CHAPTER
71
“HEY, BILL, HOW GOES IT?”
Bill Strauss had just come out of the Trent office and was heading to his car. Puller was leaning against his Malibu. He’d been waiting out here for nearly an hour.
“Puller? What are you doing here?”
Puller pushed away from the car and walked toward the man. “My job. Got some questions. You have some time?”
Strauss glanced at his watch. “I’m actually late for a meeting.”
“It won’t take long.”
“It can’t wait?”
“Not really, no.”
“Okay, shoot.”
“Blasting last Sunday night. No public notice given. Who author
ized it?”
Strauss looked taken aback. “What are you talking about?”
“On Sunday night of last week blasting took place at one of the Trent operations. You have to give public notice. And blasting doesn’t usually take place on Sundays. You have to get special permission. The notice wasn’t given. Was the special permission obtained?”
“I’d have to check the records.”
“Roger said he knew nothing about it. Who at your company oversees that stuff?”
“Technically I do as COO. But I have a lot of duties and I have to delegate. We have people who cover the blasting authorizations and appropriate notice provisions.”
“Then they would be the ones I should talk to?”
“They would. Unfortunately, they’re not at this office. They work in Charleston.”
“Can I get their contact information?”
“Why is this important? Those people weren’t killed at the mining operation.”
“It’s still important. So you’ll get me the contact info?”
“Okay,” Strauss said slowly.
“Great, I’ll expect it tomorrow.”
“I’m not sure—”
Puller cut in. “Seen your son lately?”
“No, why?”
“Just wondering. You a member of the Xanadu club?”
“What? No, I’m not.”
“I’ll let you get on to your meeting.”
Puller climbed in the Malibu and drove off. On the way he called Dickie and made arrangements to meet with him that night.
When Puller got back to the motel there was a shiny blue Bentley parked out front, and Roger Trent was at the wheel.
CHAPTER
72
“I ASSUME YOU’RE LOOKING for me since there’s no one else staying here,” said Puller.
Trent had on dark slacks and a white open-collared shirt. A cigar was in one hand. His face was red, the corpuscles around his thick nose swollen. As Puller drew closer he smelled the alcohol on the man’s breath.
“You sure you should be piloting that thing around in your condition?”
“What condition is that?”
“One called inebriated.”
“I’m not even close. I have a big appetite for everything.”
Puller looked at the man’s gut. “I can see that. You ever think about Weight Watchers?”
“You’ve been pulling my chain ever since we met.”
“You’re a hard person to love, Roger.”
To Puller’s surprise the other man started laughing. “Well, at least you’re honest. I understand you and my lovely wife went to lunch today. At Vera Felicita.”
“Her invite, not mine.”
“Not saying otherwise. But you accepted.”
“Yes, I did.”
“Did you have a good time?”
“She’s very nice company. Did she tell you what happened afterwards?”
“That someone put a bomb under your car, yes, she did mention that. That’s why I came by, to tell you she had nothing to do with it.”
“Thanks, that’s a big relief.”
“I was just thinking that we both have a lot in common.”
“Oh yeah, what’s that?”
“Somebody obviously wants us dead.”
“They’re just phoning you. I’m the one getting the bombs.”
Trent leaned against his Bentley. “You ever wonder why I haven’t moved away from here? I could live anywhere, you know.”
“You wife prefers Italy, I know that.”
“That’s my wife. I’m talking about me.”
“Okay, yeah, I have wondered. And I can tell you’re itching to tell me. Big fish in a little pond syndrome?”
“Hardly that simple. You see, Puller, I don’t have a need to be loved. Far from it. You don’t go into the coal mining business to be loved. I like being loathed. It gets my juices going. I love it, actually. Everybody against me. You see, in Drake, I’m the underdog. A rich underdog, the richest in fact. But still the underdog.”
“You ever thought about getting counseling?”
Trent laughed again. “I like you. I’m not sure why. Hell, maybe I do know why. You hate me too, but you do it on a different level. You do it to my face, not behind my back like all the others around here.”
“Does that include your family?”
Trent leisurely blew a smoke ring and watched it drift upward and then disappear.
From the nearby woods the cicadas started up.
“Probably. Sam can’t stand me. Randy is a whack job. Jean loves my money.”
“One big happy family.”
“But I can’t blame folks. Remember, I said jealousy? It’s true. I bet you’re a hotshot soldier. Probably were in combat in the Middle East. Got a slew of medals.”
“You just come up with that on your own?”
“I checked you out. Yeah, I bet it was rough over there. But let me tell you what real combat is like. Business is combat. And to win you’ve got to be an asshole. No marshmallows make it to the top in business. It’s kill or be killed. And if you’re not at the top, you’re at the bottom. And that’s where most people will live their whole lives.” He flicked his cigar to remove some dangling ash and then put it to his lips.
“Thanks for the Business 101, Roger. Now why don’t you talk to me about your financial problems?”
The cigar sagged in the man’s mouth and the mirth-filled look in his eyes vanished. “What financial problems?”
“You checked me out, I checked you out.”