The Hunters (Presidential Agent 3)

“You want a drink, Charley?” D’Allessando asked.

“At four o’clock in the morning?”

“It would not be your first drink at four in the morning,” D’Allessando said.

“True,” Castillo said. “What the hell, why not? There’s wine?”

“There’s a whole bin full of it behind the bar,” D’Allessando said.

“You want something to drink, Bradley?” Castillo asked.

“I’m a little hungry, sir,” Bradley said.

“So’m I,” Castillo said. “There’s round-the-clock room service, right, Vic?”

“Indeed.”

Castillo picked up the telephone and punched a button on the base.

“What kind of steak can I have at this unholy hour?” he said into the phone.

He was told.

“New York strip sounds fine.”

Castillo looked at Bradley, who smiled and nodded, and then at D’Allessando, who said, “Why not? I can think of it as breakfast. Get mine with eggs.”

“Three New York strips, medium rare. With fried eggs. Either home fries or French fries. And whatever else seems appropriate for two starving men and an old fat Italian who really shouldn’t be eating at all.”

D’Allessando gave him the finger as he hung up the phone.

“So tell me, Marine,” D’Allessando said to Bradley, “how did this evil man worm his way into your life?”

“He saved my life, Vic,” Castillo said.

D’Allessando looked at Bradley.

“Not to worry,” he said. “You’re a young man. In time, you’ll be forgiven.”

Castillo shook his head.

“You going to have a drink before or after you tell me what’s going on, Charley?”

“Yes,” Castillo said and went behind the bar in search of wine.

“If you promise not to tell your mother, Marine, you may also have a little taste,” D’Allessando said.

“Leave him alone, Vic,” Castillo said. “I wasn’t kidding when I said he’s a friend of mine.”

“You also said he saved your life,” D’Allessando said.

“He did.”

“And how—not to get into ‘Why in the name of all the saints?’—did he do that?”

“He took out two bad guys who were shooting submachine guns at me. With two headshots.”

“I have this very odd feeling that you’re not pulling my chain,” D’Allessando said. “Forgive me, son, if I say you do not look much like the ferocious jarhead of fame and legend.”