Tristan's new personal assistant was named Lancelot Petand by his parents, but at their first meeting, asked to call him "Lenny". Neither name suited the 28-years-old man much. He was too average for Lancelot, but too put-together for Lenny.
Clearly, the man had to choose the lesser of two evils.
When Derek introduced Lenny to Tristan for an interview, he said that Lenny was a great worker, but too prideful to accept being mistreated, and it was the reason Lenny left all his previous jobs as personal assistant.
Tristan didn't see it as a flaw, and ended up hiring the man.
So far, Lenny did his job assisting and coordinating Tristan's schedule even better than Derek did, since he was focused only on it. He lacked Derek's emotional warmth, but was professional, responsible, and able to predict Tristan's needs to an extent.
So much so that Tristan wished Lenny could help with his criminal business schedule as well. But it was impossible.
***
Two weeks later.
"Should I wait for you in a car, or pick you up at a specific time, Mr. Gemello?" Lenny asked when they stopped near a mansion.
The sky was already dark, but the place's walls were lit up with electrical lights. More lights shone on the trees planted around the perfectly cut lawn.
That was the place where the charity gala happened today. Near Tristan, other cars drove near, stopping to let out their passengers near the entrance and driving off to the parking lot.
All those cars were sleek and expensive. Many were sports cars—showy, but absolutely impractical in the city.
Tristan's car fit with them. Sleek, black, shiny. It cost him as much as the ticket... and still was one of the cheapest cars around. Not so cheap to stand out, though.
He elegantly stepped out of it, letting his fingers brush the pristine paint before he closed the door.
"I don't know how long I will be here, Lenny. I will make a call when I will need you to pick me up."
"Alright, Mr. Gemello. Have a good evening."
Lenny nodded and drove off.
"Uh-uh. Why would they even need them, when they take all those bribes, anyway? They are useless. Instead of paying the police, we should hire more private security. Now those are strong, dependable men... Like you." Gossiper Two shamelessly batted her eyelashes at Tristan.
He was too amused by her words to pay attention.
'Wow, this turned political very suddenly,' Tristan thought.
"But do you know if the Chief of Police ACTUALLY takes any bribes himself, ladies?" he asked.
They exchanged looks.
"Of course he is. They all are."
"Well... Maybe others, but he's pretty honest, no? I remember him being angry with that guy—"
"Who had been outed for 'partying' too hard? In the wrong places. With wrong people. If you know what I mean, Tristan—it was all hush-hush, anyway. It's very uncouth to spread rumors like these!"
"Just disgusting. He was doing children. Children!"
"It's a good thing the Chief didn't take the bribe. That'd take the last of my trust in the police."
"But the court only took him away for five years, anyway... There's no justice."
Tristan nodded, absorbing the information. It was so easy to get these three talking—he only needed to ask and smile and they were overflowing with information.
He could also tell when they were embellishing or outright lying for the sake of a story. As far as these three knew, there was no proof that the Chief of Police took bribes, although one of them certainly wanted him to.
"Thank you, ladies. Do you think he's actually the only honest cop in the entire LAPD? He seems to be close with his assistant. I'd say that if the Chief is honest, then the assistant should be, too."
The girls exchanged more looks.
The bonds of the relationship between them were bright and friendly. They were almost sisters—they could tell what the other was thinking.
"Well..." Gossiper Three began.