Chapters (46)
- COVER PAGE
- PRAISE
- DEDICATION
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
- SNEAK PEEK: EXIT .45
Freeman nodded. ‘Your caveat was explained to us.’ He was quiet a moment, letting Vincent know that it was less than ideal. ‘There are firearms in the house. You’ll need to know where they are, obviously, but you don’t need to have one with you.’
‘Great.’
‘But you can discuss all of that with Mr Lamar.’ He smiled curtly.
‘Sure. Shall we bring him in, then?’
Freeman’s eyebrows went up a fraction, as if certain verbs were unfit for the man in question, and ‘bring’ was one of them. He said, ‘I’ll see if Mr Lamar is available.’
Turned out he was.
Vincent waited at the table while Freeman went to inquire, and when the door opened again, it was Lamar who entered first. Vincent stood up from the table with his sunglasses back on, thinking he’d seem more polite if the man saw him take them off, make an effort with his eye contact. It had been one of his father’s rules. Driving private cabs as a teenager for his old man, ferrying Mafioso around Bensonhurst and greater Brooklyn, Vincent could wear shades when he was at the wheel, but he was forbidden to greet a client at the kerb without letting them see eyeball.
So with that edict in mind he held out one hand to shake and held his sunglasses in the other and said, ‘Nice to meet you. I’m Vincent.’
Lamar was seventy or so. He looked about right for a supermarket millionaire, albeit one who shopped only in the health-food aisles. He was a short guy, square and still well built, just starting to go paunchy. Thick white hair combed straight back, and a goatee tethered to his face by a little thread of a moustache. He took Vincent’s hand with both of his own, and then suddenly looked worried.
He said, ‘You play golf?’
Vincent said, ‘No. But I can caddy.’
Lamar nodded, jutting his lower jaw, let Vincent have his hand back. ‘That’ll be fine. Casey, I’m liking him already.’
Freeman managed a nod, too.
Lamar put his hands on his hips and said, ‘We’d better give you the tour. Any questions yet?’
He thought about asking whether they had guns in the house because Lamar was fond of the Second Amendment, or because the supermarket business was more dangerous than people might think. But all of that would come later. Right now, the impression he got was that they were close to offering him a job, so why hold them up? And having looked at that ocean view for twenty minutes, he could appreciate that there were far worse places to be employed for a couple of months. The part of him that said Never Work Again was willing to capitulate.
So he just looked at Freeman and said, ‘Is your first name Morgan?’
And Freeman said, ‘Good guess.’
TWO
TWO