2:01 p.m.
VEENA COULD drive…technically. She just wasn’t comfortable driving. But even though Cooper had tried to pace himself at the country club, he was in no condition to rocket down the Atlantic City Expressway. The mix of vodka and subtle death threats had clouded his mind. Which meant he handed his keys to a very reluctant Veena.
Cooper tried to keep her calm as she weaved in and out of traffic. “Look, it’s a sleepy Monday in January. We’ll have the whole city to ourselves.”
“Yes. Just us and the gangsters you count as friends.”
“Hey, Red is not a gangster,” Cooper said. “At least, I don’t think he is. Though if you’re in business with a bunch of gangsters, I suppose that, strictly speaking—”
“And what about the associates of this Ben E. Franco guy?”
“He didn’t name names. He didn’t have to. But don’t worry. I know the usual suspects—the next generation of the old Philly Mob. I’m not going to approach them until I vet them with Red.”
“You couldn’t have just called Red?”
“Some conversations need to happen face to face. Besides, I thought we deserved a little break. We’ll talk to Red, then rent a penthouse for pennies and knock back some complimentary glasses of wine.”
“Don’t you have to be back in time to pick up the kids from school? And Lupe from your ex?”
“The Eagles just won the championship. Do you think anybody—let alone teachers—is in school today? Hey, keep your eyes on the road.”
“You know what? Before we drive home tomorrow, I’m getting hammered, so you’ll have to drive.”
“Fair enough.”