Page 52 of The Lie Maker

“Think it was a carburetor issue. Thing is, while I love these cars, I’m no genius at fixing them myself.”

“Best to call in an expert when it’s something you treasure,” Michael said.

The trip didn’t take more than five minutes, and Michael decided the business he had come to discuss could wait. Ease into things.

Gartner turned into an alley and came around the back of a nondescript brick building. He parked in front of a set of double garage doors, killed the engine, and said, “We go in around the side.”

Gartner flipped up a bank of light switches that turned on several rows of overhead fluorescents.

“Wow,” Michael said, and he wasn’t faking it.

The three cars sparkled under the lights. The Chevelle was a deep bloodred with two broad black stripes down the hood, over the roof and down the trunk. The Mustang was an electric blue, also boldly striped. And the Charger was jet black with a red stripe that wrapped around the ass end of the car, up the fender, across the trunk, and down the other side. What they called, Michael remembered, a bumblebee stripe. The Chevelle and Mustang were parked nose to tail in front of one garage door, the Charger on its own in front of the other.

Gartner unlocked the passenger door of the Charger for Michael and, before he got behind the wheel, hit a button to open the garage. Then he slipped into the driver’s seat and keyed the ignition. The engine roared to life, then rumbled aggressively even before Gartner put it into reverse.

“Sounds impressive,” Michael said.

“So far,” he said, then looked over his shoulder and backed the car out. Once clear of the door, he hit a remote clipped to the visor and watched to make sure the door went down all the way.

“It’ll need to warm up before I can really know,” he said, getting the car to the street, putting it in drive, and easing his foot down on the gas.

“Let me make my case,” Michael said, raising his voice to be heard above the rumble of the engine and the wind. Gartner had powered down all the windows.

Gartner nodded. “I know Frohm’s pissed. But he needs to understand that we’re pissed, too. Me and the others. We don’t like the arrangement. We want to run our businesses without all the bullshit. We don’t like being pushed around. Unless you can tell me that’s over, we’ve got nothing to talk about.”

“I didn’t come here to threaten you,” Michael said. “I came to see whether I could help you with something.”

“Yeah?” he said, casting Michael a wary glance. “Another hooker at the Drake? That bullshit doesn’t work with me.”

“I wanted to talk to you about your children’s education.”

“You want to what?”

“They’re finishing high school, am I right? Your daughter, Valerie? She’s seventeen now?”

“Jesus, don’t you start bringing my kids into—”

“It’s not like that. Let me explain. And your son, Kyle? Am I right that he’s the same age? That they’re twins?”

“Yeah.”

“Not that common, is it? Twins, where one is a boy and the other a girl?”

“It happens,” Gartner said.

“Even for a man with your resources, it might be something of a challenge, both of them heading off to institutions of higher learning at the same time.”

“We’ll manage,” he said. “I don’t need any help from you.”

“Perhaps not financial,” Michael conceded, “but how high are you setting your sights?”

Gartner ignored the question and gave the car a shot of gas. The engine roared and the car moved forward like it was being launched from a slingshot.

“No hesitation there,” he said, nodding with satisfaction.

“Have your children chosen what schools they want to go to?”

“We’re looking at a few.”

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