Lawson does as told this time. “It’s me,” he says in a rush, and he can hear the shaking in his hands playing out in his voice. “I think we’ve got a problem, and I think I just found out who Gi – whoyour competition,” he corrects, because it doesn’t feel safe to use Gino’s name on a voicemail like this, “was using to sell locally. Call me back.”
But Tommy doesn’t call him back while he sweats through the next three coffee orders. He steals away to the bathroom under Kyle’s judgmental gaze, and tries again.
“This is Tom, leave a message.”
“Tommy,” Lawson says, urgent, whispering so no one on the other side of the door can hear. “Call me back. It’s important.”
The third time he sneaks off to make a call –“This is Tom, leave a message”– he steps out of the restroom to find Kyle waiting for him, hands on his hips, head tilted back so he can give Lawson a narrow glare.
“Are you sick?” Kyle asks. “Because–”
“I am,” Lawson says. “I can’t stay off the can. I should probably go home, huh?” He gags for effect.
Kyle scurries back from him and throws up his hand as a shield. It’s a miracle he doesn’t put up two fingers in a warding cross.
“I can stay,” Lawson says, clutching at his stomach. “If you–”
“Go. Melissa can clock out for you.”
He goes, grabbing his jacket and laptop and all but sprinting through the parking lot.
He tries Tommy again before he starts his car, and gets voicemail again.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chants as he turns the key and backs out of his space.
On the drive to the mansion, he reviews the facts in an effort to calm himself down. Maybe it’s not as bad as he thinks.
Despite a lack of detail, it’s clear to him that Mark Walton was the guy dealing for the Giacoletti family here in Eastman. There’s no mistaking his meaning at the counter. Does that mean he’s a relative? A distant one? Or just a local, useful idiot? It doesn’t matter. He hates Lawson, always has, and leveled a serious threat at Tommy, be it figurative or literal.
Secondly, someone in the Giacoletti camp clearly told Mark that Lawson’s the new dealer in town. Why? Why stir up street level drama like that?
Because no matter what Gino Giacoletti agreed to in that Zoom call, he wants to wipe Tommy and the Cattaneo family off the board.
Tommyknowsthis, Tommy has a longformplanfor this…but that doesn’t mean the plan’s going to gowell.
Lawson takes slow, deep breaths on the drive over, and tries, unsuccessfully, to think calming thoughts. Puppies. Fields of wildflowers. Tommy dead in a ditch…
Well, that’s not working.
He’s sweat straight through his work polo by the time he punches in the code and zips up the driveway to the big turnaround that loops the fountain.
Even from outside, he can tell that the house is a kicked anthill of activity. Cars are lined up on the other side of the fountain, and men in suits are coming and going, coming and going, some on phones, some toting suitcases.
Lawson’s heart drops down into his stomach and rolls around there, so that he feelsactuallysick.
No one spares him a look on his way to the front door, but once inside the foyer, on the green-and-white marble checkered floor, between two massive, gilt-framed mirrors, a bright shout of “Lawson!” issues from the staircase.
Natalia skips down to him, dressed in black leather pants and a wine turtleneck. No one should be able to skip in spike heels like that, but she manages, and jumps up to fling her arms around his neck and kiss him on both cheeks. “Hello, hello,” she says, brightly, her high ponytail swinging as she lowers back down and slaps lightly at his chest. “I haven’t seen you!”
The last time he came by the house, it was after hours, and Tommy hustled him into his – sumptuous, unbelievable – bedroom and started tearing his clothes off. It wasn’t a visit so much as a booty call.
“Uh, hi.” He grips her elbows before she can dive back in for another hug, because in her current bubbly state, that seems likely. “Where’s Tommy?”
She rolls her eyes and looks put out…until she takes a good, long look at his face. Then she frowns. “What’s wrong?”
Two guys lugging black and chrome trunks hurry past them, and Lawson steers her to the side and into a lavish parlor that needs a few ladies in fine dresses sipping tea. “Where’s Tommy? I found out who’s been dealing the shitty heroin in town.”
Her eyes go wide. “Who?”
