Cynthia took a deep, satisfying breath and exhaled mightily. Her cards were all on the table now for all to see. Even her begrudging grandfather couldn't stop her. In two days she would have the promised trust and then her cheating rat of a husband would be history. It was so poetic that Reg's gangster friend had banged him about and sent him off to the hospital and then to jail.

The fact that Carleton pulled strings to have him released pleased her, her original offer from Carleton shone a little brighter. Scandal of any kind was something to be avoided right now. The phone rang and she reached across and picked it up.

"Yes?"

"Mrs. Wyatt?"

"Yes."

"Mrs. Wyatt you don't know me but we have been moving in similar circles for a while now and I think it might be time to go to the center and have a talk."

"I still don't know who you are and I have no idea of what you're talking about."

"My name is, Bonducci, Mrs. Wyatt. Bernie Bonducci. I am an acquaintance of your friend, Reg Devers and by extension, your husband."

Cynthia sat up slowly. "Reg Devers is not my friend." She said cautiously.

There was an abrupt laugh. "No, I imagine not. Not any more anyway."

"Not ever. What exactly did you call for?"

Bernie gave her a quick summary of his reason, emphasizing his determination to be reimbursed one way or another. Cynthia felt her legs growing weak and she absently placed her fingers over her heart. This was not a development she welcomed.

"You are asking me to pay you four hundred and fifty thousand dollars to cover Reg Dever's debts?"

"Not asking, Mrs. Wyatt. Not any more."

"Why on earth would I—"

"Because," he interrupted, "I would hate to see such a smart woman bring a lot of grief into her life."

"Are you threatening me? That was a threat." She began to pant, and her arms grew damp as she launched into a long story of what was happening with her money, hoping to appease him.

"What I want to do is get together and have a talk. Like I said in the first place."

Scenes from a multitude of old gangster films ran past the back of her eyes, and she had to cough because her throat had dried up. "Mr. Bandy- Bonny—"

"Bonducci. Bernie, it's easier."

"Where would this talk take place?"

"At a very nice place I recommend. We can have dinner and behave very civilized about the whole deal. I'll send my car at eight."

"Bu- but I- at eight? Tonight?"

"Great, see you then."

●○●○●○●○●

Reg nearly leaped in the air and clicked his heels. Carleton had come through with the first payment of fifty grand! He couldn't believe it. He and Julie must have banged their heads together instead, for a change, to agree on his terms. First thing was to give the whole damn works to Bernie and get him off his back for a while. Then he would see about turning the screws on his lovely wife and making their home life a little more favourable to his needs.

Bernie agreed to see him with knowing the reason and when Reg arrived, beaming, he found out.

"I know it's a small amount to you, Bernie but it's just the first instalment. And they won't be far apart, I promise."

"Where did you get this, Devers?" Bernie fingered the stack of bills warily.

"Does it matter? It's my new source of funds and it could be quite lucrative for some time. I'm tryin' hard to be right here, Bernie. I know the promises I made fell through but this time it's golden. Honest. I'll have a payment for you every three weeks until the whole thing is paid off."

"You realize that each delay increases the vig."

"I uh- I was hoping we might- you know... maybe give me a break here?"

Bernie flipped the bills again and thought about his impending deal with Cynthia Wyatt and smiled inside. "It's against my better nature, Devers. Let's say we give it a try. You deliver every three weeks like you said and I'll consider a break."

"Super, Bernie. And thanks. I won't forget this."

"You got that right." He dropped the money on the desk. "What happened to your face?" Bernie flashed on Jorge disobeying orders.

"My uh- uh... silly accident. Door." Reg nodded apologetically and backed out of the office.

●○●○●○●○●

The club was dimly lit but an elegant setting, not exactly what Cynthia imagined. Actually she hadn't imagined even taking the rude man up on his invitation but then it wasn't really an invitation. Cynthia recognized a command when she heard one. The car had been prompt, the ride quick and silent and the delivery smooth.

A slick looking maître d'' slid up and greeted her in oily tones, directing her to a secluded table near a dais with a baby grand piano and a smoky-voiced chanteuse. Bernie rose as she was delivered and seated, resuming his own relaxed position and indicating to the waiter to fill her glass.

Cynthia nodded and tasted the wine; she needed something to quiet her nerves. She studied the man across from her and struggled to find something that announced his profession, failing and blushing as he smirked at her examination.

"Satisfied?"

The chanteuse warbled seductively. "I saw you there last night and got that old feeling..."

"Sorry, I didn't mean to stare."

"I meant the wine." He grinned and looked away.

"Oh. It's lovely." Her neck grew warm.

"And may I say so are you?"

"...passed by I got that old thrill..."

Cynthia felt her entire face heat up and she squirmed on the chair. His eyes drilled her with the intensity of a hypnotist. His skin looked waxy in the dim light, and what had been silver hair around the temples was now a duller grey and creeping over the top.

"Mr. Bonducci, this isn't a date, so let's cut to the chase."

"...and I think the flame of love..."

"You know what the chase is, Mrs. Wyatt. It's money. Money owing to me and which I'm prepared to collect one way or another. Understand?"

"I think I do."

"You'd better know, not just think."

"I can't just come up with—"

"...old feeling is still in my heart..."

Bernie held his hand up as a stop sign. "On the contrary. You can and you will."

She tossed her hair back and raised her chin. Here in a public place she regained a little courage and decided to resist. "Perhaps I didn't clarify my position." The chanteuse continued with a rendition of growing Too Old to Dream, singing more softly than before. "I don't have that kind of money available."

Bernie sat forward, leaning on his forearms. "Your position is quite clear, certainly to me, and it better be to you. This isn't a negotiation. I don't negotiate about money people owe me."

Cynthia retreated in her seat. "But I don't owe it!"

"Come now, Mrs. Wyatt. Reg owes me a whack of money that he said was coming from you or your husband. Reg reneged, so now you pay."

"I suppose the fact that I can't pay doesn't matter?" She saw his expression harden. "Or perhaps we could explore a different arrangement?" She tilted her head slightly, employing a feminine gambit, as she admired the reaction on his face.

Bernie froze; the sudden image of Bondra Croft washed over him in a chilling flood of déjà vu. Her exact same suggestion had led to his previous fall, and now here he was again listening to another conniving woman.