Second Chance Gold (Buck Reilly Adventure Series Book 4), John Cunningham [polar express read aloud .txt] 📗

insulated coveralls. The wood planking groaned under our weight, and the wind cut through me with a whistle. I didn’t miss the cold or the concrete jungle of big city living. New York’s a great town, but I now preferred flip flops to Ferragamo loafers, cargo shorts to custom tailored suits, and filing flight plans between islands instead of business plans to investment bankers.

The ramp agent nodded toward the burgundy Rolls Royce outside the fence.

“That ain’t no rental.”

I smiled. It sure wasn’t

The driver who sprang from the vehicle had on an immaculate cashmere full-length overcoat and a black cap. He walked around the rear of the car, met my eyes, and pulled the back door open.

“Nice to see you, Percy,” I said.

“Mr. Reilly.” Was that a smile?

“Where’re we headed?”

“Mr. Greenbaum is expecting you at Riverpark, just up on 29th.”

I sank into the cream-colored leather, and the door closed with a quiet thud.

Here we go.

We turned onto 29th Street and drove until we reached a landscaped cul-de-sac where taut flags snapped in the swirling wind. A broad open plaza stretched out toward the FDR and beyond to the East River, with Long Island City visible across the white-capped water.

“Riverpark Restaurant is through the lobby,” Percy said as he jumped out to open my door. “Mr. Greenbaum’s waiting for you there.”

“Thanks, Percy. Great to see you.”

He nodded, his hand on top of his cap.

I stepped out into cold my bomber jacket was no match for and wind off the river that nearly knocked me over. I dashed across the brick sidewalk to enter a massive glass and steel building. I rubbed my palms together and shook off the chill, then continued through the cavernous lobby toward a broad, luxurious spiral staircase that ascended into a marble and glass atrium.

A man came around the corner of the elevator bank. I stopped in my tracks. As he approached, he stopped in his tracks.

“Jack, is that you?” I said. Jack Dodson, my former partner at e-Antiquity, but he looked leaner and meaner. When did he get out—

“Long time no see, Buck. Thanks for all those visits while I was in Sing Sing. Really let me know how much I meant to you.”

He’d spent five years in prison for insider trading—a fate I very narrowly avoided. “And for the bullshit pittance you and your brother sent my wife?” He shook his head.

“Hold on, Jack!” I wasn’t about to let that pass. “I’m fucking bankrupt, my brother got all the—”

He laughed, but his eyes showed no mirth.

“We were best friends, Buck. Partners. You were like family to me. We created e-Antiquity together.” His voice was a whisper, but the fire in his eyes made me look down at the floor. “And we had a deal—I take the fall, and you take care of my family—”

“My brother sent checks every month. Son of a bitch cut me off, but kept sending money to her—what the fuck was I supposed to take care of your family with? I’ve got nothing left to give.”

This perfectly reasonable—and truthful—explanation got me a dry laugh as Jack glared at me, slowly circling past. I turned, still facing him, adrenaline keeping me on high alert.

“That was the one thing that kept me going,” he said, “knowing that when I got out I had my money stashed and you had shit.”

A thought lit up my brain.

“Were you here to see Harry?”

His smile twitched and his eyes narrowed.

“Keep clear of me, Buck. Run your little charter service and chase tail in the Keys. I’ve got a lot of lost time to make up for.”

“But—”

“Nice bumping into you, ex-partner.”

He turned sharply and continued through the lobby at a brisk pace. The women watched him pass, maybe because he was dressed all in black, tight pants, boots, a black turtleneck, and a designer leather jacket.

I watched him walk outside—and froze when Percy appeared and opened the rear door to the Rolls. Jack slid in without looking back. A moment later the car continued around the cul-de-sac and up 29th Street.

I exhaled a deep breath.

Jack Dodson was out of jail, he hated my guts, and he’d met Harry Greenbaum before me.

The Widgeon? Jack was a pilot too, but it had a Cuban registration.

What the hell was going on here?

It took a few moments for me to collect myself. My heart rate had shot up and the cold I’d felt on entering the building had been replaced with a light sweat. I pulled off my jacket and swiped my fist across my damp forehead.

“One for lunch?” The pretty brunette hostess asked.

“I’m looking for Harry Greenbaum.”

She smiled, nodded for me to follow, and led me toward the back of the restaurant.

I replayed the surprise encounter with Jack in my head as I walked through the crowded restaurant and bar.

What the hell’s going on here?

Harry was situated past the bar, in a private room with two uniformed waiters, a long table, and a river view I barely noticed. Jack had persuaded Harry to invest in e-Antiquity back in the day, having met him through our bankers at Goldman Sachs. It had been Jack’s job to raise money while I scoured the globe for antiquities, and Harry had been his coup.

“Buck Reilly.” Harry stayed in his seat. “It’s been far too long.” I shook Harry’s doughy hand. The lines around his blue eyes had been etched deeper in the five years since I’d last seen him, and there were a few pounds more of him to like. His gray flannel suit sported a red handkerchief in the breast pocket, perfectly accentuating his blood-red tie.

I swallowed. “It certainly has, Harry. But I’ve sure appreciated you being there for me these past few years.”

He held a hand out to the chair across from him and one of the waiters rushed over to pull it out for me. Was this where Jack had been seated?

He laughed. “You’ve