“Yeah, but not like what it was. It’s clearing from the west. ATL is scheduled to reopen within the hour, but the airlines will be playing catch-up, and until they do, it’ll be the end of civilization as we know it, which is why the room wasn’t easy to come by. Had to use my platinum card.”
“If flights are that backed up, why don’t I just charter and fly myself?”
“No budget for that. You don’t make it, Rye, I’ll have to send somebody else.”
Rye looked over at Brynn, who was staring at the back of Timmy’s seat, unmoving and unmoved, seemingly uninterested. “I’ll make it,” he told Dash.
“Assuming you do, get over here as soon as you land. I’ll have one of the nineties on the step.”
“Copilot?”
“Do you want one?”
“No.”
“I knew that without asking.”
“What’s the cargo?”
“Pallets of leather. A furniture manufacturer is out of Roman Red, and they want it yesterday.”
“Where?”
“Portland.”
“Maine may still be socked in tomorrow.”
“Not Maine. Oregon. Clear as a bell out there. Well, except for the rain, but what are you going to do? It’s Oregon.”
“Right.”
“What’s the matter with you?”
“Nothing.”
“I thought you’d be happy. You sound like your puppy just died.”
“I’m beat, that’s all. Ready to get horizontal.”
“I’ll text you the hotel info.”
“Thanks for rustling up the job. I’ll get back to you in the a.m.” He clicked off and dropped the phone into his pocket. “How much farther?” he asked, addressing the question to the pair of eyes in the rearview mirror.
“Not much.”
“You’re a fountain of information.”
Rye had flown through Atlanta more times than he could count. He knew it from the air, was well acquainted with the main airport and all the FBOs in the area, but he wasn’t that familiar with the freeway system.
He tried to keep track of the route Goliad took, but when he steered the Mercedes into the unattended parking garage of a multistory office building, Rye knew that he would have trouble finding his way back to a major thoroughfare. Even if he had a car, which he didn’t.
And even if he got out of here alive, which was questionable. Not that he feared death. In fact, he flirted with it, courted it, dared it on a daily basis. He just didn’t want his death to be at the hands of a lowlife like Timmy.
He wasn’t afraid of dying. He was only afraid of dying ignobly.
Goliad drove up two ramps of the garage and pulled into a space on the third lev
el, which was the top one. He cut the engine and turned to address Brynn. “Text him. Tell him we’re here.”