The Whiskey Files

THREE

If there was ever a woman who had never heard the utterance of the word, no, it was Lillian Brindle. At twenty-eight years old, she had never wanted for nothing. As the daughter of Mr. Timothy Brindle, the notorious crime boss of Chicago's South Side; she had always gotten everything she had ever wanted.

Nothing was too expensive for her taste. No man was too out of reach of her hands, married or not. No just wasn't in her vocabulary.

Which was why she was here, staring at her reflection in the floor-length mirror of her walk-in wardrobe. Addressing the way that the black and crystal scalloped 3/4th sleeved shift dress by Oscar de la Renta looked against her lithe but curvy frame.

Her gaze found its way to her slender face and her small button nose, to the light brown hair she had been getting highlighted since she was a teenager. With those pouty lips and the sultry way her cheek bones curved, her face reminded one of a young Gene Tierney.

"No, I don't think I will wear this one for today. Hand me the long, black tulle dress by Dolce and Gabbana."

Because that was the only color she wore other than white: black, and it had to be designer and expensive to boot, because the dress itself was almost nine-thousand dollars.

She watched through the mirror's reflection as her maid started to fumble around through her wardrobe, skipping right past the D&C and and Lily let out a long exasperated sigh.

"Are you an i***t or something? Can you not hear me? With the rhinestones, the Dolce and Gabbana."

"Yes ma'am, I just..."

"Did I ask you to speak?"

"No ma'am."

When she found the right dress and brought it towards her, she slid it on. Feeling the high quality fabrics go smoothly over her little white slip and matching lace top. She had the maid finish zipping it up and when she stepped out of the walk-in closet, she pointed out a pair of matching Dolce and Gabbana heels to go with.

"And don't forget the shoes."

Stepping out of her closet full of these designer clothes, shoes and handbags, she was met with the greater part of her bedroom. The flaunting of wealth didn't stop in her wardrobe, for it showed in just about everything in the room.

From the oversized bed with its Ralph Lauren black bedsheets and the black and white canopy top to the chaise lounge at the end of her bed. The ornate hand chiseled stone fireplace that sat at one end of her room to the damask wallpaper and the Carlisle armchair that sat close to the fireplace.

The main piece of furniture, aside from the bed and the lounge, was the vanity made by Testolini that sat off near the walk in closet. The top of which was adorned with many precious stone necklaces, rings and earrings along with expensive perfumes from various designers, including Dior, Armani and Louis Vuitton, to name a few.

That was how most of the house was though. Filled with ornate and expensive furniture and a handful of staff to care for it and the people all living within the many rooms Oakland Estate had.

At her vanity she sat. Choosing from the various perfumes before she picked out the Louis Vuitton and pointed to it for her maid to give her a gentle spritz before she had her pull her hair up into a soft bun at the top of her head. Allowing for a few waspy hairs at the nape of her neck and the fringe to frame her beautiful face.

She went with light make-up, just enough to highlight her gorgeous features, but all in all, Lillian Brindle did not need make-up and hardly wore anything that did not look natural on her. She had her eyebrows done every few weeks and her nails always done in black or white French tips and that was as far as she went into the make-up.

Though nothing touched her that wasn't a designer name.

With her shoes on, she dismissed her maid and exited her room. Stepping into the hallway that overlooked the large grand staircase that led down to the main floor and the open foyer and the front of the house.

Her room centered the second floor and overlooked the large flowered fountain that accented the rounded driveway to the front yard. She could see anyone coming up towards the house or leaving from her bedroom window if she so wanted, and as a child that was how she knew when her father was home or not, to see if the Rolls-Royce was out there.

There was a look stolen at one end of the hallway, to the left where her father's wife's room was. The double doors were firmly closed though she knew she would be inside there. After all, it was almost eleven, which meant that she was taking her early afternoon nap.

A nap she took every day before she took her lunch out on the back patio as she watched the Latino groundskeeper skim the heated pool.

"I came to speak to Mr. Brindle."

She could hear the voices as she made her way to the top of the landing to the stairs. Only partway down did she spot the man standing there in a pair of blue jeans and a black sweater that hugged to his muscular frame in a way she thought only happened to laborers and men who spent too much time in the gym.

She eyed him thoroughly. From the way his biceps curled in his cross-arm stance to the bits of stubble on his angular jawline. He was a dirty-blonde-haired and blue-eyed, devilishly handsome man, if she had ever seen one, and he drew her interest immediately. Like a new project she wanted to start on.

"You have an appointment to see Mr. Brindle?"

His secretary, Mrs. Stephanie Taper had stepped forward amongst the various muscular goons that stood around the intruder. She was strict and disciplined in a way that always came across as anal retentive. Scheduling everything down to the last little minute, even the minute one could take a considerably long breath.

"No but-"

"Without an appointment, I'm afraid I can't let you see Mr. Brindle. I'm sure you understand he's a very busy man and if I let everybody off the street who wanders onto the property-"

"Look, I need to speak to him. I'm not going anywhere until I can see him!"

The guards were starting to square up around him and Mrs. Taper would wave them to back down.

"If you'd like to schedule an appointment-"

"Why if it isn't Salem King."

Lily knew the deep voice of her father anywhere. With its no-nonsense sort of way it rolled off his tongue. He stepped out from the dining room that was situated just to the left of the stairway, he must have come through the side door from the kitchen. He had an office building out on the property just a few short steps along a walking path outside near the house.

"You know better then to come into my house, especially uninvited. Hopefully you've come to pay your debts. If so, then I can forgive this blunder of proper etiquette."

- - -

"Not Exactly..."

Shit. Salem really didn't think this through.

"I came to work out a deal. One hopefully all of us can agree on."

"You have five minutes, Mr. King."

"Oh, you don't want to go back to your office-"

"Right here, I don't have all day."

Yeah, this didn't seem like it was going to go over too well already. f**k. Here went nothing.

"As you know, Tulley and King was a lucrative business for quite a few years. Not just because of Tulley's advertising, but because of my impeccable talents-"

"I'm losing my patience, Mr. King, you had better get to the point of this."

"-The point is, I'm sure a busy man like yourself who sees plenty of business partners daily could use a man like me around. My talents could be quite valuable to you. All I'm asking is an upfront for my services of another fifty thousand dollars and-"

"Let me stop you right there." Mr. Brindle took a few steps towards him, "I know what your talents are, Mr. King. I don't think I need any use of them. You see, around here we have other ways of getting to people than by sleeping around to do it. As far as money? You can forget it. You already owe me fifty grand. Where's my money, Mr. King?"

"I swear, I have your money, Mr. Brindle. I just need a few more weeks-"

"Weeks I don't have. If you had my money, you wouldn't be needing weeks, now would you? I told you when I loaned you that money that I don't p***y-foot around when it comes to paying up debts. Now you've come straight to my house, uninvited, and you think you can play with me? With nothing but your looks as wager, then you have the balls to ask me for even more money on top of it all."

"I just need another case. When I get another case that money is yours, I promise."

"You think I got where I am on promises and with my bleeding heart? Loaning out money to every sad sack of s**t who walked through my doors? You're insulting my intelligence and my position as a man. If I had half a mind, I'd have my boys here take you to the beach and set you off a pier. You know why I won't do that, Mr. King?"

"Why's that, sir?"

"Because dead men don't pay back their debts, but I am going to have them take you for a ride and teach you a lesson, one you understand clearly because you seem like a smart man underneath all them good looks of yours. I'm giving you those two weeks, understand? I don't care how you do it, prostitute yourself for all I care, Mr. King, but I want my damn money back and with interest."

"Understood, sir..."

Salem started to back away towards the doors but the goons were circling around him.

"Boys show Mr. King out and that he doesn't get lost on his way back to his office, and make sure he understands that I mean business. Just try not to rough up that face of his too much, he still needs to make money with that mug of his."

They grabbed him by the arms and there was no fighting. One of the thugs instantly cracked him in the gut, sending all the air from his lungs and Salem wheezed out like a deflating balloon. As they drug him outside, he spotted a woman standing on the stair landing just long enough to exchange a glance before he was being tossed outside the doors.

They didn't do it on the front lawn. No, even Salem knew that none of the rough housing or dirty work was done in direct daylight in the main house on the front lawn for everyone to see. That wouldn't be proper. Instead, they would pile him into the old Rolls-Royce and took him off the property.

As soon as they were in front of the offices that housed Tulley and King, they'd pop him out into the alleyway and that's when the real beatdown began. Three men swarmed him and one grabbed hold of him by the arms.

A swift kick to his guts had him doubling over and down to his knees as he wheezed and coughed. Another strike and he dryly heaved as he felt punch after punch hit him like mini-sledge hammers into his rib cage. The pain radiating out through his torso.

The goon stepped aside and the next guy came forward. Despite Mr. Brindle's words he was punched square in the face. Hard enough into the temple that it would leave a bruise on his left eye and he felt his temple split near the eyebrow. The second punch rung his bell, enough that he went dizzy and nearly blacked out as the quick jab of the follow-up split open his lip.

They went over his ribs some more and as he felt like the beat down would never end, he was let go to collapse face first into the pavement and left in the alley as they piled into the Rolls-Royce and drove off back to Oakland.

Salem lay there for a good five minutes, just wheezing into the cold, hard ground before he eventually got up and made his way passed the building and started down the street.

There was no point in going back up there to face Evie. The last thing he wanted was for her to see him in this state, at least right now when he felt so beaten down. No, he was going to The Drunken Rose to spend the last few dollars he had on a couple glasses of whiskey. He at least deserved that.