Page 70 of Nobody's Fool

Should I get it out now? Better safe than sorry?

I decide to leave the gun behind. I exit the building. The first thing I see is what we might call a suspicious-looking dude on the far street corner with a face tat, scraggly dirty-blond hair, faded denim vest, and mirrored sunglasses. He has the telltale brown bag clutched in one hand (for those who don’t know what I mean, a bottle of booze is most likely in the bag). He raises the hand as I pass as though offering me a toast. I give a small nod back. I’m not sure what to make ofhim. Suspicious-looking dudes drinking in the early morning are not uncommon in this neighborhood, but something about this guy is tingling my spidey senses.

I turn right. As soon as the blue Cadillac Escalade comes into view, the driver door opens. Gun Guy steps out. He smiles at me and waves. My best pal. I quickly glance up at my window. Molly is there. I turn back toward Scraggly Dude. He’s stumbling away now, almost out of sight. I approach Gun Guy. He keeps the smile on his face.

“Nice to see you again,” he says when I get closer.

I am tempted to sucker-punch him. I have that right, but I don’t know how it will play out here in the middle of the street. When I get closer to the car, he opens the back door for me to get in. I look inside to see who is there. No one.

“Did you send me a text this morning?” I ask.

“Not me,” he says. “I’m more of an ‘in-person’ guy.”

“Why are you here?”

“I was asked to bring you to the estate.”

“The Belmonds’ estate?”

He smiles again and gestures toward the opening. “Why don’t you get in?”

“My mommy told me not to get into a car with a stranger.”

“Oh, come on, Mr. Kierce. We are old friends by now, aren’t we? Please. Make yourself comfortable.”

“Pass,” I say and start back toward my door. Is this a bluff? I am not even certain. I don’t think I’m in any danger. He knows that I’m an ex-cop now. What is he going to do, drive me out someplace and dump my body? Seems clear that he wants to take me to the Belmonds. I don’t know why or at whose request. But I’m curious. Still, I hope walking away will force him to divulge more information. Gun Guy is here to pick up and deliver a package. If he doesn’t, I assume that his task will be viewed as a failure.

“It’s her father,” he says.

I stop. I don’t ask whose father. There is a dance going on here in terms of names. I’m willing to sway with the music a bit.

“What does he want?”

“Above my pay grade.”

“Why not call me?”

“Above my pay grade.”

I press the first number on my speed dial. When Molly answers I tell her I’m going to take a ride with Gun Guy (I don’t call him that) at the request of Victoria’s father. She insists that we move over to FaceTime and keep it on me, just to be on the safe side. I agree, but again I’m not worried. Molly has seen the Escalade’s license plate, and I’ve taken photos of Gun Guy and we know where he works.

When we arrive at the estate in Connecticut, the ornate gate slowly opens. I say goodbye to my beloved as we head up the long driveway. It takes a full minute before the house comes into view. It’s enormous, of course. Stately. There are some Victorian touches mixed with classic gray stone, and yet something about it makes it difficult to know if it’s a very old home in good shape or a newer home that aped some more opulent era’s architecture.

As we circle to the front, a familiar young man opens the door and steps out.

It’s Arthur from White Shoe Law.

I should be surprised to see him—and I guess I am—but it’s almost as though all my worlds are colliding and being smushed down into one tiny space. When the car comes to a stop, I open the door before Gun Guy can do it. Arthur comes over with his hand extended. I shake it because why not.

“You work for Belmond?” I ask him.

“No,” Arthur says. “I work for you.”

“Then why are you here? Or better yet, why am I here?”

“I’m here at Mr. Belmond’s request,” Arthur says.

“But you represent me?”

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