Hard Fire (A Jon Reznick Thriller) by J. B. Turner

Author:J. B. Turner [Turner, J. B.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3, mobi
Publisher: Thomas & Mercer
Published: 2022-12-12T16:00:00+00:00

Thirty-One

Feldman sat on the outdoor terrace of the ultra-exclusive CORE Club in Midtown Manhattan, waiting for his guest to arrive. He sipped a glass of wine as he checked his messages. The private members’ club was a beautiful refuge for him. He would occasionally pop in for a drink or meal before he headed back to his apartment on Fifth Avenue, two blocks away.

He enjoyed the casual, hip vibe. It was all so different from other New York private clubs, which were either too stuffy or too full of coked-up twentysomethings. His club was for people in business, politicians, billionaire philanthropists, a confidant to the President who worked out in the private gym, hedge fund guys who talked incessantly on their cell phones. He didn’t mind. It was actually part of a theater of the absurd. Feldman found it intoxicating as well as alluring. The money, the power, the exchange of ideas and business cards, and the networking—second to none. Whereas many clubs frowned on using cell phones in and around the club, the CORE Club was very relaxed about that.

Feldman was always amazed at who was hanging around. The place was always buzzing. Especially in the late afternoon and early evening. The excited chatter of deals clinched, new friendships made, corporate firings, and even gossip about executives in therapy. Nothing was too personal or important for them not to discuss. The alcohol was a great loosener of the tongue.

Feldman’s gaze wandered to the far end of the terrace. He spotted Avery, walking toward him.

Avery pulled up a seat opposite. “Hope you weren’t waiting too long. I just got a heads-up. Real eager to discuss this with you.”

“First, you fancy a little drink?”

“Don’t mind if I do. Scotch on the rocks.”

Feldman caught a waiter’s eye and ordered two Chivas Regals. They made small talk for a few minutes. The suffocating humidity of DC in the summer, the midterms, and of course, the Yankees. “What the hell is wrong with them?”

“I swear to God, Mort, they’re going to be the death of me. I’ve got a couple of tickets for tonight’s game against the Red Sox. Care to join me?”

“Would love to, but got to meet a new client of mine. Thanks all the same.”

The waiter returned with the two drinks.

Feldman raised his glass, as did Avery. “To your good health, Gordon.”

They sipped their drinks, swirling the ice around in their glasses.

Avery leaned forward, drink in hand. “We got a problem.”

“What kind of problem?”

“The guy I was telling you about, the ex-Delta guy, he’s in town. Right now.”

“Are you serious?”

He nodded. “I’m hearing he was down in Texas, connecting a few dots. But I have seen one APB Manhattan-wide. He’s in town. They’re looking for him as we speak.”

Feldman was fully alert. “Why’s he here?”

“Retribution. He’s decided to take the law into his own hands.”

Feldman took a sip of his Scotch. “I don’t like the sound of that. Don’t get me wrong: I very much appreciate you being candid on this issue.

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