Exit Strategy (Nadia Stafford 1)

Jack sipped his coffee, then nodded. "Yeah. Fits him. Fits the situation, too. Retiring, all that."

"One last bang before you go?"

He leaned back in his seat, fingers tapping against the side of his mug. "More like figuring out you got no place to go. All this work. For what? To retire? To what? Go fly-fishing? Buy a condo in Florida? Take a cruise? Guys like Wilkes. Like me. Like Evelyn. This is it. You get this far because this is all you got. Some guys have more. Kids. Girlfriends. Wives. Bunch of wives, more like. But they're pulling jobs for five grand. Kill-the-cheating-bitch shit. Real money comes with real risk. You don't do that with kids, wives, whatever."

I opened my mouth to respond, but he kept going, leaning forward now. "That's why I tell you, you got it right. Something else besides this. The lodge. Your life there. Ever comes a time? You have to choose?"

"I know what I'd pick, Jack. There wouldn't be much sense in keeping this job and losing the lodge when the main reason I have this job is for the lodge."

"Keep it that way."

Our orders arrived. I sliced into my egg and cut a clean stroke through the solid yolk...a yolk that was supposed to be over-easy. I carved a line around the yellow and took a bite of white.

"Seems like you've given this some thought," I said after a moment, my gaze still on my plate. "Retiring, I mean."

When he didn't answer, I glanced up, hoping the question hadn't offended him, but he was in the midst of chewing. He finished, then said, "Did. Past tense. Couple years ago. Thought I was ready. Realized I wasn't."

He sliced into his ham steak. "It's like any job. Whole time you're looking at the exit door. When will I have enough? Money, I had. Still young enough to enjoy it."

"That's important."

"Yeah. But enjoy it how? Piss off to some tropical island? Lay on the beach all day? Work on my tan?"

I grinned. "Hey, you could always pull a Brando. Retreat from the world, buy an island and set up your own little tropical kingdom. Build up a harem, laze around getting laid and getting fat."

He gave me a look that said he'd as soon stick lit match-sticks under his fingernails.

"Seriously, though, there must have been something you wanted to do, something you always planned to do when you retired."

"Travel."

"Now that'd be cool."

"You like traveling?"

"I'm really more of a homebody, but it would be nice to see the world once. Visit all the places you've read about."

He laid down his fork. "Seeing Paris in the spring. Strolling the Great Wall. Standing under the pyramids in the moonlight. Sounds great. Reality? Standing by a mountain of broken rock. Shoes full of sand. Sweating my ass off. Worrying about my pocket getting picked. Surrounded by strangers..." He shrugged. "Waste of fucking time. Might as well buy a book. Look at pictures."

"I wouldn't care. Sand, heat, pickpockets...it'd all be atmosphere. I'd just like to say I saw the pyramids."

His gaze met mine, studying me, his fingers tapping the side of his mug, probably trying to decide whether he should ask if I wanted a coffee refill.

"Maybe..." he began. "Sometime? You wanna go? I'd go with you. See the pyramids--"

A crash across the diner cut him off.

* * *

FORTY-ONE

I twisted to see a red-faced man in a cowboy hat, a toppled canister of sugar at his feet, standing beside two uniformed officers on coffee break.

"Now, just calm down, sir," the one officer said, keeping his voice low.

"I'll calm down when I get some fucking answers! And the answer I want is why the fuck I can't pay this!"

He thrust out a piece of green paper. From here, I could barely see it, but I knew what it was. A one-dollar bill.