Show Me (Thomas Prescott 4) by Nick Pirog (warren buffett book recommendations .txt) 📕

flame. He said, “I was wondering if you guys were gonna show up.”

Wheeler and I approached the basket. It came up to right above my sternum. It was roughly eight feet square and according to Jerry, held four people comfortably or six people uncomfortably. But as Jerry’s wife and boys were at a big soccer tournament in St. Louis, it would only be the three’s company of Jerry, Wheeler, and myself.

“You guys ready for this?” he asked.

I gave him a thumbs-up.

Wheeler smiled nervously.

Jerry spent the next ten minutes telling us what everything was and how everything worked. He was interrupted by a bullhorn, whereby Jerry told us to climb into the basket, or gondola. There was an extra propane tank in one corner. Then in all four corners, there were two large sandbags fastened to the side. Jerry explained the extra weight helped balance the basket when in the air. The balloon itself, he referred to as the parachute.

A minute later, a team of red shirts unleashed the first balloon—yellow and green striped—and it slowly rose into the sky. On the opposite end, another balloon was released. Thirty seconds later, two more began their ascent.

We were closer to the middle, so we had to wait a good seven or eight minutes before two red shirts began untethering our ropes from the tie-downs.

“Have fun!” they screamed as Jerry pulled down on the burner throttle and we lifted off the ground.

The basket rocked, and Wheeler reached out and grabbed my arm. She held tight for the next few minutes as we smoothly rose and the spectators below shrunk to figurines.

“How high will we go?” I asked loudly.

He turned down the burner, the thundering roar dissipating some, and you could feel our ascent slow. He nodded toward an altimeter near the burner and said, “A few thousand feet.”

I gave Wheeler a reassuring smile, then said, “And how do you steer this thing?”

“Winds change directions at different altitudes. Just need to find the right altitude then stay there for a few minutes. But I’d be lying if I said it’s an exact science.”

“Roger that.”

He grinned, then blasted the burner, and we were yanked toward the heavens.

Wheeler let out a small involuntary whine.

I laughed.

She hooked her arm through mine, her other hand gripping the basket’s edge. We inhaled the view. Arguably, it was one of the most beautiful landscapes I’d ever seen. The rolling green hills, the neatly sectioned-off farm plots, a small lake in the distance, the seventy other balloons scattered in every direction, even the thunderheads miles and miles away.

Under different circumstances, I might have enjoyed the moment.

I turned around and shouted, “You killed Mike Zernan!”

Over the roar of the burner, it’s possible he didn’t hear me. He pulled his hand off the throttle, the rumbling quieting.

I repeated, “You killed Mike Zernan.”

I watched his eyes. I’d been wrong twice already. I couldn’t handle being wrong a third time.

If he were a deer, he would have been inside the windshield of the car that had just blinded him.

I said, “And you did it to cover up the fact you paid Lowry Barnes to kill Victoria Page.”

He blinked twice, then shook his head. “What are you talking about?”

“You were Victoria Page’s banker.”

The picture I’d seen at his house. Of Patrick on the horse. In the foreground, you could see the black fence post. It was the same one Bree had been straddling the day we’d gone to visit Page Ranch.

“It’s a small town,” he said. “Half the people bank at First Missouri.”

“I’m sure they do. But how many of them do you help embezzle money?”

He fought against his urge to swallow, but lost. His Adam’s apple disappeared twice, then he said, “Embezzle?”

“Victoria could have opened bank accounts and trusts anywhere—the Cayman’s, Switzerland, Canada—but she felt more comfortable using someone she trusted. She felt better with all that money near her. How big was your cut? Five percent? Ten?”

He didn’t answer.

“Did you even know where she was getting the money from? Did you even care?”

I doubt he ever knew how Victoria Page came into the money. And I highly doubted he knew about the Lunhill cover-up. Most likely, he figured she was just stealing the money from the city budget.

I continued, “Of course you didn’t care. You just needed the money. To fuel your habit.”

He glared at me.

“Your gambling habit,” I said. “You bet a lot with Will Dennel. Or should I say, you lost a lot.” I waited a half second then added, “Fuzz.”

He took a tiny step backward.

I continued, “It’s hard to keep a habit like that from your spouse. And I’m guessing that was the reason you and Joan separated for a year. It was your gambling. And you knew if she found out you were up to your old habits—that you were into Will Dennel for eighty large—that she would take the boys and leave. And this time for good. That’s the leverage Victoria had on you. And that’s why you couldn’t just take freely from Victoria’s accounts. She couldn’t tell the police what you were doing without you guys both ending up in jail. You were the US and Russia in the cold war in that regard. Mutually Assured Destruction. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t tell your wife about your gambling.”

I waited for him to react, but other than a slight dip in his shoulders, he did nothing.

“You attend a weekly Gamblers Anonymous meeting, something that you promised your wife you would do. I checked at the community center. According to the guy who runs it, you’ve been going for the last six years. I’m sure that’s one of the deals you made with Joan when you two got back together. Maybe that’s where you ran into Lowry Barnes. His court mandated AA meeting started right after your meeting. It was part of his parole. You guys get to talking and you find out he’d just been fired from the Save-More. That’s when you get this brilliant idea.

“Maybe