He shrugged. “I used to work at an ore plant that went out of business. Then I worked on an assembly line for a car parts company that went under too when Detroit and the Big Three cratered. Then I got a job at a grocery store stocking shelves. Got downsized from there and went to a McDonald’s flipping burgers. My paycheck kept shrinking and my back kept getting sorer and sorer. Finally, got old enough for Social Security. I inherited the limo from my old man. He had a funeral home business. I kept it in the garage. Then when this Uber thing took off, I was like, what the hell. I can put on a suit and drive a fucking car. Did some weddings and proms. And I got some gigs taking people to Denver and back. Parties and crap like that. And I knew Roark Lambert from way back. He hires me to bring his rich clients to the bunker. The pay’s okay. And I can’t sit around and do nothing. I ain’t dead yet. Right?”
“Right,” replied Reel, sipping her beer.
He grinned. “You two really shook those assholes up. They were screaming about what they were going to do to you.”
“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.
He checked his rearview.
The car had mirrored his acceleration.
Robie pushed the gas down even more.
One-ten came and went.
The truck had a monster V-8 power plant, but it was not designed to go that fast on slicked roads.
Robie knew this. And he also knew he was going to push it even more.
He clicked up to one-fifteen. There wasn’t much room for the speedometer arrow to go farther.
The car behind him did the same. And they were no longer shooting at him. No doubt they were too busy white-knuckling their seats while going this fast in a storm.
Robie made sure his seat belt was secure. He checked the mirror one more time.
Then he crushed the brakes.
Smoke blew out from the rear tires as he laid rubber down the road.
He kept his hands firmly on the wheel. When the truck started to shake and edge to the right, he guided it back to the center with slight maneuvers of the wheel.
He didn’t brace himself.
He relaxed.
He looked in the mirror.
The car had gone out of control as it sharply decelerated. It had turned to the left, but its forward momentum was carrying it right toward the truck.
Three… two… one.
Robie smoothly steered the truck to the left, and the out-of-control car flew past him on the right. He could see the panicked faces of the three men inside as it sailed by. And then it rolled twice before coming to rest back on its wheels.
Robie slowed, then stopped and slammed the truck into park. He ripped off the seat belt and came out of the truck charging forward with his pistol aimed directly at the driver. Robie’s laser sight was on the man’s chest.