Jarmon sat on the sofa with his cell phone glued to his ear, and he listened with growing impatience as the ringing continued. "Answer, goddammit!"

"Hello?"

"Reg? Reg it's Jarmon. I need you over here now." He cringed from the pain in his face.

"Jarmon?" Reg bit his lip and waited.

"Yes Jarmon, goddammit. I need you to come to my place right away. I've got a major problem that was initiated by you."

"Well I don't see how—"

"Devers, you get your ass over here right now or so help me I will wake up the cops to your actions so fast your head will spin!"

Oh shit! "Uh, listen, Jar, I'm- I can't get there right away—"

"Right now, Devers, or else!" Jarmon groaned and grabbed his mouth.

Oh shit. The line went dead and Reg just gaped at his phone. What could have gone wrong, he already tore a strip off over the blackmail? He wondered if he should call Bernie. No. Bad idea. His reaction would be a firestorm. Reg hauled himself out of the bar and headed for the parking lot.

"What happened?" Reg stepped through the open suite door and crossed to the sofa where Jarmon sat with a bloody cloth in one hand and a large drink in the other.

"I had a visitor, Reg. Someone who said he was here to collect money you owed." The words were chipped off like chunks of ice.

"Money I owed?"

"Don't you dare pretend anything, you weaselly, lying son-of-a-bitch. This is all a result of your little scheme to blackmail me isn't it?"

"Look, Jarmon, I- this was not what I expected..."

"You! You think I expected this?" He pulled the cloth away, and Reg winced at the swollen, bleeding lip and cheek.

"Jesus, Wyatt, you need stitches in that."

"Forget stitches. What I do need, and frickin' fast, is you getting yourself and your goon pals outta my life or so help me you will be in jail until the next millennium! What happened to your face, anyway?"

"Silly accident. Listen, Jarmon, I had nothing to do with those people coming to see you. Christ, I wouldn't do that—"

Their argument was interrupted by a cough from the door, and a hotel representative stepped timidly into the room. "Mr. Wyatt, sir. My supervisor has sent me up to advise you that the police have been alerted to the disturbance in your suite. He has asked me to tell you that all costs for repairs and for the discomfort of some of the other guests on this floor will be charged to your account."

The man placed an envelope on the table in front of Wyatt and backed away. "That is a copy of the formal complaint, sir. Thank you."

Jarmon gaped at the retreating back and then down at the envelope. "Police?"

Reg closed his eyes. "Oh boy."

"I'll give you, frickin', oh boy!" Jarmon leaped up from the couch and took a wild swing at the cowering Reg just as two policemen entered the room.

"That'll do, pal." The larger of the two said, twisting Jarmon's arm behind his back and cuffing him.

"Is that uh- necessary?" Reg asked. "He didn't mean it... really."

Jarmon's face turned crimson under the bruises and the blood, and Reg was thankful looks couldn't actually kill.

"You care to press charges, sir, that face looks kinda sore?"

"No! No charges. It was just a row between friends."

"That's up to you, sir but he'll still have to go downtown for disturbing the peace and destruction of private property." The two cops led Jarmon out, screaming oaths and threats of death at Reg as he went.

Reg shivered at the thought. First though, he had to get things back to normal or his life really would be in danger, which first meant keeping Jarmon out of jail. There was no doubt in Reg's mind that that's exactly where Jarmon would wind up after his behaviour in front of the cops.

He paced around the room, not really noticing the surroundings, and went back to stand by the window. Across the top of the city, he could see the weather tower on the local radio station's building, the erratic skyline of office towers and condominiums—and the big blue 'H' of the hospital.

Reg smiled to himself, snapping his fingers as he struck on an idea that was truly poetic justice. He would get help from an interested party, a party that couldn't refuse, considering all aspects. He would get legal assistance from the company lawyer - Carleton Smithee.

●○●○●○●○●

Day 7 of 9 days

Julie dropped the hand she'd been caressing with as if it was poison and jerked back in her chair, clutching her sling protectively. Reg stood in the parted curtain with a wry smile on his curled lips; behind his glasses his eyes were ice-cold and his cheek resembled a too-ripe tomato. She looked at Carleton, whose dark skin had taken on an unusually grey pallor, and then back to her husband. How long had he been there?

"On a mission of mercy, darling?" He moved into the cubicle, shifting his attention to the abundance of medical equipment around Carleton's bed. Julie's mouth opened and closed without a sound. She knew there was no hope of trying to lie her way out of this. "Or are you both just commiserating with one another?"

"Ah, look here Reg," Carleton began, "Ju- your lovely wife dropped in on- on behalf of the company to see how I was." Julie lowered her head. Bad move Carleton.

Reg casually examined the monitor next to Carleton's bed, his fingers absently tracing the intravenous tube leading to his wrist. "I see... of course. You're the benevolent type, right, Julie? Visiting hospitals and the like. Keeping appointments. Spreading cheer and compassion... among other things."

"It's not what you think, Reg." Her voice was small and without conviction.

"No? Please tell me what it is I should be thinking then." He leaned on the edge of the bed and Carleton shifted his hand away from Reg's idle fingers, groping for the buzzer with the other.

"I think I'd reconsider that if I were you, Carleton. After all, when you screw with another man's wife, the least you can do is discuss it without outside help."

"That's insane, Devers. Why Jul- your wife and I are simply- simply good frie—"

"Don't, Carleton. Don't say any more." Julie sighed deeply and stood up facing her husband. "He's playing with you. He knows."

Reg let his look burn into Julie, the grim smile morphing into an ugly grimace. "You've got that right, wife dear." He switched to Carleton, enjoying the palpable discomfort he was causing. "Frankly, I don't give a shit any more. If you want this ape bangin' away at you, be my guest. I'm here for another reason."

Carleton's face grew pinched, and Julie stared glassily at the wall beyond Reg's shoulder as he laid out his plan. Carleton and his loving wife would now be providing more of the funds for Reg's bailout or there would be screaming headlines about the whole sordid affair. And as a nod to Cynthia, Carleton would get Jarmon out of jail - pronto!

Except for an absent drink from the water bottle on the side table, nobody moved throughout the entire pitch. When Reg was finished, he straightened up and pushed his hands into his pockets.

"Any thoughts?"

"It's out of the question!" Carleton managed to sputter, waving a feeble hand. "Ellington would fire me on the spot. He wants the marriage to break up. If I show up to rescue Jarmon- it's- he'd- it's out of the question."

"And what do you think he'll do if I tell him about you and my wife? He may suspect, pal, he may even know, but Bravo Consulting sure wouldn't want me blabbing it out loud to the papers, not if you want to stay the distinguished business attorney in this or any other town. Not so comfortable with the shoe on the other foot, eh?"

Carleton glanced at Julie; his future plans dissolving like foam on a carbonated drink. What of his career? His business status? His membership in the Broadway Club? Where would he find acceptance now, saddled with the stolen wife of a co-worker!

Julie picked up on Carleton's gaze, reading the truth she had hoped to avoid. Having the affair was one thing, actually becoming a public item was quite another - and they both knew it. Reg stood grinning maliciously, enjoying very much the barrel he had placed under them.

The money was bad but not insurmountable. Live to fight another day, he figured. "You really would go to Bravo, to the press?" Carleton tried for a final plea.

"Just as quick as you two got into bed, Carleton ol' buddy, and if I feel like it, down the road, maybe court as well."

Carleton considered his position carefully. Pleading with Reg was a dead issue; squeezing his wife was likely on the same path, and he could forget Lawrence now too. If he pretended to go along or at least stall, there was a chance Reg's gangster friends would reach him first. He nodded to Reg, looking suitably defeated. The juggler of deceit. Carleton wondered if that was an appropriate title.

"Good decision, Carleton. You can make the first payment this afternoon... in cash." Reg threw Julie a loathsome glance and left. Carleton groaned louder than any time since his arrival.