Read Online Madman's Thirst by Lawrence de Maria - Free Book Online
Authors: Lawrence de Maria
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changed her plans – or hopes, she would have said – for the afternoon. She’d
probably have another Gibson. A couple of strong drinks seemed to make things
go smoother. Candy is dandy and all that. She smiled, recalling the better
line: I love a martini, but two at the most. Three I’m under the table; four
I’m under the host . Gibsons were martinis by another name after all, and
she didn’t think Dorothy Parker would mind. She glanced up from the menu. Damn!
Mr. Wall Street was headed her way.
Emma Shields was rising rapidly in
the ranks of the Shields organization, having just negotiated a $600 million
infusion of outside capital into the 80-year-old media giant. The family was
forced to relinquish 40 percent of its privately-held stock to an investor
group, but maintained managerial and editorial control of its magazines,
Internet sites, and television and radio properties. The fact that Emma had
come up with the idea, lined up the financing and then actually convinced her
father and brothers to go along, thus ensuring that all the Shields heirs would
stay very rich despite troubling times in the media industry, was an eye opener
to Wall Street.
Randolph “Randy” Shields, as the
tabloids had dubbed him for his sexual peccadilloes, had expected one of his
sons to eventually take over the company. Now it looked as if his youngest
child might be the one. As a man who never underestimated any woman, especially
a beautiful one, Randolph harbored no prejudice against the idea (unlike the
heads of other prominent New York dynasties, who favored sons – and even
sons-in-law – over daughters). He had always suspected that Emma, for all her
childhood sweetness and current glamour, was a tough cookie, and perhaps the
brightest of his brood. After all, she had survived the cancer death of a husband
and the murders of a favorite cousin and uncle by rogue billionaire Victor
Ballantrae, all in short order, and still kept her wits about her. Not only
that, but she had overseen the coverage of the collapse of the criminal Ballantrae
empire – coverage that had won the Shields organization numerous journalism
awards. The rumors surrounding the mysterious disappearance of Ballantrae and his
chief of staff, the beautiful Alana Loeb, didn’t hurt. With other media empires
reeling from scandals, the Shields family was given credit for settling
accounts with criminals who thought themselves beyond the law. It was credit
not fully deserved, Randolph and Emma knew. The man who deserved most of it –
the man responsible for the deaths of Ballantrae and Loeb – had just walked in
the Gotham’s door.
As Jake Scarne walked over to her
table, Emma Shields wondered if he still loved Alana Loeb, a woman he’d shot
through the heart.
***
“It looks like I got here just in
the nick of time,” Scarne said as he sat down. “A shark is heading up the chum
line.”
Emma, who was sitting with her
back to the window overlooking 12 th Street, smiled indulgently, and
watched the approaching investment banker hesitate, take a long look at Scarne
and swim back to the bar.
“Pungent, but apropos. But how do
you know it wasn’t ‘Mr. Right.’”
“More likely, ‘Mr. Write Me a
Check.’ Now that you are known for more than your beauty, you will have to
question the motives of every man who comes sniffing around.”
“Including yours?”
“My motives and sniffs have always
been discernible and dishonorable, and you know it. But enough friendly chit
chat, I’m thirsty and starving.” As if on cue, a waiter appeared and greeted
them by name. Scarne smiled up at him. “Frankie, get Ms. Shields another Gibson
and if they’ve got any of that Cruzan Estate rum left I’ll take it in a
snifter.”
They were at their “regular”
table at the Gotham, famous in Manhattan for its prix fixed lunch, which cost
whatever the year was. Scarne had been lunching there frequently ever since it
went for $19.97. He figured it
probably have another Gibson. A couple of strong drinks seemed to make things
go smoother. Candy is dandy and all that. She smiled, recalling the better
line: I love a martini, but two at the most. Three I’m under the table; four
I’m under the host . Gibsons were martinis by another name after all, and
she didn’t think Dorothy Parker would mind. She glanced up from the menu. Damn!
Mr. Wall Street was headed her way.
Emma Shields was rising rapidly in
the ranks of the Shields organization, having just negotiated a $600 million
infusion of outside capital into the 80-year-old media giant. The family was
forced to relinquish 40 percent of its privately-held stock to an investor
group, but maintained managerial and editorial control of its magazines,
Internet sites, and television and radio properties. The fact that Emma had
come up with the idea, lined up the financing and then actually convinced her
father and brothers to go along, thus ensuring that all the Shields heirs would
stay very rich despite troubling times in the media industry, was an eye opener
to Wall Street.
Randolph “Randy” Shields, as the
tabloids had dubbed him for his sexual peccadilloes, had expected one of his
sons to eventually take over the company. Now it looked as if his youngest
child might be the one. As a man who never underestimated any woman, especially
a beautiful one, Randolph harbored no prejudice against the idea (unlike the
heads of other prominent New York dynasties, who favored sons – and even
sons-in-law – over daughters). He had always suspected that Emma, for all her
childhood sweetness and current glamour, was a tough cookie, and perhaps the
brightest of his brood. After all, she had survived the cancer death of a husband
and the murders of a favorite cousin and uncle by rogue billionaire Victor
Ballantrae, all in short order, and still kept her wits about her. Not only
that, but she had overseen the coverage of the collapse of the criminal Ballantrae
empire – coverage that had won the Shields organization numerous journalism
awards. The rumors surrounding the mysterious disappearance of Ballantrae and his
chief of staff, the beautiful Alana Loeb, didn’t hurt. With other media empires
reeling from scandals, the Shields family was given credit for settling
accounts with criminals who thought themselves beyond the law. It was credit
not fully deserved, Randolph and Emma knew. The man who deserved most of it –
the man responsible for the deaths of Ballantrae and Loeb – had just walked in
the Gotham’s door.
As Jake Scarne walked over to her
table, Emma Shields wondered if he still loved Alana Loeb, a woman he’d shot
through the heart.
***
“It looks like I got here just in
the nick of time,” Scarne said as he sat down. “A shark is heading up the chum
line.”
Emma, who was sitting with her
back to the window overlooking 12 th Street, smiled indulgently, and
watched the approaching investment banker hesitate, take a long look at Scarne
and swim back to the bar.
“Pungent, but apropos. But how do
you know it wasn’t ‘Mr. Right.’”
“More likely, ‘Mr. Write Me a
Check.’ Now that you are known for more than your beauty, you will have to
question the motives of every man who comes sniffing around.”
“Including yours?”
“My motives and sniffs have always
been discernible and dishonorable, and you know it. But enough friendly chit
chat, I’m thirsty and starving.” As if on cue, a waiter appeared and greeted
them by name. Scarne smiled up at him. “Frankie, get Ms. Shields another Gibson
and if they’ve got any of that Cruzan Estate rum left I’ll take it in a
snifter.”
They were at their “regular”
table at the Gotham, famous in Manhattan for its prix fixed lunch, which cost
whatever the year was. Scarne had been lunching there frequently ever since it
went for $19.97. He figured it
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