​Epilogue

Epilogue

The sun shines down on the meticulously manicured lawns, the blades of grass a vivid emerald hue. A soft breeze carries the sweet scent of freshly cut grass and the delicate perfume of blooming flowers.

In the distance, the gentle chirping of birds can be heard from the ancient oak trees that line the perimeter of the old property, their gnarled branches reaching up toward the clear blue sky. They were here before the suburbs began to develop around the centuries-old club. It almost seems like they’ll be here long after those neighborhoods crumble.

On the terrace overlooking the rolling green expanse, two tall wingbacks are arranged, their rich leather upholstery gleaming in the sunlight, arm-rests well-worn by the heavy palms of the select few who belong here.

“Your drinks, sir.” A man in a dark suit holds a tray bearing two cut crystal tumblers. A thick hand reaches for one, passing it to his companion before taking the other for himself.

“Thank you, Jones.” It’s not an expression of gratitude; it’s a dismissal, and the server moves away.

Amber liquid sloshes gently as the man takes a sip of the expensive liquor. The other sits back, a thick cigar clamped between his teeth, tendrils of pungent smoke curling up from the smoldering tip.

“Boys were on form on the field today.” It’s a smooth voice. A refined voice. A voice that speaks of privilege.

“Certainly were. That new pony Preston brought in looks like it’s going to shape up.” Another puff of smoke forms.

“I’ll grant you that. Those Argentinians know how to breed good horseflesh.”

“Their women aren’t bad either. If you like that sort of thing.”

There’s a snort. “Who doesn’t? As long as Missy doesn’t find out.”

“What would she do that couldn’t be resolved with a new Bentley?”

A bark of laughter startles a bird from a nearby topiary that’s been pruned to perfection. “She’d have a fleet by now if I did that every time.”

“Well, I don’t know…” Ice clinks as a glass is raised to tight lips. “Can never have too many Bentleys if you ask me.”

“Quite right.” Leather creaks. There’s a contented sigh that stretches out into more silence.

Finally, it’s broken again. “Pity about that business with Parker, eh?”

“Yes. A pity. Good man, that Parker.”

There’s a chuckle, a mirthless sound. “Well, I wouldn’t call him a good man. But a useful man, no doubt.”

“Hard to find a useful man these days.”

A dry laugh rumbles in response. “And more importantly, a profitable man.”

The air takes on a quiet tension, broken only by the song of birds and the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze.

“Yes…” There’s a heavy sigh. “The profits will be missed.”

“So you’ll be setting up again?” Well-worn leather creaks again as the occupant of the chair shifts in his seat.

“Not now. Not with the elections so close.” Smoke plumes into the air. The wind wafts it away.

“Ah. Yes. Can’t afford another scandal.”

“No. Can’t have too many more of those.” A glass is set down on a nearby table, ice melting in the late afternoon sun.

“Still…it’s a pity.”

“Yes. A pity.”

There’s a slow exhale of breath, a sound of contemplation. “Hard to forget that there’s a small fortune roaming around the streets of that godforsaken town.”

“You’re right. That’s an untapped well. But never fear; there’ll always be another Parker. And we still know where they are.”

“Yes. We’ll always know where they are.”

The quiet descends again, heavy but not oppressive, as two powerful men enjoy the sun on their faces and the sound of the wind and contemplate all the things they are about to do next.

The End