Sweet Fortune

about?”
    “It's about money,” Hatch said easily.
    “Shit.” David shoved his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. “You're here to tell me the old bastard won't finance grad school, right? Why you? Why didn't Jessie come?”
    “That's a lot of conclusions to jump to without knowing any facts. But I guess that's what philosophers are trained to do, isn't it? No wonder they have a hard time finding jobs outside the academic world.”
    “Shit.”
    Hatch sighed as he pushed open the door of the espresso bar. “Look on the bright side. I'm buying.”
    A pale, lanky-haired young woman behind the counter smiled wanly at David.
    “Hi, David. How's it going?” she asked.
    “Fine. You?”
    “Okay, I guess. What will you have?”
    “Latte,” said David.
    She turned in mute question to Hatch.
    “Coffee,” Hatch said. “Plain coffee.”
    They stood in silence while the young woman went to work at the gleaming espresso machine. When she handed them their cups, Hatch led the way to a corner table in the nearly empty café.
    “Friend of yours?” Hatch asked idly, nodding faintly toward the wiry woman who was now busy cleaning up around the machine. Her washed-out blond hair swung forward, shielding her bad complexion.
    “Not exactly. Met her when I was asking around for information on DEL.”
    Hatch slid the young woman a second glance. “That's Nadine Willard?”
    “Yeah.” David sipped the foam off his latte. “Now, suppose you stop messing with my head and just tell me what all this is about.”
    “No problem. It's real simple, David. I don't want you pressuring Jessie to go to her father for money for grad school. Got that?”
    David scowled. “What is it with you, anyway? What do you care about something that's just between Jessie and me?”
    “I want Jessie out of the loop.”
    “The loop?”
    “Right. The loop. From now on, anyone who wants something from Vincent Benedict can go and ask for it himself, directly. You don't use Jessie anymore.”
    David's expression tightened into a sullen frown. He sat back and stuck his legs out under the small table. “Jessie's never minded handling the old bastard for the rest of us.”
    “I mind.”
    “No offense, but who the fuck cares if you mind?”
    Hatch took a taste of his coffee. “Put it this way, David. If you try to use Jessie to run interference for you, I will personally squelch any possibility you might have of getting money out of Vincent Benedict. Believe me, I can do it. Benedict and I think alike. I know just how to convince him that you shouldn't be given one more dime for your education.”
    “You're a real son of a bitch, aren't you?”
    “I can be,” Hatch agreed.
    “Mom said she was afraid something like this would happen.”
    “Something like what?” Hatch eyed him curiously.
    David lifted one shoulder in resignation. “That things would change. She said the old bastard was going to try to create a son for himself by getting one to marry into the family. She said if he succeeded, we'd all lose in the end. Looks like this is the start of it.”
    “You seem to be missing the point here, David. I did not say you couldn't try to talk Benedict into anything you want. Just don't use Jessie to do it for you.”
    “She's the only one who can deal with him. Everybody knows that.”
    “Have you ever tried dealing with him yourself?”
    “Shit, yes.” David slammed his half-finished cup down on the table. He turned fierce eyes on Hatch. “You think I haven't tried to please the old man? Hell, I spent most of my life trying to be the son everyone said he wanted. Ever since I was a little kid, I tried to be a macho, hard-charging type for his sake.”
    “Is that right?”
    “Yeah, it is damn sure right.” David leaned forward. His hands circled his cup in a crushing grip. “I went out for football because of him. Spent eight weeks in a cast when I broke a leg because some idiot linebacker fell on top of me. I got a job on a fishing boat one summer because Benedict said I was a wimp and needed to toughen up. I hated it. The smell was awful. And the endless piles of dead and dying fish made me sick to my stomach. I still can't bring myself to eat fish.”
    “David—”
    “I've studied karate for years, trying to prove to Uncle Vincent I was made of the right stuff. Mom and the old bastard decided I should get to know the family business, so I tried working construction one summer.” David shook his head at the bitter