To say the least.
At that precise moment, my cell phone rang. Darwin.
Darwin said, “How’s it shakin’, Cosmo?”
“Excuse me?”
“Your traveling name. Cosmo Burlap.” He laughed. “You like it?”
I covered the mouthpiece and whispered “business call, be right back” to Kathleen. I hurried away from the table and found a semi-quiet corner outside the bar.
“You’re catching a commercial flight from Denver to Dallas.”
“What? When?”
“Tomorrow afternoon.”
“That’s no good for me. I’ve got some things going.”
“Don’t even start with me, Creed. You haven’t had a fucking assignment since I can’t remember when. But you need a staff of geeks for one of your ridiculous research projects, or a chopper in West Bumfuck to take you to a hospital? Who’s the guy you call?”
I sighed. “You.”
“Who always comes through for you? Say it!”
“You do.”
“Damn right I do. You need a drone to drive your car? You need your non-Homeland crime scene sterilized by midnight? You need a fucking Hummer-mounted, pulsed energy weapon flown to California on two hours’ notice?”
“You made your point,” I said.
“Goddamn right I did. You want to keep your cushy lifestyle?”
“I think ‘cushy’ might be a stretch.”
“Get your ass to Denver tonight!”
“Can I use the Gulfstream?”
“Lear 60.”
“Nice equipment,” I said. “What’s with the Cosmo?”
“Cosmo Burlap. The name you’re flying under in first class.”
“That your idea of a joke?” I said.
“Yeah, that’s right.”
“Pretty sad, you ask me.”
“Hey, you want to switch jobs? Any fucking day, my friend. How about this:
“Uh huh.”
“This a bad time for you? Interferes with your love life? Prevents you from making an extra million bucks? Gee, that’s too bad. Fuck
It was a bad time. Callie was counting on me to track down Tara Siegel in Boston, something I’d planned to do tomorrow after getting a good night’s sleep. I’d had a long day, what with the funeral, Kimberly, the rainstorm, the flights, the late dinner with Kathleen. Last thing I felt like doing tonight was pulling a four-hour flight to Denver with a turn-around to Dallas.
