Predator

“Is that so? And what are your first impressions?”

“Hard to say yet. I only arrived this morning.”

“Where are you staying, sir?”

“Nowhere yet.”

“May I offer you a room at my house?” The sheriff still hadn’t quite figured out who this Cross Begovich was, but his instincts told him he wasn’t an ordinary passerby. With that manner, he could be either a born adventurer or a man from much higher social circles than Greyfield was used to seeing.

Cross looked at him, a faint smile touching his face.

“Thank you, but the whole point is that I don’t want to make use of my name. I told you the truth because you represent the law, and I wanted to avoid any misunderstandings later. But…” Cross leaned toward him slightly. “I’m counting on strict confidentiality.”

“Sir, you have my word as a man.”

Cross held out his hand, and they sealed the understanding with a handshake. Their third in the past half hour.

“Well then, Mr. Back, how about I help you find your way around?” the sheriff suggested, changing his tone, a broad smile on his face.

Cross chuckled too.

“Now you’re talking!”

Driving slowly through the streets, Sheriff Chain Hamilton told him the town’s history, recalling incidents and even a couple of murders he had either solved himself or helped investigate.

“Not long ago, someone was hit by a car, but the case was handed over to the district attorney’s office. They wouldn’t even let us near it. Some important man was involved…”

Cross smoked a cigarette and listened, occasionally murmuring agreement, though he was sure most of the stories were invented or, at the very least, embellished. Now and then, he asked a leading question, forming his own picture of the local community.

“And this banker… what sort of man is he?” Cross asked.

“Mr. Kacper Mazur?”

“Unusual name. Is he Polish?”

“Yes, I believe so. Immigrated to the States back in the nineties and came straight here. He has a son, Roy Mazur.”

“The one who runs the repair shop?” Cross asked, glancing at the sheriff.

“That’s him. Have you met already?”

“Yes. I liked the guy…”

“I agree. Roy’s a good man. His father’s quiet too, perfectly harmless. Runs our local bank branch.”

“Strange that his son didn’t follow in his footsteps…”

“There was something between them… I don’t know exactly, but Roy tends to keep to himself. Still, he gets along with his father. I’ve never heard of any trouble.”

Cross nodded.

Greyfield’s representative of the law went on to tell him a little about all the town’s leading residents, and even some less important but active figures.

“For the most part, nothing much happens here. Sleepy town. Everybody goes about their own life. Nothing to put us on the map,” Chain Hamilton added with a rueful smile.

“That’s the impression I got. Perhaps it’s for the best,” Cross replied.

“I think about that too.”

After driving around the outskirts for a while longer, the men said goodbye and exchanged phone numbers. Cross took out his new phone, checked his number, and read it aloud.

“You don’t remember your own number?” the officer asked with a smile.

“I haven’t had time to learn it yet. It’s new.” Cross nodded toward the screen and added, “I told you about my secret mission, sir. No names, no connections.”

“You’re sure you’re not in any trouble, sir?” the sheriff asked, a little suspiciously.

“Absolutely.” After a pause, Cross added, “If you decide to look into who I am, I ask that you keep it strictly confidential. Otherwise, my plan will fall apart, and I’ll leave.”

“I gave you my word.”

“Then we have an understanding, sir!”

Cross raised a hand in farewell, adjusted the backpack on his shoulder, and walked away.

The police vehicle remained behind him for a while. Cross had doubts about whether the sheriff would keep quiet, but he set them aside, deciding not to dwell on them and instead think through his next steps on the way to Roy’s repair shop.

“Hey, man, want to grab something to eat?” Cross called as he approached Roy, glancing at his inexpensive wristwatch. Roy was sitting beside a car, repairing a fender.

“What time is it?” he asked without looking away from his work.

“Past two.”

Cross came closer and stopped, examining what appeared to be a wrecked car.

“Yeah, sure. Let me finish this.”

“Whose clunker is this, bro?”

“A local… aristocrat from the slums,” Roy replied. He exchanged a look with Cross, and they laughed.

“Interesting…” Cross chuckled too.

“For thirty-odd years, he’s fancied himself a blue-blooded heir, but in reality…” Roy got up and began wiping his hands on a rag.

“Empty pockets?”

“I wouldn’t say that. He likes expensive things, accessories and all that. But his house doesn’t exactly match his appearance, let’s put it that way. Neither does his car.”

“Maybe he’s saving up?”

Roy shrugged.

“What does he do, and what’s his name?”

“Enzo. Enzo Vitale. Italian. But he’s lived here as long as I can remember.”

“How old is he? What’s he in?”

“About fifty… Trades in something.” Roy looked at Cross. “Maybe you two should meet?”

“Maybe… Does he have a shop or something?”

“Some kind of business, I think, but not here. He mostly comes back on weekends. Has a company or something like that in Salt Lake City.”

Cross raised his eyebrows, clapped Roy on the shoulder, and headed for the door.

Fifteen minutes later, they were sitting at a table at Maggie’s.

“What will you boys have?” Maggie asked as they settled at the table, never taking her eyes off Cross. She had clearly touched up her makeup and changed her clothes. Cross gave her a quick glance, then looked at his companion, who couldn’t stop staring at her.

“Maggie, why are you all dressed up today?”

Cross smiled. But she wasn’t caught off guard. Winking at Roy, she replied:

“Well, I don’t always have to welcome nothing but lifeless customers like you.”

Roy put on an astonished expression, which finally made Cross laugh. He leaned back in his chair and chuckled.

“So this is all for him?” Roy looked at his friend. “Well, brother, looks like lunch is on the house today!”

“You can tell this gentleman is a real man who isn’t used to living off women!”

Her words amused Cross even more, but he nodded and gestured with his hand.

“Yes, of course. Don’t worry. Two steaks for us, Mrs. Maggie.”

She wrote in her order pad, giving him a charming smile, then turned and walked gracefully back behind the counter. Roy called after her:

“And two Cokes, Mrs. Maggie! Please!”

“Yes, I heard you.”

The men joked a little, then began discussing business while their food was being prepared.

“What’s new?” Roy asked.

“Quite a lot in the past two hours.”

“Really? You’re a quick mover!”

“I didn’t expect it myself, to be honest. I’ve managed to make connections with Bob the farmer and Sheriff Chain Hamilton, and get involved in a dispute between Mr. Jobson and his customer Sarah… um… I’ve forgotten her last name…” Cross recounted, watching Roy’s eyes grow wider with every word.

“And all that by two in the afternoon…”

“Yes.”

Cross sat at ease. He glanced toward the owner of the diner, who was busy at the stove behind the counter, and immediately caught her long, meaningful look.

“And I’ve also made friends with you and the lovely Mrs. Maggie.”

Roy held out his hand, and Cross shook it automatically.

“Respect, my friend.”

“Thank you.”

“You really know how to do this.”

“Yes.”

By the time they had finished lunch and left the diner, Roy was joining in with Cross’s plan, fully convinced and eager to help.

“Here’s what I’m thinking…”

“About what?”

They were heading back to the repair shop.

“About Hart.” Roy was serious.

“What do you think?”

“I think it’s worth a try. If we bring him a few customers, we could negotiate a good discount and get you a rental car.”

“Yes, that would be great. I really need one.”

“But there’s another option.”

Roy looked at Cross.

“What?”

“I could let you have my car.”

Cross stopped, and so did Roy.

“But…”

“I’m always busy working. I hardly go anywhere, and it just sits there. I think you need it more. And our house isn’t big, but we can find a room for you.”

“Roy, I…”

Cross didn’t know what to say.

“You inspire trust. I can’t explain why, but I want to trust you. And even if I’m wrong, which I doubt, offering a traveler a place to sleep is a good thing to do.”

Cross smiled faintly. He said nothing for a moment as Roy clapped him on the shoulder and added:

“But we’ll still give it a try with Hart.”

Chapter 8

Over the next two days, Cross settled into the home of Mr. Kacper Mazur and his son Roy, who had become a close friend. He drove the Ford F-150 they had kindly lent him and got down to business. He knew people in Salt Lake City, enough people to make it easy to get things going here. But Cross kept his word, and the only thing he feared was running into any of them.

By the evening of the day after they met, Colton the farmer had decided to visit Hart after all. So had Roy’s father. At their very first dinner together, Cross offered him a deal he couldn’t refuse, once again surprising his friend.

They had already met by the time they sat down to dinner, and Mr. Mazur’s hospitality had made a pleasant impression.

“I’m very glad my son finally has a friend,” he said, shaking Cross’s hand firmly.

“Thank you. I’m very grateful for your kindness.”

“No need to thank me, young man. You’re the one doing us an honor, really. I can see you’re a responsible man.”

“Really? Is that the impression I give?” Cross replied with a smile. He was struck by the way complete strangers responded to him.

“Yes… There’s something about you…” Mr. Mazur said thoughtfully, then stepped away and suggested they have a glass of cognac.

Cross took a sip, settling into an armchair opposite his host, who seemed ready for a long conversation.

“Yes, I have a feel for people, if you can call it that. I can always recognize their worth.”

“And what do you think mine is?” Cross watched him attentively. He was genuinely curious whether the man could work out who he really was beneath the identity he was concealing.

“You, young man… either have enormous potential that you haven’t managed to realize before, or…”

“Or…?”

“Or you’re a very mysterious man.”

A smile spread across Cross’s face.

“Thank you. You’re very perceptive.”

“I seem to have hit the bull’s-eye again.”

They laughed a little and continued their easy conversation. Cross skillfully steered the subject away from himself and toward Kacper Mazur’s work and interests.

“I used to be very keen on fishing…” the older man said nostalgically. “When I was young, back in Poland… That’s where I’m from,” he added.

“I thought so.”

“Yes. Well, our house stood beside a large river, and my father and I often went fishing. Later, I went traveling and met Roy’s mother…”

Cross looked at his glass, slowly turning it between his fingers. He understood that some subjects were very painful for Mr. Mazur, and he also understood that the man wanted to talk.

“Yes…” His host broke off.

“How long have you been widowed?” Cross asked gently.

“Fifteen years now. Did Roy tell you?”

“No. I worked it out myself.”

Kacper looked at him for a long moment, a bitter smile touching his lips.

“You’re certainly no ordinary man… No ordinary man…”

A housekeeper came in to look after their small two-story house and also did the cooking. Before long, the men were seated at a table laid with a hot, delicious dinner.

“Dad, Cross and I are planning to start something of our own. Maybe expand my repair shop,” Roy said.

“Excellent idea, son,” Mr. Mazur replied. Then he turned to their guest. “I would have loved Roy to follow in my footsteps, but he’s been independent since he was little and refuses any help from me. At first, I tried to persuade him, but then I realized it was pointless. So I stopped fighting it.”

He sighed heavily and set down his fork.

“Dad, I don’t think Cross is interested in our affairs.”

“On the contrary, I’m interested in everything. But I won’t press you,” Cross replied. He felt hungry, whether from the awareness of his bleak financial situation or from the cold and exhaustion.

“There’s nothing interesting about it.”

Roy glanced at him and smiled.

“Let’s think about where we can find customers for Hart instead.”

“Yes, speaking of that, maybe your father would like a newer car?”

Roy chuckled.

“Not likely. He’ll never part with his old girl. I’ve tried plenty of times.”

Cross looked at Mr. Mazur, who shook his head.

“I wouldn’t buy so much as a screw from that miser, even if I were planning to change cars.”

“What if I could arrange a discount and offer you a business opportunity of your own?”

Roy leaned back in his chair and looked at Cross.

“Man, you can’t handle that many startups!”

“I can. Believe me,” Cross replied confidently, turning back to Roy’s father with an expectant look.

“I’m listening, young man.”

“Tell me, how are things going at your bank?”

“Slowly. Nothing special. Do you know anything about banking?” Mr. Mazur asked doubtfully.

Roy grinned.

“Why not finance a retail outlet, say, in Salt Lake City, or even a chain of stores selling meat and seafood?” Cross suggested, taking a sip of water. “In return for an agreed percentage of the profits. Try financing that kind of business?”

“I’ve thought about it,” Mr. Mazur said, leaning back in his chair too. “But the bank isn’t mine. To put a business proposal to the people at the top, I need a reliable plan I can be confident in. That’s the hardest part.”

“What if your own son were running the business?” Cross turned to Roy and continued. “A good profit would help you expand your repair business too. Eventually, you could open a chain of repair shops in Salt Lake City alongside the food stores and oversee the businesses instead of lying under cars.”

“Are you serious?”

Cross paused. Kacper Mazur watched them from beneath his brows without saying a word.

“Why not? And I’ll be with you.”

Roy slowly drew a breath, straightened his shoulders, and fell silent.

“If you boys get this started, I’m in.”

After his father’s answer, Cross kept his eyes on Roy. Roy thought in silence, then smiled and gave an almost imperceptible nod.

“I definitely like the way your mind works.”

Cross smiled too. Having received the answer he wanted, he turned to their host.

“Shall we go and look at a new car?”

Roy laughed and held out his hand, which Cross slapped with his own.

After dinner, the men discussed their plans late into the night. Mr. Mazur was taken aback by Cross’s knowledge and business acumen. He couldn’t understand what had brought such a man to their town, much less why this recent stranger was broke and apparently in serious trouble.

Before bed, he asked Cross to stay a moment and took him into his study. He closed the door and asked him directly:

“I’d like to know the truth, son.”

Mr. Mazur poured more whiskey into two glasses and handed one to Cross.

Of course, Cross had expected questions and mistrust. For all his talent and skill, any sensible person would have suspicions and draw their own conclusions, which could become obstacles on his way to his goal.

“Let’s put it this way… I had experience in business, and quite a good record, but personal circumstances led me to leave everything behind and start from scratch in a new place, among new people,” Cross replied, watching the light reflected in the amber liquid in his glass.

“The thing is, I need details. If this venture goes ahead, I need to be sure of my future partner. I like your ideas and your reasoning. The way you see things and weigh the risks and advantages speaks of experience. Besides, Roy won’t manage on his own. He needs a partner who knows the business. And I need someone who can help my son get ahead. That’s why I agreed. And that’s why we’re here talking.”

Cross looked at him.

“I understand. That’s very fair, and wise.”

Kacper Mazur took a sip of whiskey, nodded, and looked at Cross expectantly, waiting for his account.

“For many years in New York, I had the opportunity to be a partner in several companies and take part in running them.”

“Which ones?”

“Harrington & Co., an investment fund. East River Realty Group, real estate. Blackwell Industries, logistics and exports. And some banking through First Manhattan Trust, for example.” Cross recalled where he had started before establishing his own company, Begovich Trading.

Mazur raised his eyebrows and looked Cross over from head to toe, as though seeing him for the first time.

“But how does such a successful businessman, experienced and knowledgeable, end up in Greyfield without even a car of his own? Were you robbed? Is there not a cent left in your account?”

“A perfectly reasonable question,” Cross replied with a smile. He turned away and took a few steps around the room, thinking, while Mr. Mazur continued watching him. “All right. I’ll tell you the truth, but I have a very important request. A condition, even. If you refuse, I won’t impose on your hospitality any longer, and I’ll withdraw all my proposals.”

“I’m listening, Chris… Forgive me, I don’t know your last name.”

“Begovich. My name is Cross Begovich. But even your son must not know the truth. That is my condition and my request.”

The man stared at Cross, his mouth slightly open. Then he briefly closed his eyes, turned away, walked to his desk, and sat down. Cross took a sip of whiskey and remained standing where he was.

“Forgive me, are you saying you’re Cross Begovich, the Bosnian-born man from New York? The successful businessman worth millions, with shares in major companies and a growing business of his own on the leading exchanges? Have I understood correctly? Are we talking about the same person?”

“Yes, exactly. That’s me.”

“Are you joking?”

“You must have seen him and know what he looks like, since you’re familiar with his business activities,” Cross added. He came closer, leaned down a little, and said, “Not a soul must know the truth, Mr. Mazur. I told you only so you could feel confident about my involvement. And I’ll help your son succeed the way you’ve dreamed of all your life. But…”

Mr. Mazur went pale, then his cheeks flushed dark red, and he seemed utterly at a loss. Cross continued:

“I can’t invest a single cent in the business. I can’t use my name or my connections. Only my head. If you agree, we’ll shake hands. For now, I can’t do anything in my capacity as Cross Begovich. In the future, if we stay in touch, yes.”

“I… Allow me, I…” Mr. Mazur rose, came around the desk, and said, “That’s a very serious statement, Mr.… um… Begovich! I’m… deeply flattered, and of course I’ll accept all your conditions. More than that, I’ll be extremely grateful. But I still can’t grasp how you and Mr. Begovich can be the same person! Here, in my study! In Greyfield!”

Cross sighed and looked at the ceiling, then turned his eyes back to Roy’s father.

“Yes. My friends and I signed an agreement that Cross Begovich could start from nothing and make a million dollars without relying on any connections or opportunities already available to him. First and foremost, I want to prove to myself that I can do it. Only then to anyone else. You’re the only person outside that circle who knows the secret of my mission. If we can’t come to an agreement, I’ll leave on the morning service, and you’ll never see me again. In your house, at any rate. You have my word.”

“I have one last request,” Mr. Mazur said firmly but calmly. “If you agree to it, you have my word as a man that your secret will never leave this room. More than that, I’ll do everything I can to support your ideas and ventures, with real gratitude.”

“All right. What is it?”

Mr. Mazur hesitated, then said quietly:

“Could you call someone well known who knows you, meaning Mr. Begovich, and speak to them where I can hear?”

Cross gave a quiet, barely audible laugh. Then he sighed heavily, nodded, and took out his phone.

“Who shall I call? Name someone,” he asked calmly, looking at Mazur.

“Ah… um…” The man was flustered. He began looking around at the surface of his desk, as though trying to find a list of names.

“Perhaps I could call my trusted representative, Mr. John Lawrence? Do you know him?” Cross offered, helping him find a solution.

“No… I mean, yes… God, are you really Mr. Cross Begovich?”

“Please…”

“I… I…”

Cross sighed and dialed. After two rings, a man’s voice answered.

“John Lawrence speaking.”

Cross looked at the flushed man before him and spoke.

“John, good evening. Sorry to call so late.”

“Mr. Begovich? Not a problem. Good evening. I didn’t recognize the number. Is everything all right?” Concern entered his assistant’s voice, while Cross continued in the same tone.

“Yes, this is my new number. Save it, but only call if it’s absolutely necessary. Better still, send a message. I’m perfectly fine. Don’t worry.”

“I’m very glad. We’d lost touch with you… I emailed you a report. I hope you received it?”

“No, I haven’t checked yet. Have there been any changes in the business I should know about?”

Cross had been speaking on speakerphone. Giving Mr. Mazur one last glance, he switched it off and walked over to the window with the phone to his ear.

Meanwhile, Mr. Mazur stood frozen for a couple of minutes, unable to move. Then he took a handkerchief from his trouser pocket, wiped his sweaty forehead, and sat in an armchair.

Cross spoke with his deputy for several minutes, mostly responding with brief remarks such as “Yes, I understand,” “All right,” “Excellent,” “Call and look into it,” “Arrange a meeting for next week. Yes, gather the information by Tuesday and let me know,” “No, you’ll attend the meeting yourself. I’m out of the country,” “Yes, yes, I’ll be available,” and so on. When the conversation ended, Cross remained by the window for a while, absorbed in his own thoughts.

“Forgive me, Mr. Begovich…”

Cross turned and looked at Mr. Mazur for a few more seconds before speaking.

“Please keep calling me Chris, son, and so on, just as before. Don’t change the way you treat me or address me.”

“Yes, yes…” Kacper Mazur still couldn’t collect himself.

Cross came closer and looked him in the eye.

“Mr. Mazur, that is my condition.”

“All right, Chris… Forgive me, I don’t know your last name,” he repeated, holding out his hand to Cross.

“Back. Chris Back.” Cross took his hand and shook it firmly.

“Agreed. Tomorrow morning, we’ll go to Hart’s and buy a new car. By the way, why do you need people to buy from him?”

“That’s also a matter of strategy and business. May I explain?” Cross replied, settling on the arm of a nearby chair.

“Yes, I’d be very interested, Chris.”

Cross gave a quick smile, then continued:

“Leading figures in Greyfield, such as Mr. Hart, Sheriff Hamilton, yourself, and a few others, should ideally be working together. To support one another and strengthen the business network itself.”

Mr. Mazur pressed his lips together, considering the idea.

“In this case, I’ll be the link between you. My original plan, this morning when I first set foot here, was to get a car. But since your son has kindly lent me his, I now intend to negotiate a substantial discount for all of you. There’s Bob Colton, the farmer, too. I also plan to find another couple of customers and earn a commission myself. What do you think?” Cross took a sip of whiskey.

“Bravo… What can I say? I’ll be learning how to do business from you myself.”

“Thank you. Until morning, then?”

“Yes, good night. I’ll be at your service at seven, Mr. Begovich.”

Cross was about to leave the room, but stopped and gave Mazur a resigned look. The man immediately caught himself.

“Yes, son. Let’s see how things go tomorrow!”

Cross gave him a thumbs-up and wished him good night. He was about to cross the threshold when he suddenly turned back.