threat to this organization – or anyone in it, we will use our media juggernaut to destroy you.”

Brady slaps the folder in front of him closed, sits back in his cushy leather chair and taps his pen on the table.

“So, there it is, Leave now with your reputation intact and some money in your pocket. Or, leave later when you’re dismissed on the grounds of the morals clause in your contract and hauled into court for grand larceny and blackmail.”