Page 36 of Delusional

There was definitely a friendly vibe to the place. Maybe it was because so many people seemed to be here on vacation. The born-and-bred New Yorker in me tried not to view the friendliness with too much suspicion, but it was tough. As if to emphasize the point, when I turned to make a quick stop in the restroom and a man about my age held the door for me and called me “sir,” my first reaction was: Who the hell does this guy think he is? And my second was: Who does he think I am? Royalty? But I nodded and walked into the restroom.

When I continued my march down the concourse, I glanced to my right. The view out the wide windows made me pause. In the distance, I could see the rising mountains and the prairie. To say it was vast would be a drastic understatement. Even though everything I could see was either covered with snow or brown, I immediately understood the pull of the West. I could imagine why, in the summer, nearby Yellowstone National Park would attract busloads of tourists.

I took my eyes off the natural beauty of the area and reminded myself not to be lulled into a sense of wonder. I was here for a reason. I was helping a friend in one of the few areas where I was an expert: human greed and violence.

I easily spotted Rob Trilling standing by the exit doors. He stood erect, looking exactly like the former soldier he was. I’ll admit it was nice to see something familiar. Then Trilling, as he often did, surprised me.

As soon as I got close to the doors, he stepped forward and gave me a hug.

CHAPTER 42

ROB TRILLING LED me into the small parking lot in front of the airport to a classic 1969 Chevy Chevelle Super Sport. The interior appeared to be original and in pristine condition. The exterior was painted bronze with a white vinyl roof.

I said, “Where on Earth did you get these wheels?”

Trilling grinned. “One of the advantages of having a car lot is getting to pick a different car to drive every day. My brother deals with a lot of military members, and they like the old muscle cars. He really appreciates you coming out and thought you should be driven in classic style.” He even squealed the tires for me on our way out of the parking lot.

As we drove, Trilling filled me in on everything that had happened, and I gazed out the window. The area around Bozeman seemed like a nice place to visit. A lot of trendy restaurants and Yellowstone souvenir shops.

I heard the theme to Green Acres and reached into my pocket. It was Juliana calling. I picked up immediately.

“You okay, sweetheart?”

“Yeah. Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. I was just wondering if you’d landed in Montana and seen Rob yet?”

“He’s chauffeuring me right now in a very classy Chevy Chevelle Super Sport.”

Juliana said, “I’m not exactly sure what a Chevelle Super Sport is, but I assume it’s a car. Since he’s driving, can you put your phone on speaker?”

Trilling immediately perked up at the sound of Juliana’s voice. They both said hello, but it was guarded, and I realized it was because I was sitting in the middle of their conversation. Juliana said, “Katie is going on a job interview at an office in Midtown Manhattan. I told her I’d go with her. It’s a tech company called Virtual Spaces. She’s being interviewed for some kind of maintenance/housekeeping job. We practiced a few simple phrases she can use during the interview that show off her English skills.”

After we all spoke for a few more minutes, Juliana said, “I haven’t heard much from you, Rob.”

“I texted.”

“Hmm.”

I recognized that tone and wanted to throw Trilling a lifeline. I knew he was in over his head.

He managed to mumble, “Sorry.”

“I forgive you, but you’d better keep in touch.” Juliana also made sure Trilling understood that it would mean a lot to her if he made if back home in time to see her in the play.

I nodded vigorously, hoping Trilling would catch on.

He did. “I promise I’ll call more often, and I’m looking forward to seeing your show.”

That seemed to satisfy my daughter. As we wrapped up our conversation, Juliana said, “I hope that you two are able to fix whatever problem is going on with the car lot. But I mainly hope that both of you will be careful.”

I said, “I hope we are too.”

Outside of Bozeman, I noticed the city limits for Palm Island posted on an official Department of Transportation sign at the side of the road. Apparently, Rob Trilling’s great-grandfather had done everything right to make sure the state acknowledged the independent nature of the town.

After driving through Bozeman, this place really did seem barren. There was a light-blue water tower in the distance with a splashy, cursive font saying “Palm Island.” Very few cars moved along the well-maintained roads. There was an assortment of small businesses, but I could see the fire-damaged car lot almost at the center of the town.

As Trilling took a corner and rumbled into the lot, I noticed a black Humvee with California tags parked by the ruins of the office.

Trilling said, “That’s Arnold Marks’s car. I figured he’d show up at some point to try and play on my brother’s doubts. I just didn’t expect him so quickly.”