The Last Orphan
Chapter 40

Billionaire’s Row on Meadow Lane was a parade of mansions built right up out of the sand atop aprons of hardscaping. No doubt to the consternation of the landowners, the beach itself remained public, stragglers making their way up from the bonfires farther west in rusty pickups to fish or get it on atop silky dunes within breathing distance of the shimmer of affluence. In fact, your average riffraffer could walk undisturbed along the shore all the way to Montauk’s lighthouse.

Perhaps not entirely undisturbed.

Private security patrols rotated like electrons around the dunes of each estate, delineating bailiwicks. A guard station in every driveway and dark SUVs in every yard. The other houses Evan had passed had private-security types with not-so-concealed weapons hanging in their guard stations. Each tycoon seemed to have his own war force.

Except Luke Devine.

Tartarus kept its muscle tucked in, seeming to prefer electronic surveillance. Myriad-headed black cameras rose in stacks aiming every which way like cartoon trail signs.

Just out of peeping range of Devine’s surveillance, Evan idled in the unthreatening minivan, drinking in ocean air through the rolled-down window. On the way over, he’d replaced the license plates with those from a similar-looking minivan he’d spotted parked behind an antiques shop in Art Village.

It took less than a minute for a 4×4 to buzz up to him.

Evan made a show of fumbling with an old-fashioned road map.

A security man wearing tan cargo pants and a decaled jacket hopped off. “Heya pal, help you with something?”

Comfortable demeanor, ample belly, local accent. Forgotten Oakley Blades dangled around his throat on a neoprene switchback retainer. Evan pegged him for a retired cop.

“Yeah, I’m scouting out a good place to throw a line,” Evan said. “I’m in from San Diego. Retired PD.”

“Oh, yeah? Me, too. Suffolk County, Seventh Precinct. What brings you?”

“My wife’s mom is circling the drain with Alzheimer’s, so we take shifts. You know how it goes.”

“I do indeed.”

“I can’t make mother-in-law jokes anymore without feeling guilty,” Evan said.

The security guard laughed. “You’ll have the best luck all the way at the end of the road where it hits Shinnecock Inlet. I’d say early morning. You can throw from the rocks. Soak a few clams or put on a strip of squid and you might pull out some bluefish or striped bass.”

“Local knowledge is the only knowledge worth having.” Evan chinned at the nearest mansion, Devine’s neighbor to the west. The mist had thickened up around the grounds, bloating into nascent banks of fog. “Nice little pied-à-terre.”

“Well, hedge-funders need a place to summer, too. Where else they gonna count their ducats?”

“That your guy’s house?”

“Yeah. He’s only half bad.”

“Why so much security? Keeping an eye on the beach bums?”

“They worry about corporate kidnappings, ransom, all that. Ever since the Hurricane of ’38 took out the bridge over the inlet, this road’s the only way in or out. Natural choke point at the intersection of Halsey Neck and Meadow Lane. So they take precautions, keep us in the mix. Ya know, in case Antifa reaches them with torches and pitchforks before they can get their private helicopters in the air. But mostly we’re glorified staff.”

“Employers like that, at least they make it worth your while.”

“I got two kids in college, a third starting in a year. So it’s all ‘Yes, sir,’ ‘How high, sir?’ from me. My employer had a toilet overflow last week in the middle of the night, spreading out across his reclaimed wooden floors from Amish barns or some shit. I get the call at two A.M., he’s freaking out. So I throw on some clothes and drive out there. Go in like a hero to twist a basic turnoff valve.” He shook his head. “What good’s a hundred-twenty-seven-million-dollar house if you can’t stop a leak that’ll wreck it?”

“That’s increasingly the way of the world.”

“Ain’t that the truth.”

Evan folded up the map, gave a nod at the road ahead. “And that behemoth next door looks even bigger.”

“Ah. Belongs to Luke Devine.”

“Haven’t heard of him.”

“He’s the swinging d**k who makes all the other swinging dicks look like Pee-wee Herman. Has these crazy decadent parties. In fact, we’re gonna get some action tomorrow night.”

“Why’s that?”

“Every year he hosts this big-a*s Halloween costume gala. This year’s theme? Heaven and Hell. Come tomorrow we’ll have all sorts rolling through here. Entitled rich dickwads who think the rules don’t apply to them. And entitled party kids who think the rules don’t apply to them either. We just keep ’em off our lawn, make sure no one OD’s on the beach, that sort of stuff.”

“I don’t miss that,” Evan said.

“No, sir.”

“Thanks for the tips on the bluefish. Stay safe out there.”

“All right, brother. Be well.”

Evan rolled up the window and drove a ways forward before banking into a three-point turn in front of Tartarus. He cast a glance at the façade of the mansion. The upstairs windows gleamed darkly. Somewhere behind them Luke Devine rested in the heart of his forbidden empire.

The time for a face-to-face had arrived at last.

Tomorrow night.

A Halloween costume gala.

Evan would be there with bells on.