Ronin Z — the Battlefield Z Series
“And if I say no.”
“You saw the Godfather,” Ballentine reached across the desk and pushed the untouched tumbler of bourbon closer to me.
“A classic. Are you going to put a horsehead in my bed, Rog?”
He swirled the contents of the glass, the amber tornado twirling in a counterclockwise fashion, ice cubes clinking in a musical tinkle.
“There aren’t many horses left in Los Angeles. Maybe I could use your daughter’s head.”
He didn’t look at me.
Probably better that he didn’t. I’ve been told I don’t have much of a poker face when it comes to my children. Something about the monster that lives in my gut showing up on my features.
Had Roger looked up, he might have hit the panic button on his desk and then things would have gotten dicey.
But he didn’t.
“You’re not the first man to threaten my kids,” I said.
It might have been a growl. Borderline snarl. A cross between a grizzly bear and a lion. The kind of sound a predator makes to let another know he’s about to become chum. We’re talking a Bearshark on the things that can kick your ass danger scale.
It made him look.
But he didn’t hit the panic button.
He did scoot back. Just a little distance between him and me, a foot behind the oversized walnut desk.
“If someone threatened my daughter,” he blustered. “I don’t know if I’d stand for it.”
“I’m sitting,” I told him and used my left hand to present my form in the chair, like a spokesmodel turning a letter on a game show.
The corner of his eyes crinkled.
“I could just call in my boys and let them blow your head across my wall.”
He kept swirling his drink.
“You know why I don’t make threats, Rog?” I swirled mine in a mimic of his.
“Roger,” he said. “My name is Roger.”
“That’s what I said, Rog. A man told me once if you have to make a threat, you’ve already decided the man is dangerous. Better to kill him without warning him you think that.”
“Do you think I’m dangerous?”
“I think you’re the most dangerous man on this side of the wall,” I told him the truth.
“That’s funny,” he said without laughing. “Because I think you are.”
There it was.
The reason he was trying to Godfather me.
“I know three things, Rog,” I leaned up and put the untouched drink on the desk. “Never get in a land war in Asia and don’t go against a Sicilian when death is on the line.”
He smiled, gray eyes sparkling at a memory.
“And the third?”
“You want me to do you a favor.”
He lifted his tumbler and toasted the air.
“It’s more like a quid quo pro.”
“What are we trading?” I asked.
And then he asked.
Ready for the adventure?
Grab your copy of the complete Boxset and get caught up this weekend.
