Page 15 of Broken Hearts

“Yes?” Gruff old prick.

I affected a casual voice. “Hey, man, I was just calling about an ad I saw online for a Porsche 911?”

His tone softened. “Oh, right. Are you interested?”

“Very. I’d love to come and check it out. Where are you located?”

“Wexford.”

“What a coincidence. I’m practically just around the corner.”

“Well, my wife just left for a while, so you’re welcome to come and have a look if you’re not busy.”

“Yeah, I’m free. That would be great.”

He rattled off his address—such an idiotic thing to do, although it wasn’t like I didn’t already know exactly where it was—and then ended the call. I waited the requisite fifteen minutes to make it seem as if I wasn’t already right next to the house, and then I stepped up to the right side of the enormous Baldwin house, where their triple garage was located.

George was waiting for me. He was wearing blue jeans, black shoes and a black jacket, all very casual looking, but even a cursory glance at the quality of the fabric made it clear they were very expensive clothes. “You’re the one looking for the car?”

I nodded and extended a friendly hand. “Yup, that’s me. I’m Peter Blake.”

“Nice to meet you, Peter. I’m George.” He pulled out a pair of keys and clicked something on them, turning around as one of the garage doors went up. “The old girl is in here.”

“I’m excited to see her.” I cocked my head to the side. “You know, you look very familiar… oh, wait. You’re George Baldwin, aren’t you?”

The old man nodded, puffing up his shoulders with pride. “I am.”

“Forgive me for sounding like a total brown-noser, but you’re excellent at your job, sir. I’ve actually followed your career for quite some time.”

“Thank you.” George gave me a bright white smile. Got him. Rich, arrogant, condescending old fuckwits like him loved it when people called them ‘sir’. It was like crack to them; served as social proof of their superior status amongst all the lowly peasants of the world. Or so they thought. I smiled to myself for a second, wondering if Celeste thought the same of me, although she surely knew I preferred the title in a vastly different context.

A swanky silver convertible came into view in the garage a moment later. I let out a low whistle. “Can’t believe you want to give this up.”

He chuckled. “Ah, I have to. I’m too old to drive this thing around. I bought it a few years ago, but my wife never stopped teasing me, and she’s right. I look like an insecure old fool in the thing. It’s too fast for me, anyway.”

Bingo.

“Well, your loss is my gain, sir. I’m very interested.” I affected a curious frown to disguise the fact that all I was really interested in was seeing the bloody insides of his chest. “Can you tell me more about the features?”

“Of course, son.” He rattled off a bunch of specs about the interior design and comfort features, and I nodded along and pressed my lips together at the right times, feigning enough interest to be convincing, but not so much that I seemed disingenuous.

“Well, it all sounds great, but.…” I let a reluctant note creep into my voice. “I guess I’d really have to see for myself, you know?”

George nodded. “By all means, take it for a test drive around the block. I’ll wait here.”

I held up my palms, as if I hadn’t insinuated anything of the sort. “Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly take it out without you. We only just met. For all you know, I’m some sort of international auto thief, or a crazed serial killer intent on running down pedestrians in your car.”

George chuckled. “I like to think in all my years as a judge, I can read people quite well. You seem trustworthy enough.” He winked. “Believe me, I’d know if I was talking to a serial killer.”

Would you? Fucking moron. This guy was actually elected to the goddamned Supreme Court of our state. Christ.

I grinned. “Fair enough. But still, I’d feel guilty taking it out without you. Please join me. I know your wife wants it gone, but surely you miss driving around in the old girl?”

A slow smile spread across his face. “I do miss zipping around in it... oh, hell, let’s go. One more spin for old time’s sake, eh?”

He unlocked the car, then tossed me the keys and lowered himself into the passenger seat. Before I got in, I pulled a pair of black leather gloves out of my pocket. “Driving gloves,” I said to George, who had an eyebrow raised at the sight.

“Haven’t seen anyone wearing them in a while.” He chuckled.

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