charitable fund. Linda’s father had been an old Newark classmate too, and she, so like so many others, had become entwined in the massive Scope holdings. She’d started working for various Scope enterprises while still in high school. Both she and her brother had paid for their education with Scope scholarship grants.
“You look smashing,” he told her, though in truth he thought she looked tired.
Linda Beck smiled at him. “Thank you, Mr. Scope.”
“How many times have I asked you to call me Griff?”
“Several hundred,” she said.
“How’s Shauna?”
“A little under the weather, I’m afraid.”
“Give her my best.”
“I will, thank you.”
“We should probably meet next week.”
“I’ll call your secretary.”
“Good.”
Griffin gave her a peck on the cheek, and that was when he spotted Larry Gandle in the foyer. Larry looked bleary-eyed and disheveled, but then again, he always looked that way. You could slap a custom-cut Joseph Abboud on him, and an hour later he’d still look like someone who’d gotten into a tussle.
Larry Gandle was not supposed to be here.
The two men’s eyes met. Larry nodded once and turned away. Griffin waited another moment or two and then followed his young friend down the corridor.
Larry’s father, Edward, had also been one of Griffin’s classmates from the old Newark days. Edward Gandle died of a sudden heart attack twelve years ago. Damn shame. Edward had been a fine man. Since then, his son had taken over as the Scopes’ closest confidant.
The two men entered Griffin’s library. At one time, the library had been a wonderful room of oak and mahogany and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and antique globes. Two years ago, Allison, in a postmodern mood, decided that the room needed a total updating. The old woodwork was torn out and now the room was white and sleek and functional and held all the warmth of a work cubicle. Allison had been so proud of the room that Griffin didn’t have the heart to tell her how much he disliked it.
“Was there a problem tonight?” Griffin asked.
“No,” Larry said.
Griffin offered Larry a seat. Larry shook him off and started pacing.
“Was it bad?” Griffin asked.
“We had to make certain there were no loose ends.”
“Of course.”
Someone had attacked Griffin’s son Randall—ergo,Griffin attacked back. It was one lesson he never forgot. You don’t sit back when you or a loved one is being assaulted. And you don’t act like the government with their “proportional responses” and all that nonsense. If someone hurts you, mercy and pity must be put aside. You eliminate the enemy. You scorch the earth. Those who scoffed at this philosophy, who thought it unnecessarily Machiavellian, usually were the ones who caused excess destruction.
In the end, if you eliminate problems swiftly, less blood is shed.
“So what’s wrong?” Griffin asked.
Larry kept pacing. He rubbed the front of his bald pate. Griffin didn’t like what he was seeing. Larry was not one to get keyed up easily. “I’ve never lied to you, Griff,” he said.
“I know that.”
“But there are times for … insulation.”
“Insulation?”
“Who I hire, for example. I never tell you names. I never tell them names either.”
“Those are details.”
“Yes.”
“What is it, Larry?”
He stopped pacing. “Eight years ago, you’ll recall that we hired two men to perform a certain task.”
The color drained from Griffin’s face. He swallowed. “And they performed admirably.”
“Yes. Well, perhaps.”
“I don’t understand.”
“They performed their task. Or, at least, part of it. The threat was apparently eliminated.”
Even though the house was swept for listening devices on a weekly basis, the two men never usednames. A Scope rule. Larry Gandle often wondered if the rule was for the sake of caution or because it helped depersonalize what they were occasionally forced to do. He suspected the latter.
Griffin
“You look smashing,” he told her, though in truth he thought she looked tired.
Linda Beck smiled at him. “Thank you, Mr. Scope.”
“How many times have I asked you to call me Griff?”
“Several hundred,” she said.
“How’s Shauna?”
“A little under the weather, I’m afraid.”
“Give her my best.”
“I will, thank you.”
“We should probably meet next week.”
“I’ll call your secretary.”
“Good.”
Griffin gave her a peck on the cheek, and that was when he spotted Larry Gandle in the foyer. Larry looked bleary-eyed and disheveled, but then again, he always looked that way. You could slap a custom-cut Joseph Abboud on him, and an hour later he’d still look like someone who’d gotten into a tussle.
Larry Gandle was not supposed to be here.
The two men’s eyes met. Larry nodded once and turned away. Griffin waited another moment or two and then followed his young friend down the corridor.
Larry’s father, Edward, had also been one of Griffin’s classmates from the old Newark days. Edward Gandle died of a sudden heart attack twelve years ago. Damn shame. Edward had been a fine man. Since then, his son had taken over as the Scopes’ closest confidant.
The two men entered Griffin’s library. At one time, the library had been a wonderful room of oak and mahogany and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and antique globes. Two years ago, Allison, in a postmodern mood, decided that the room needed a total updating. The old woodwork was torn out and now the room was white and sleek and functional and held all the warmth of a work cubicle. Allison had been so proud of the room that Griffin didn’t have the heart to tell her how much he disliked it.
“Was there a problem tonight?” Griffin asked.
“No,” Larry said.
Griffin offered Larry a seat. Larry shook him off and started pacing.
“Was it bad?” Griffin asked.
“We had to make certain there were no loose ends.”
“Of course.”
Someone had attacked Griffin’s son Randall—ergo,Griffin attacked back. It was one lesson he never forgot. You don’t sit back when you or a loved one is being assaulted. And you don’t act like the government with their “proportional responses” and all that nonsense. If someone hurts you, mercy and pity must be put aside. You eliminate the enemy. You scorch the earth. Those who scoffed at this philosophy, who thought it unnecessarily Machiavellian, usually were the ones who caused excess destruction.
In the end, if you eliminate problems swiftly, less blood is shed.
“So what’s wrong?” Griffin asked.
Larry kept pacing. He rubbed the front of his bald pate. Griffin didn’t like what he was seeing. Larry was not one to get keyed up easily. “I’ve never lied to you, Griff,” he said.
“I know that.”
“But there are times for … insulation.”
“Insulation?”
“Who I hire, for example. I never tell you names. I never tell them names either.”
“Those are details.”
“Yes.”
“What is it, Larry?”
He stopped pacing. “Eight years ago, you’ll recall that we hired two men to perform a certain task.”
The color drained from Griffin’s face. He swallowed. “And they performed admirably.”
“Yes. Well, perhaps.”
“I don’t understand.”
“They performed their task. Or, at least, part of it. The threat was apparently eliminated.”
Even though the house was swept for listening devices on a weekly basis, the two men never usednames. A Scope rule. Larry Gandle often wondered if the rule was for the sake of caution or because it helped depersonalize what they were occasionally forced to do. He suspected the latter.
Griffin
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