“Doubt is our product,” said Bernard Carleton, a louche-looking young man, plucking away at his plate of smoked-salmon canapés. The public relations firm Colton & Touche, whom he worked for, made no bones about the reason for their success. He peered at Richard Lyle Mills. “But I think you know that, otherwise we wouldn’t be here.” He returned to picking at the morsels on his plate. “These are usually my favorites but for some unknown reason I’m off.” He snapped his fingers to garner the waiter’s attention.
The two sat opposite each other at a white clothed table at the upscale Donatello Restaurant on Elm Street in Toronto. Richard had arranged the meeting to ensure there would be few patrons at eight in the evening. Already eight-thirty, nothing of substance had occurred and the sonofabitch had been late without offering so much of a hint of an apology. And that irked him.
Richard smiled. “You’re right. I wouldn’t,” he said wryly.
“Wouldn’t what? Oh, I see. We wouldn’t be here.” When the waiter arrived, he ordered Costolette D’agnello and a bottle of Amarone Morar. “You did say you’re paying for this?” Richard nodded. “Bottle first and a clean glass.” He handed the unused wine glass that had been sitting on the table to the waiter.
Richard sliced into his cooled Vitello Marsala and chewed for several minutes before saying, “The word has it your company created the playbook for deception.”
Bernard took a long drink from his wine glass before placing it down and stared at Richard. “So? Does that create a problem?”
“Not at all.” Richard leaned into the table. “Before going further, what’s your retainer.”
“I’m surprised that a rich man like you would even care.”
“That’s how I became rich, caring where my pennies were spent.”
“It will cost you much more than pennies.” Bernard waved a dismissive forefinger at him. “Tut, tut Mr. Mills. Firstly, I need you to lay out what it is you want done. A businessman of your ilk should know that.” He held up the bottle. “Pour you some?”
Richard hesitated. High quality red wine such as the one Bernard held up was difficult to turn down. Anyway, he was paying for it. Since his light headedness at the golf club two weeks ago, he had not touched a drop of alcohol. But nevertheless, he pushed his wine glass toward Bernard.
“May I suggest we leave the business portion of our meeting until after supper? The pleasure of eating and business don’t mix for me.”
Richard had a quite different point of view but instead of relating it he decided to lie. “I’m okay with that.” He had no desire to spend any longer than he had to with this man. His next meeting or more precisely rendezvous was in less than two hours. Luckily, he did not have to travel far. “I’ll tell Roberto to speed things along.”
“Roberto?” Bernard asked glancing up.
“The owner.”
When supper was finished, each enjoyed a warm snifter of Grand Marnier. Throughout dinner, the conversation had been sparse and largely mundane. Richard surmised from Bernard’s glazed-over eyes and slightly slurred speech that he had imbibed too much. Yet, in reflection, Bernard had drunk no more than he had, and he felt fine. He took a cursory glance at his watch before he reached into his briefcase at the foot of the table and pulled out three folders. “Now, let’s get down to business.” He placed one folder in front of Bernard.
Bernard downed the rest of his drink and opened the folder. “No need to look so somber. Outside of the obvious, namely they are photos, what am I looking at?” He began to shuffle through them.
“They were taken two weeks ago; guests of mine whom I want to remain anonymous.”
“Who has the originals?” Bernard asked. “How many copies of these are floating around? More importantly, how did they come into your possession?”
Richard replied, “It’s not important how I received them. As to who else may have them, that’s being quietly looked into.”
“I assume you want all traces of those photos destroyed.”
“I do. And the first person to do that will receive win a sizeable bonus” Richard handed him a second folder. “The photo in your hands is the person who took them.”
“She sure likes tats and facial hardware. Who is she?”
“I don’t know. That is what I need you to find out. What I do know is she was a friend of Julia Gibbs,” replied Richard.
“Sunnyvale’s Chief of Police…shot awhile back if I recollect.”
“Same.” He plucked the photo from his grasp. “I need you to find out everything about this girl. I do not care how minuscule. Nothing is to be overlooked. Nothing!” He slid the picture back to him and handed him the third folder. “She was working with those two men.”
“Cops?! Were their actions sanctioned?”
“Not by the present Chief of Police. As far as can be determined the two went rogue.” He saw Bernard shift uneasily in his chair. “Is there a problem.”
“Could be. I know one of them. This James fella. And I can assure you he does not play a lone hand. When the Urquiza operation went down, he and his sister helped to bring that about. At that time, he worked closely with the provincial Attorney General’s Office and the now Premier of Ontario.”
Richard sat back in his chair and ruminated over what he had just heard. “Bernard, I don’t give a shit. I want those men discredited, persona non grata. I don’t care how its done or how much money it takes. Just do it. Unless…”
“It’s not beyond our reach. Consider it done.” Bernard massaged his chin while the forefinger on his other hand tapped the table.
“Something bothering you?” He was surprised by how suddenly sober Bernard had become.
“Just wondering who will get the shellacking when all is said and done,” he joked wanly. “There’s a saying that goes, ‘the whale that spouts is the one that gets harpooned.’ If I’m right,” Bernard said, “I think their actions may have revealed the first spout. Need time to test my hunch. Here’s how much it will cost to get things started.” He wrote the amount on the back of one of the folders and slid it across to him.
Richard’s eyebrows raised as he stared at the amount. “I thought it would be more, considerably more.”
“That’s only the first installment, the teaser so-to-speak,” Bernard said with a wink.
Richard entered the Novotel Toronto Centre on the Esplanade and took the elevator to the fifth floor. Thirty minutes late for his appointment, he was unsure of his reception. He barely knocked on the door when it opened. Her smile and outreached arms embraced him. He easily moved across the threshold and kicked the door shut with his heel, but not before Eunice Burnetski snapped a shot with her phone.