The Big Time

CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

THE SECURITY GUARDS AT the gate to G Money's driveway told him to leave. Troy pointed through the metal bars at his father's orange Porsche and told them he'd already been inside. They went through the same routine with their radios, and the gates buzzed and swung slowly open. One of the guards walked him up the curved drive and passed him off to one of the guards he recognized at the door.

"You're like gum on a shoe, kid," the house guard said as Troy followed him into the hall, past the enormous painting of G Money and into the very room where Troy needed to be.

"Your dad's coming," the guard said, leaving him alone.

Only the weak light coming in from the pool area and two dim floor lamps lit the room. Troy headed straight for the zebra couch, which sat facing the big glass windows on the edge of a bearskin rug. His heart thumped up into his throat. He felt around the phone and pinched the quarter, his hand still deep in his pocket as he rounded the couch and gasped.

Luther Tolsky was lying sprawled out along the length of the black-and-white couch like a beached whale. The enormous man's fingers were intertwined and rested in the center of his chest. His eyes shot open. They widened, and he scowled at Troy through his rimless glasses.

"What are you doing here?" Luther Tolsky asked in an unfriendly rumble, the pink opening of his mouth flashing white teeth from its nest of black fur.

Troy snatched his hand out of his pocket, leaving the quarter behind.

"Nothing," he said, instantly aware that his answer wasn't good enough. "My dad. I'm meeting him."

Luther's face softened just a bit. "Yeah, you got the big money coming in, little man, don't you?"

"I think."

"You know," Luther said, scowling again. "Don't be a little daisy. You like daisies?"

"No," Troy said.

"No one does," Luther said. "Pretty little flowers that smell like junk. Say what you think. Think what you say."

Troy stood, frozen and scared.

Luther stared, waiting, then said, "So? You got the big money?"

"Yes."

White teeth flashed from the middle of Luther's thick beard. "That's a good boy. You do have it coming in. I heard about it. Big money. There is nothing wrong with money."

Troy just stood.

Luther sat up and scratched his beard, then flipped open his cell phone, dialed, and put it to his ear. Troy looked down at him, his eyes drawn to the tattered ear. One tail of Luther's silk shirt had escaped from his pants. The gold chain on his chest, resting in its bed of hair, glowed in the dull light from the pool. In Luther's eyes, Troy saw evil and death and the cunning of a warlock who could read your mind.

"Drew," Luther said, barking Troy's father's name, "you coming to meet your little man or no? Little Daisy woke me up from my nap. Come get the boy. In the zoo room. I got people coming from New York and that man from the Cayman Islands, and they won't want to see a kid."

Luther snapped the phone shut and looked around before he said, "Looks like a zoo in here, right?"

Troy nodded, glancing around at the animal skins laid out on the floor and stretched tight over the sofas, chairs, and footstools. Relief flooded his mind when his father appeared through a doorway on the far side of the enormous room, walking and laughing with G Money. Luther looked over his shoulder and nodded at Troy's dad and the famous rap star, then offered up a greeting that was little more than a grunt.

Troy's dad seemed to avoid eye contact with the grumpy big man. Instead, he gave Troy a wink and a clap on the back.

"Hey, partner," he said. "How's it feel to be a millionaire? G Money, my boy is in the big time."

"I hear you," G Money said, holding out a fist for Troy to bump. "What it is. New York is all that. You two gonna love the Big Apple."

"Hey!" Luther shouted. "Little man. You got any money now?"

Troy looked up at the enormous, scary man and blinked. Troy's father shot him a worried look, as if Luther were a fifteen-foot alligator loose from his pen. Troy waited for his father to save him, but no one said anything, and Luther's stare seemed to burn hotter by the second.

"What do you mean?" Troy said in a broken croak.

"Money," Luther said in disgust. "You know what that is, right?"

Troy nodded.

"How much money you got?" Luther asked.

Troy shrugged and shook his head, scared and unknowing.

"In your pocket," Luther said, slow and mean, dipping his chin toward the pocket where Troy held the FBI's quarter. "How much money you got in there? Go on. Dig in.

"Let me see."