Does Brinkley know there’s a contract out on him?”
Frank and I were sitting in the ‘66 black SS 396 Chevelle, another one of my collection pieces, as we waited for a traffic light to change. The moment I picked him up I told him everything Gramps said to me about Brinkley. Frank listened and watched the traffic in front of us. His eyes forever roaming from one car to the next. Finally, when the light turned green, he grunted and smirked, shaking his head oddly.
“Your grandfather is a man full of secrets, Turn. Thank God he’s an old fucker and not in the spy business as a field agent. I’ve got a feeling he’d be one tough sonofabitch to track down and take out. But hell. He’s still dangerous. He runs a crew of field agents. That makes him even more deadly.”
I painted a smirk on my lips an
