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

a leather chair that faced the massive gold-washed desk, which looked like it belonged in Versailles.

A different set of French doors than the ones I’d entered burst open, and Lou Atlas stormed into the room. He might only be 5’ 9” but he had the frenetic presence of LeBron James. He crossed the room so fast I just got to my feet in time for him to thrust out his hand and take hold of mine.

“Lou Atlas, pleased to meet you.”

“Buck Reilly. Harry Greenbaum sends his regards.”

“Ha! That Limey bastard’s beat me out of a few deals over the years, but I just love his suave demeanor, know what I mean?” His Texas accent was still strong, even though he hadn’t lived there in twenty years. “I tell you, their days as an empire may be long past, but those Brits still have some classy sons of bitches over there, and Harry’s one of ‘em.” Lou dashed around the end of his desk. Pretty spry for eighty-three.

“I’m sorry to hear about your nephew,” I said.

Lou dropped down into the chair and his face went from jovial to squint-eyed in a blink.

“Don’t feel too bad—he’s a sorry piece of shit.” Lou grunted. “My only sister’s only child and nothing but a bum, but hey—” His lips bent into a smile his eyes didn’t share. “He’s family!”

The blunt description pushed me back into my chair.

“And you’re what—one of Harry’s investments that didn’t pan out? Former treasure hunter, something like that?”

I swallowed. “Feels like a lifetime ago.”

“Bet it don’t for your former stockholders.” His smile faded. “But Harry says you’re still good at finding things, and while I think this is a damned goose chase, I owe it to my sister to check the box.”

I rubbed my palms across my jeans. “What can you tell me about your nephew and his disappearance?”

“I already told you he’s a piece of shit, but that’s as much my fault as anything. You give a young man a few million a year for life, you’re gonna get one of two things—someone who wants to prove he deserves it or a slacker who sits on his ass and does shit. Well, that’s Jerry, the latter of the two.”

I found myself nodding. I’d known plenty of people with trust funds, and sadly, most of them fit Jerry’s category. A steady flow of money for nothing is not a recipe for hard-won success.

“And Jerry lives on St. Barths?”

Lou cackled. “That’s right. Not a shabby little rock, is it?” He nodded toward the doors where I’d entered the room. “That’s where Annette’s from, the little beauty who brought you in here. Father owns half the waterfront in Gustavia, the main harbor in town. Doing him a favor bringing her up here. Hell, doing me one too.” He pumped his eyebrows.

“I know it well—St. Barths, that is.”

“So Harry told me. That’s another reason you’re sitting there.”

I wondered if he actually knew his nephew. Or was all his information second-hand?

“What else can you tell me about Jerry that might help me learn what happened to him?”

“Aside from being a drunk who spent his days at a circuit of beach bars, he went and got married to a local girl and had a few kids he hardly ever sees. Hasn’t worked since he was in the Air Force in his late teens—he’s forty now, and aside from a brief failed attempt at trying to buy and build a business, he ain’t got shit to show for the millions he’s pissed away.” He paused. “Sound good so far?”

“And he’s been missing—”

“About a month now. Plumb disappeared—wife don’t know shit—and given their pre-nup, he’s worth more to her alive than dead, drinking buddies ain’t seen him, police don’t much give a damn since Jerry’s caused more problems than probably any other resident on the island—wrecking cars, starting fights, that kind of thing.”

“Any chance of foul play?”

“Wouldn’t surprise me none, but more likely he drove one-a his cars off one-a them steep-ass cliffs and vanished into some desolate scrub.”

Jeez, no love lost here. Guess he did know Jerry.

“What about his mother—your sister?”

“Dead seven years now. Like I said, feel I owe it to her to find out what happened, otherwise when I see her next she won’t be too happy with me.” Lou slapped his palms down on the top of his paper-free desk.

I licked my lips. “Pretty cold trail, sir.”

“Yep, I don’t expect much out of your efforts but I’ll give you a week, cover your expenses, pay you twenty grand, and if by some miracle you find him alive I’ll garnish his trust and pay you a quarter million. It’s high season down there, so it’ll be expensive, but I don’t give a damn.”

He leaned toward me and thrust his jaw out. I felt like he was waiting for me to counter, so I did.

“I’ll need a cell phone and credit card.”

He pulled a drawer open, took out a Visa Black card and a cell phone, and slapped them down on the desk.

“They don’t like American Express down there. Hell, they don’t much like Americans, but what else is new?” He snickered. “Even though the damn Russians make us look genteel by comparison. So.” He slapped the desk again. “We got a deal, or what?”

Going to St. Barths with what I assumed to be an unlimited expense account and getting paid while being there?

“You have a deal, Mr. Atlas.”

“Call me Lou, I’m retired now. Got enough people kissing my ass, so I need straight shit out of you, Treasure Hunter.”

Once we nailed down the terms, he pushed the credit card forward—fast— and I caught it as it was about to fly off the desk. He pulled a piece of stationary from another drawer, took out a fat Mont Blanc pen, and scribbled down some names and numbers of contacts he thought might be helpful. He also wrote out a note on a separate piece of monogrammed paper that stated I was looking into matters on