Page 59 of The Fallen Man
“So… We’re agreed that we’re not dating and this is not a thing?
“Yes?” he sounded suspicious.
“OK, but um, I am free on Wednesday night.”
“I could be here Wednesday,” he said and she could hear the smile in his voice.
Regular, not to mention fantastic, sex? No strings? Who cared if he seemed slightly on the shady side and maybe had boundary issues?
She could worry about that later.
10
Aiden
Metropolitan Correctional Center
Aiden leaned against his car and watched as Jackson parked. Jackson was driving a Ferrari this morning. Jackson switched cars the way some people changed jackets. Aiden hadn’t quite cracked the code, but he suspected an ex-con rolling up to a prison in a Ferrari LaFerrari made some kind of statement. Personally, Aiden liked to stick with what he knew, and his temperamental vintage Aston-Martin might be a grumpy little bitch on cold mornings, but every piece of her felt familiar, and he knew where the chapstick was and what was in the glove box. Changing cars would throw off the Feng Shui of his life. Ella kept threatening to buy him a new Aston Martin, and he had caved and agreed that if she bought him the One-77, he’d switch cars. He didn’t think she’d figured out that there were only seventy-seven of them ever made, so his little James Bond baby was safe for a while longer.
Jackson walked across the street. He was wearing an Ozwald Boateng jacket which had managed the feat of looking tailored and tough. The Saville Row tailor was one of Jackson’s favorites, which drove Aiden nuts because it meant he couldn’t wear any of his without looking like he was copying Jackson. Jackson glanced upward at the building looming over them, but Aiden wasn’t sure what the look meant.
“Are you sure you want to go in there?” asked Aiden as Jacksongot closer.
“I’m sure that I don’t,” said Jackson, staring up at the monotonous gray brick of the Metropolitan Correctional Center. It was a Federal detention center—the polite term for a prison—in lower Manhattan. It had held many prisoners of note in its time including John Gotti, and Jeffery Epstein. And for a brief period of time, it had held J.P. Granger. And then the Federal charges had been dropped and Granger had wheedled his way into being released on bail. Aiden suspected that Jackson’s eight-hundred-dollar coat and two-million-dollar car wouldn’t make him any less of a criminal in the eyes of every officer in that building.
“You know they’re going to give you a ton of shit, right?”
“Yeah,” said Jackson, “but the ex-wife angle is turning up nothing. There’s the will angle, but—”
“Will!” exclaimed Aiden, hopefully and then deflated as he realized the problem. “It’s not through probate yet, is it?”
“Nope. No estimate on when it will come through either. And I’m officially out of other ideas. But I do have my magic letter.” He held up the envelope with the prominent logo from the District Attorney of New York. “And I have you.”
“I’m not magic,” said Aiden hoping to mitigate expectations.
“I’m out here walking around,” said Jackson. “So as far as I’m concerned, you are.”
“I keep telling you, there were legitimate legal grounds for getting your case over-turned. That wasn’t magic. That was the law.”
“OK,” agreed Jackson, but by the way he said it, Aiden knew he was being placated and that Jackson was simply choosing not to disagree. It was one of Jackson’s more exasperating habits. How was Aiden supposed to win anything if Jackson wouldn’t argue?
“You’re very annoying,” said Aiden, which only made Jackson grin.
“I’ve been told that before. Frequently by you.”
“Well, fortunately, you have other good qualities,” said Aiden.
“Can’t think of what those would be, but thanks.”
“You don’t snore,” said Aiden. “And you don’t make embarrassing faces in family photos.”
Jackson’s eyebrows went up.
“I’m serious,” said Aiden. “I have this client and he showed me his family photo and, while previously I have never thought him to be exceptionally abnormal looking, I took one look at the photo and had to restrain myself from asking if it was a joke. The man is forty years old and still smiles likes he’s in that awkward toddler phase where they don’t know how to operate their face and can’t make a real smile.”
“Well,” said Jackson, “at least I’ve got that going for me.”
“It’s a big relief, let me tell you,” said Aiden. “I hadn’t even realized that was a possible problem to have.”
