“Other buildings would take less money,” he said.
“Other buildings don’t interest me,” he said. He hadn’t explained why he’d chosen this building, and he wouldn’t. Not now. Plus Gary hadn’t worked for him for long. It was nobody else’s damned business but Simon’s. That’s the way he liked to keep it. He looked at the work in progress, nodded, and said, “Keep going.”
He strolled away. He knew that his contractor was watching him as he left, but he didn’t give a damn. Simon was long used to people wondering who he was and where he and his money came from. As long as they questioned in their own minds and not out loud to him, he didn’t give a shit.
He’d built his life to what it was today. He avoided close relationships, which really made him question that major detour he took with Caitlin. It was easier tonotdeal with people, since he didn’t generally like them. He had four other buildings projects that he was working currently. It would be a long afternoon.
He kept looking up at the sky, wondering if he would be lucky enough to miss the deluge. As it was, he was inside one of his other buildings, when it started to pour. He delayed his exit until the rain eased, and then he made a quick run to the next building. He could have taken a cab or even driven, but neither appealed to him today. Fresh air, even if it was damp and spongy, was still better than vehicle exhaust and the pain of parking.
By the time he had finally finished doing what he needed to do, he stood and stared at the weather for a long moment. The rain had eased off; the evening sky had darkened with clouds, and the city lights shone on the water. Vancouver was almost completely surrounded by water and enjoyed a spectacular view of the Pacific Ocean and the mountains behind.
It was truly a wondrous geographical location. But, like every big city, there was an underbelly. Anybody could come and make a living here, but not everybody could come and make a killing financially. Although plenty were doing well, a lot more were closing down businesses because they couldn’t handle it. Opening a business was not a get-rich-quick scheme, although a lot of people opened with that attitude. He wished them luck, but he also knew that it wouldn’t likely work.
Vancouver was a hard city, a tough city, even harder for newcomers. A lot of people came for the glitz and glamour but forgot entirely about the fact that every city had problems and that every big city had those who thrived on those in trouble. It sucked, but it was the way of the world. Predators were everywhere.
He turned and headed home. He was a good twenty blocks away, and it would take him a good hour to walk. That’s when he remembered where he was, and—if he scuttled down two blocks and over two blocks—he would come out to Mama’s place, one of the few restaurants that thrived in Vancouver. It was said that one restaurant closed and another one opened every day of the year in the city.
Mama’s place had defied all logic and had managed to stay alive for seventeen years. Mama, the Italian woman who he appreciated far more than most, had married a Mexican man, and together they had blended their flavors, along with their personalities, to become a successful small mom-and-pop restaurant. Simon supported as many mom-and-pop shops as he could, just because they struggled so badly.
He enjoyed a nice high-class restaurant sometimes too. The glitz and the glamour were definitely not a part of his regular world, and at times he was happy to be in the trenches. As he walked into the restaurant, Mama saw who it was and cried out, coming over to give him a big hug. He wrapped his long arms around her ample curves and hugged her gently.
“You’re all wet,” she scolded him. “You could get sick.”
“I hope not,” he said, with a smile. “Really can’t afford it.”
“Of course not, of course not,” she muttered, busy brushing water off his jacket. “You’re staying for dinner?”
“No,” he said. “I’m not.”
She stopped, looked at him, with such an expression of horror on her face.
He chuckled. “But I was hoping you could do me up a take-out order.”
“It’s not good for you,” she said. “You need more than just taking food home. Best is to stay and to relax, with good food, good friends, and a good glass of wine.”
“At least this way I get good food,” he said gently. “Otherwise I’ll just end up going home and not eating at all—or ordering pizza.” The genuine look of shock on her face had him laughing gently. “Go make me something,” he said. “I don’t mind what. Whatever it is that you think I should have.”
She frowned and said, “We have a new special.”
“Perfect,” he replied. “Just make sure it’s lots.”
She chuckled. “Have I ever sent you with less?” That was the one thing she always did—made sure he was well-fed. He paced the small room, looking out the window, as the rain pounded down once again. When she returned with a large bag and two small take-out containers, he just shook his head. “I don’t need that much.”
“This way, you will have lunch tomorrow,” she said comfortably. “And, in this weather, we won’t get many customers,” she said, “so we will have lots of leftovers.”
He quickly paid for the order, gave her a smile, and said, “You are too good to me.”
“No, it’s you who is good to us.”
With that, he walked back out into the rain. He made a mad dash for a couple blocks, until the rain eased, and then he slipped across into one of the lesser-known areas, taking a shortcut across the city. Most people didn’t walk through this area because it was well-known for drug deals and back-alley attacks, but a lesson he’d learned a long time ago, from another life, was to stiffen your spine and to walk like you mean it.
“Nobody will attack you if you look like you’re ready for trouble. They have to be twice as strong, twice as fast, and twice as mean to make sure they can handle what they are dealing with,” he murmured out loud, imitating his grandmother’s voice.
Another trick his grandmother had taught him was to draw in his energy tight and to turn it ever-so-slightly red, giving it more of an angry tone. Anger lent extra energy to anybody, which meant they had more fuel for a fight than most people wanted to take on. And, of course, nobody disturbed him.
When he came out on the other side, he was only one block back from the high-end part of town. It always amazed him that a strip of blocks separated low from high, the wrong side from the right side. He was comfortable in both but definitely preferred the high side. Poverty sucked.
As he walked up the steps to the front door, the doorman raced to open it for him. Harry took one look and said, “You always refuse to take an umbrella.”