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  FIVE MORE MINUTES

  a Todd Jones comic thriller

  J.R. Ripley

  BEACHFRONT ENTERTAINMENT

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblances to actual places or events, or persons, living, dead, or even zombiefied, is purely coincidental, liberally twisted to suit my needs, or a figment of your imagination or mine.

  Copyright © 2019 J.R. Ripley

  All rights reserved under international and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. Published in the United States by Beachfront Entertainment.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without our written consent, with the exception of brief passages contained in critical articles or reviews.

  First edition 2019

  Kindle eBook ASIN: B07Z9MJCPT

  One last thing before the beginning thing. If you have not yet read FIVE MINUTES, the first of Todd Jones’ adventures, that’s okay, it is not a requirement. That said, you might want to read it first.

  After all, what could it hurt?

  Contents

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  35

  Five More Minutes

  1

  “Come on, baby.” Todd Jones ran his fingers through his hair. “Don’t be like that.”

  He looked at his professionally manicured fingertips. Short strands of fine blond hair stuck to damp skin.

  Jesus, was his hair beginning to fall out? Shit.

  “Forget it, Todd. We’re over, just like this lousy real estate business of yours.”

  Todd cringed as Holly angrily yanked open the top drawer of the high-end mahogany receptionist’s desk, the spot she’d occupied since they’d opened the office two years ago. “I should never have let you talk me into quitting my job.”

  Todd always insisted on the best of everything. He had shelled out six grand plus shipping for that European-made curved teak desk with carbon fiber trim and raised tempered glass top.

  “You hated your job.”

  “I was a senior loan officer, Todd. I made good money at the bank. I had benefits.” She grabbed her keys then slammed the desk drawer shut. “A 401k.”

  Pale blue-grey eyes with a tinge of lavender, clair de lune she liked to call them, just like Chinese porcelain, flared at him under perfect lashes.

  Todd frowned. That was a clear shot at the fact that he hadn’t paid her in several weeks. Months maybe. He’d have to check. “C’mon, Hol. Things will get better.”

  He took a step toward her, arms extended. “Trust me.” Flash million dollar close that sale smile, Todd.

  “Ha! Fat chance! You are a liar, a cheater and…” She gaped at him and all he could see were those luscious lips. “And I don’t know what else. I don’t even want to know!”

  Her usually liquid and sensual voice rose a few notches tighter and squeakier than usual. That was always a bad sign.

  Holly wrenched open the desk drawer on the opposite side, practically tearing it off the rails. Thank god for quality German craftsmanship.

  She pulled out a supple red leather Gucci handbag with gold-tone trim and slung it angrily over her left shoulder. “I’m out of here.”

  She flung her long black hair like a final slap in Todd’s face. Spinning like a pinwheel on her spiky red heels, she marched out the front door without another word.

  Expensive pink charmeuse stretch fabric clung to her Barbie doll figure. Todd couldn’t help but admire her. Holly still had a great ass despite the secretary’s spread she was constantly complaining that she was developing from sitting behind a desk all day for him when she could be out showing houses and getting some much-needed exercise.

  From the window, Todd watched her march down the street to the black Mercedes two-seater at the curb that he had paid for—was still paying for—throw open the door, oblivious to the well-dressed woman being led down the sidewalk by a white toy poodle with a two hundred dollar haircut, a diamond-studded leather collar, and manicured paws, and speed off.

  Cutting across oncoming traffic, Holly ran the red light but remained oblivious to the ensuing commotion she had created.

  Yeah, she was mad all right.

  Todd twisted the lock, then slumped back behind his desk.

  Shit shit shit.

  The South Florida real estate business had tanked some time ago and though the market had hit rock bottom a couple years’ back, according to economists, things hadn’t bounced back for Todd yet.

  Economists didn’t know a damn thing. They sat in ivory towers holding tenured jobs. They were a bunch of wimps. They weren’t out there in the real world like he was.

  Todd Jones Realty was on the skids. The last of his associates had bailed and gone to work for a competitor weeks ago.

  And now Holly was taking a hike.

  The custom turquoise Hugo Boss suit that normally made him look and feel so good now felt like a lead suit duct taped to his flesh.

  Thirty-two years old and his life was a shambles. He hadn’t even had a new car in over two years. He was driving a three year old BMW, for crying out loud.

  How had everything gone so wrong?

  Todd sat, loosened his tie, and thumbed through the mess of papers on his desk, searching for a listing that he might be able to sell ASAP to some sucker from South America or maybe even Russia.

  Like always, a lot of the money flowing into South Florida came from overseas. Some of it from questionable sources and a lot of it from ill-gotten gains, but so what? One man’s ill-gotten gains were another man’s real estate commission.

  The bright red letters on the East Broward National Bank’s letterhead caught his eye. Crumpling the Notice of Final Eviction in his fist, he threw it across the room.

  Todd loved his downtown Las Olas Boulevard office and everything about it. This was the perfect location with world-class shopping, dining and entertaining all within a few easy steps. This was the boulevard where the rich and the beautiful loved to strut their stuff and buy their over-priced bling.

  The more over-priced the better. They didn’t care, in fact, many of them seemed to prefer it.

  Todd preferred Fort Lauderdale to Miami to the south with its over the top glitz and glamour and Palm Beach to the north with its pomposity and ostentation.

  Fort Lauderdale was the place to be.

  And Las Olas Boulevard was also the place to be when it came to selling high-end homes but the pickings had gotten slimmer and the competition stiffer of late.

  The office was near enough to his condo that he could conveniently bike or even water taxi to work if he wanted to. Not that he had ever wanted to.

  Why bike when you’ve got a car?

  Who wants to get all hot and sweaty?

  A rattling of the front door drew Todd’s attention. Had Holly had a change of heart? Had she come back?

  Todd looked up hopefully then frowned. Nope. A stranger. A strange woman no less. She made eye contact and rapped again, her brilliant ring cracking loudly against the glass.

  “Jesus,” Todd grumbled. “Don’t break the fucking window.”

  Climbing reluctantly to his feet, Todd shooed the woman off. But sh
e simply stood there looking perplexed. “That’s all I need. To pay for a fucking broken window.”

  His landlord, Richard C. Lester, was a real pain in the ass. Not only did he own a chunk of property on Las Olas and serve as president of East Broward National Bank, he was a personal injury attorney. The sleaziest of the sleaze.

  Fastidious to a fault, Richard Lester didn’t have a sense of humor when it came to his tenants damaging or altering in any way, shape or form one of his precious properties without his explicit permission.

  Lester showed more concern for his property than he did his kids. He’d shipped them off to boarding school in Maryland. His properties he kept squarely under his thumb.

  Todd had paid a local artist six hundred bucks per letter to have his initials, TJ, gold-leafed on the wall behind his desk in four foot letters and Rick, as he liked to be called, thinking it made him seem one of the guys but was anything but unless those guys included smug-ass losers, had thrown a tantrum when he’d barged in one day for no particular reason—other than his obsessive need to snoop—and spotted it there.

  Rick had jabbed his chubby thumb at the wall and cursed up a storm of invective and spittle, the stains of which still marred the bottoms of both letters, much to Todd’s constant annoyance.

  Todd thought his landlord was more of a Dick than a Rick but so far he managed to keep that opinion to himself.

  The woman smiled. Her hand fluttered a wave.

  Why wouldn’t she go away?

  Todd approached. The unfamiliar woman backed away from the door, clutching a textured crocodilian Louis Vuitton bag by its strap.

  Bloomingdale’s sold those LV signature hatbox-shaped purses for over four grand a pop. Todd always noticed such things.

  Always know your customer, was one of his mottos. And, know how much you can bilk them for, was another.

  “Sorry.” Todd pointed to the sign. “Closed.”

  “All I need is five minutes of your time,” she pleaded.

  Todd shook his head vigorously. As much as he needed a paying client, he needed a drink more. And it was Happy Hour at Danny Boy’s.

  “Look, lady, I’m running late as it is,” he shouted through the glass door, then made a show of looking at his Rolex. “I should have closed half an hour ago.” It was an outright lie but so what? He lied all the time. Hard to get through the day without a little lie or two. Or three.

  “Please.” There was a look of desperation in her penetrating eyes. “Just five more minutes.”

  Studying her more closely, he was struck by her beauty. But his life was a shambles. He didn’t need woman trouble now. He had enough of that and then some.

  He needed cash. And lots of it.

  “I’ll make it worth your while,” she said with tantalizing coolness.

  “Crap,” he muttered.

  She’d found his Achilles’ heel.

  Turning the key in the lock, he waved her inside.

  Silently, mental wheels turning, he led her over to his desk. “Have a seat, Ms—?”

  He pointed to one of two matching rich brown Natuzzi leather chairs.

  She smiled and sat, crossing those to-die-for legs and resting her purse in her lap. “Kadlec.” She extended a cool, elegant hand across the desk. “Caterina Kadlec.”

  Todd smiled as he took her hand. “I’m Todd Jones. Call me Todd.” Painted green with small blue stars in the middle, he felt her fingernails dig softly into his flesh.

  He recognized the subtle scent of Clive Christian X perfume. He’d bought Holly a bottle once for her birthday back when he was flush with cash. Crazy expensive.

  So the opportunity for money here wasn’t wholly unreasonable.

  “Yes, I will call you Todd. And maybe more, yes?” Her eyes flashed with a touch of something—what was it? Mischief?

  Todd tugged at his yellow silk tie. “What can I do for you, Ms. Cadillac?”

  “Kad-lec,” she corrected.

  “Sorry.” Todd pulled his brows together. The name was unfamiliar to him. “What can I help you with, Ms. Kadlec?”

  She wriggled her bottom against the leather seat. Todd found himself staring at a pair of well-toned tan legs. A skintight indigo dress clung to her body like she’d been dipped in blue paint.

  The woman was exceptionally beautiful, he’d give her that. Then again, so were a lot of the women in South Florida. The area attracted eye-catching women the way it attracted con artists, hustlers and the just plain crazy. Case in point: his mother.

  Not to mention alligators. And mosquitoes with the appetites of alligators.

  And a certain pot-bellied pig that caused a sharp, stabbing pain between Todd’s eyeballs whenever he thought of the beast—not unlike he imagined it would feel if a demented Tolkien dwarf was jabbing him with a cold, hard icepick.

  If the women of South Florida weren’t drop-dead gorgeous to begin with, they were by the time they left their dermatologist’s and/or plastic surgeon’s office.

  Caterina Kadlec was definitely foreign, with a touch of the exotic about her blue eyes and coffee-colored hair, but Todd couldn’t definitively place her look or her slight accent.

  And the name, Kadlec. What sort of name was that? Surely not Russian, Brazilian or Arabic.

  How could she possibly save his sinking business now? He crushed an inward sigh. If she was looking for a job, she was out of luck. Because, the way things were going, before long he’d be looking for one too.

  This might be a total waste of his time.

  “I need a property,” she said.

  Todd leaned back, dreaming of his first drink of the day. Maybe he’d call Holly, see if she’d cooled down. They could go out to dinner. He’d buy her a lobster. She would forgive and forget.

  “Okay, you need a property. How about if you come back tomorrow and I show you a few?” Assuming the locks hadn’t been changed on the door and he had an office to come back to. His landlord seemed to mean business this time.

  Ms. Kadlec started shaking her head before he’d even managed to complete the sentence. “The thing is,” she uncrossed her legs and leaned closer. “I’m in a hurry.”

  Todd’s brow went up. “A hurry?” He glanced at his watch. If he didn’t wrap things up, he’d miss Happy Hour. The price of drinks would double. “You realize these things take time, Ms. Kadlec.”

  Sizing her up, he took her to be a year or two younger than himself. While she dressed like she had money, so did a lot of people who didn’t have squat. That was the game around here.

  Aspirational shoppers, forever losers.

  Still, she could have some money and a decent credit rating. Maybe he could flip a quick condo sale. Even a couple of grand commission couldn’t hurt at this point. Keep the lights on in his condo a few more months.

  She smiled indulgently. “Caterina, please.”

  He nodded and continued. “We’ll have to look at a number of properties. First, of course, we’ll have to discuss your wish list.”

  “Wish list?”

  “Your must haves and your don’t wants.” Todd tugged at his fingers. “How many bedrooms, number of baths. Location,” he added, falling comfortably into agent mode. “By the beach, on the beach. In a high-rise. Single family.”

  Todd steepled his fingers, resting them lightly against his chin. “Of course, there’s always the most important thing.” The one and only thing that mattered to him. Now more than ever.

  “What’s that?” Catarina fished in her purse, extracting a slender gold lip gloss tube. Twisting the tube open, she lazily played it around her moist lips before returning it to Louis Vuitton land.

  “Why, your budget, of course.” Todd rose. That whole lip glossing thing had left him oddly aroused. Man, he was really losing it.

  “I suggest you think about what I’ve said. Come back tomorrow after you’ve had a chance to make a list of what sort of properties you’re interested in viewing, figure out a budget and we’ll take it from there.”

  C
aterina nodded, remaining firmly in her chair. “Those are important considerations. As for budget, there is none.”

  Todd smiled as he circled the desk hoping she’d get the hint to rise and follow him out the door. “There’s always a budget,” he paused. “Caterina.”

  “You’re right, of course. My client has told me that if the price is above fifteen million that I should check with him first.”

  “You see, like I said—” Todd froze. The hairs on the back of his neck did their little happy dance. “Did you say fifteen million?”

  The lady in the blue dress nodded briefly. “And I don’t think he’d settle for anything less than ten million.” Her impeccable brow rose nearly imperceptibly. “He is quite discerning in his tastes.”

  “Dollars?” Todd’s mouth had gone dry. He crossed to Caterina Kadlec’s side of the desk. Hell, she could have meant drachmas or what was that Japanese money? Yen, that was it. Fifteen million yen would be nothing. Maybe one hundred or one hundred fifty grand. Hell, that wouldn’t buy this lady and her client a one-bedroom condo in a retirement jungle.

  “Yes, Todd.” Catarina rose finally and made a show of smoothing her dress, running a hand along the curve of her hip to her knee. “Though, as I said, my client is in a hurry. If you don’t have the time, I suppose I could find someone else—”

  Todd’s fingers graced her elbow. “As a matter of fact,” he pulled his cellphone from his front pants’ pocket, careful to keep it aimed at himself, “it seems my client has cancelled his appointment. I have some free time after all.”

  “How lucky for me,” Caterina replied, allowing Todd to take her arm.

  And how lucky for me, thought Todd, as he led her out to his car.

  2

  Todd looked both ways up and down the boulevard in case Holly was watching. He glimpsed no sign of her or the Mercedes.

  “Is everything all right, Todd?” Caterina inquired.

  A bus driver blaring his horn startled Todd as turned toward his prospective client. An old woman, dressed way too warm in a gray wool coat from which a flowery dress protruded and chunk white shoes, had wandered into traffic.