Smiley goes, “Should I call him right now and bother him with everything he has going on, or do you just want to drive over and talk to him?”
“That’s okay,” I said. “We’ll go talk to him.”
Smiley tucked his phone back in his pocket. “Good. I don’t know what you were worried about anyway.” He waved a hand toward Randy. “After all, you have your backup.”
And there was that nasty chuckle again. I didn’t like it one bit.
CHAPTER 26
Smiley wasn’t too crazy about the idea of Randy and me packing what was left of our burgers along in his shiny black sedan, but what were we going to do—just leave them on the table unfinished? Wastefulness is supposed to be a sin, isn’t it?
Between bites, I questioned Smiley on what he knew about Ashton, but he didn’t come forth with any info he couldn’t have read in the newspaper. I started to worry that I should’ve gone through with that call to Mr. Browning after all. I mean, anyone can have a guy’s number listed in their phone. That doesn’t mean they actually know the guy.
I put my worries aside, though, as it became clear we were heading straight into the maw of the Richie Rich side of town. At first the houses were BIG, then they swelled into full-blown mansions, and finally they turned into these humongous castles where probably about fifty people could live together without ever having to see each other. Smiley pulled up to the gate of the biggest castle on the block. Or at least I guessed it was the biggest—with all the trees you never could get a look at the whole thing at once.
Randy was all excited about touring the house, but we weren’t that lucky. After winding down the driveway, Smiley parked and led us around back to a guesthouse by the pool. The Brownings had made themselves a regular paradise back there: stone paths, flower beds and sculpted trees lit by garden lights, a little waterfall that fed into the perfect blue pool—still filled to the brim even though it was autumn—and an ivy-covered wall around it all to keep the riffraff out. No doubt Mr. Browning had something pretty serious to talk about if he was letting a couple of scurvy dudes like me and Randy into a sanctuary like this.
The guesthouse was equally cool. The ceiling was so high it was like we just walked into a church or something. The furniture looked like it had never been used. A fireplace with gold candlesticks on the mantel, huge glass vases with fresh flowers, wood floors with Persian rugs. At least I guessed they were Persian. Isn’t that where all the fancy rugs come from? Golden knobs on the woodwork, chandeliers hanging like clusters of fake diamonds, statues of horses on tables, and six-foot-tall gold-framed paintings of more horses on the walls—as if Mr. Browning wanted you to think he was some kind of gentleman rancher instead of a bank honcho.
Smiley led us through the front room and down this hallway with an arched ceiling of rough stone that made you feel like you were walking into an especially fancy cave. At the end of it, we emerged into the guesthouse media room. That’s right—they had a media room in the guesthouse, complete with a huge wide-screen plasma TV on the wall, wood paneling, leather furniture, and a wet bar. The only way I can describe the odor of the place is rich.
“Have a seat,” Smiley told us. “I’ll be back in a couple of minutes with Mr. Browning. Don’t touch anything.”
He left and I sat in a leather chair that felt like it was trying to swallow me whole. Randy immediately walked over to this deluxe armoire and opened the doors.
“Hey,” I said. “Weren’t you listening? We’re not supposed to touch anything.”
And Randy is like, “Wow, check this out. It’s full of movies.”
I started to get up from the chair, but it wasn’t letting me go so easily, so I settled back down and said, “Anything good?”
“Mainly a bunch of crap,” Randy said. He closed the armoire doors and went over to the TV. “How much you think something like this costs?”
“I don’t know. Ten thousand dollars?”
“Damn,” Randy said, letting out a whistle. “And he’s only offering a hundred grand to get his daughter back? You’d think she’d be worth more than just ten times as much as the guesthouse TV.”
“Do me a favor,” I said. “When he comes in? Don’t mention that.”
“I’m just saying—he’s kind of a tightwad when it comes to rewards. Or maybe he doesn’t really want her back all that bad.”
“Yeah, maybe. But don’t mention that either.”
Randy was seated at the bar, fiddling with a metal figurine of a hunting dog, when Smiley came back with Mr. Browning. Immediately, the room charged with electricity. There was something about Mr. Browning. He didn’t look as tall as the first time I saw him in person, but his presence could really fill a room.
“I told you not to touch anything,” Smiley said to Randy. “That’s all right,” Mr. Browning said. “That’s what it’s there for—to admire.”
After introducing himself to Randy and me and shaking our hands with his vise grip, he walked around to the other side of the bar. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“I’ll take a beer,” Randy said, but Mr. Browning wasn’t going for that.
“I was thinking of something more along the lines of a soft drink,” he said.
I struggled out of the leather chair and sat by Randy at the bar while Mr. Browning fixed our drinks. Smiley took a seat in the corner of the room. Once the drinks were ready, Mr. Browning pulled up a stool on the other side of the bar and studied us for a second before launching into some small-talk questions about how we liked school and what we wanted to do when we graduated. Randy mentioned that for right now he had a position at a grocery store, but he wouldn’t mind going into banking.