mobility was nice to talk about to the masses, but not something that people at his level ever really took seriously. The pie was only so big. Why share it with folks who did not share your values?
Your vision for the future?
Your fraternity affiliation?
What most people didn’t understand was that it was the risk-takers who made America great. It was said that the rich had captured nearly all the wealth and all of the income generated over the last decade or so. Well, Lampert thought, they should. It was right and just. The only thing wrong with income inequality was that it wasn’t unequal enough.
The 99.9 percenters were sheep and stuck right where they should be. They were the players to be named later. There were billions and billions of them and they looked exactly the same. The 0.1 percenters deserved everything because they were the elites. They were special. They moved the world to new heights.
And it didn’t deter Lampert in the least that he was acting on the wrong side of the law. Peo- pie wanted whores and drugs and slave laborers. Thus there was a need.
He was simply fulfilling that need. Nothing more, nothing less. Like cigarette manufacturers, pom sites, fast food outlets, and casinos fed people’s desires and addictions. That simple model had driven business success for all of recorded history.
Find a need and fill it as hard as you can.
Ten minutes later he checked his watch again and looked out the window. It was growing dark. That was good.
An hour later he heard the thump-thump.
He rose and looked out the window. The lights of the chopper were drawing closer, coming in from the Gulf where a boat larger than the one Lampert was on lay at anchor.
A few minutes later he felt the wheels of the bird come to rest on the helipad at the aft of the yacht. The chopper powered down and he could envision but not hear over the sounds of the engine the doors of the aircraft opening and then thunking closed.
He sat back down in his chair, put his fingers together, and waited, counting off the seconds in his head.
The door to his office opened and the person came in, escorted by a member of Lampert’s security team.
With a curt nod Lampert dismissed the guard, who closed the door behind him.
The visitor was around five-eight and strongly built, with a head that was too large by half for even his muscular frame.
There was a lot contained in that overly big head, Lampert knew.
The man was dressed all in black. His shoes had blocky heels to push his height up as much as possible.
It was enlightening, thought Lampert, that a man that powerful still felt compelled to artificially inflate his stature.
He nodded at Lampert and sat down across from him.
“Good trip?” asked Lampert.
The man flicked a cigarette from his shirt pocket and lit up without asking whether it was permitted or not.
Lampert would not have questioned the man’s decision to smoke on his floating palace.
Peter Lampert did not fear many people.
The man sitting across from him was one whom he did fear.
“A trip that ends safely at one’s destination is, de facto, a good trip,” said the other man in an accent that showed that English was not his primary language.
“Things are going well,” said Lampert.
“Things could be better,” said the man as he exhaled smoke and watched it float toward the elaborately carved ceiling.
“Things could always be better,” replied Lampert, leaning forward a bit in his chair.
The other man tapped his cigarette ash against the arm of his chair, letting it fall to the carpet.
Lampert did not object or even react to this.
“Things could be better,” said the man again. “For example, there have been a number of killings in Paradise. The police are investigating. Your car was bombed. Again, the police are investigating.” He stopped talking and stared across the width of the desk.
Lampert’s expression didn’t change. “Steps had to be taken. The fallout is what it is. The investigations will lead nowhere.” He might be afraid of the man, but he could not show that fear. And Lampert could debate a point with the best of them.
“Your opinion that the investigation will not go anywhere,” said the man, studying him closely as he bent the fired match between his two fingers.
“My educated opinion based on conditions on the ground.”
“And if you’re wrong?”
“I don’t believe that I am.”
“But if you are?”
“There will be consequences.”
“Of course there will be. For you.”
There was security on the main deck and two men on the pier holding MP5S. However, they had no one in the water. That was a large breach in security. But then again the sharks would be out now.
And while Lampert paid well, he apparently didn’t pay that well.
Mecho drew close enough to the boat to touch its hull on the starboard side. He looked out to sea where the lights of the chopper were still visible.
From land and with the aid of binoculars he had caught a glimpse of the man who had first climbed off and then climbed back on the bird.
Mecho had known instantly who he was.