End Game (Will Robie #5)(91)
“You took them back today? To their jet?”
“Yep. I don’t think she liked the bunker much. All she was talking about was jetting off to the Hamptons. That’s in New York somewhere, right?”
“Long Island. Very wealthy. On the water. Homes there go for like forty million.”
“Are you shitting me? Forty million bucks for something you live in?”
“Yep. And for a lot of those folks it’s their second or third home.”
“Damn. Might as well be on another planet far as I’m concerned.” He paused. “I’ve worked since I was sixteen with some unemployment here and there. I’m sixty-six now. That’s fifty years. One night I added up all the money I’ve made. Want to know how much?”
“Sure, why not?”
“Nine hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Sounds like a lot. But not over fifty years. Comes out to less than twenty grand a year. Thing is, I know folks who made even less than that. Look, I made shitty choices, I know. Dropped out of high school. But my dad died so I had to help out, you know. Maybe I should have joined the military, learned a trade. Too late now.” He gave her a sideways glance. “So you’re a Fed from DC?”
“That’s right.”
“I bet you make good money.”
“I guess.”
“You look like you could handle yourself in a fight.”
“I’ve been in a few.”
“Ever killed anybody?”
She stared at him. “Now, is that a proper question to ask a lady?”
He looked sheepish. “No, sorry. I ain’t thinking straight. No offense.”
“So was that the first time you’d driven the Randalls out to the bunker? Lambert told us this was the first time they were coming to actually stay there.”
“First time for the lady. I’ve driven Randall around before. And Mrs. Randall had her ‘designer’ come out and oversee the work. So I took the designer lady out too. She was nice. Nothing like her boss.”
“What do you think about the whole luxury bunker thing?”
“Hell, it’s their money. If they want to do it, more power to ’em. My take, though, is that if things are so bad they got to run off to some nuke-proof bunker, they’re going to be living there the rest of their lives because what happened up top has got to be way past fixing, right?”
“One would think.”
Page had raised his hand for another beer when Reel thought of it.
“What do you mean you’ve driven Randall around before? I thought that was the first time they’ve been to the bunker.”
“It was, at least as far as I know.”
“So where else did you take him?”
“Oh, that. Well, he would jet in to another private strip about an hour from here. I’d pick him up and take him to a cabin. Sometimes he’d have some buddies with him.”
“Where exactly is the cabin?”
“I got it on the GPS in my limo. Bluff Point Road. It’s pretty far as the crow flies.”
“What did they fly in to do?”
“Don’t know. Not my place to ask. Then a couple days later I’d take ’em back to the jet.”
“A couple of days? What could they do in a couple of days?”
“Beats me.”
“How many times did you do this?”
“Maybe a half dozen. Maybe more.”
“Did they bring anything with them?”
“Some duffels. Maybe they were fishing.”
“He didn’t strike me as the fishing type.”
“Don’t know what to tell you.”
“These buddies? What were they like?”
He grinned at her. “Hey, now, why the third degree?”
“I’m here trying to find someone. And Randall is an asshole. Wouldn’t it be great if I could pin something on him?”
Page’s eyes lighted up. “Damn, wouldn’t it?”
“So the other guys?”
Page thought about this for a moment. “They weren’t like him. I mean he’s a big, strong guy but he’s soft too. I mean you can just tell. Punch him in the nose and he’ll go crying to his momma. These guys, well, they were serious dudes, if you get my drift. They didn’t talk much. But I wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of them either. I’m not even sure they were American.” He glanced at her again. “Why, you really think Randall is up to something?”
“If he is, I’ll be sure to send him your best right after I bust him.”
Page lifted his glass. “Amen to that.”
Reel walked out.
CHAPTER
53
Chicken.
As a teenager Robie had played the game on the narrow back roads of coastal Mississippi.
As a man he had played the same game on five continents.
He was about to do it again. But in a slightly different way.
As a teenager he had used a car when playing the game.
As a man he had used mostly guns as his weapon of choice when doing so.
Tonight, he would use both.
As another shot rang out and missed his vehicle completely, Robie looked down at his speedometer. He was clocking seventy. He punched the gas and clicked that quickly up to ninety. Then he was at triple digits.