“Thank you.”
“I meant Heat,” he said as another playful aside to Nikki before he turned back to Rook. “But since you asked, as chair of Security and Operations, I am charged to make sure all bridges, tunnels, airports, seaports, rails, and other Port Authority assets are ready in the event we get hit by this Sandy.”
Nikki flashed on the GMA update she’d seen that morning. “That thing all the way down around Nicaragua?”
“The computer tracking for ‘that thing’ has put us on alert for a potential Category One or Two hurricane to make landfall somewhere in the Northeast within a week. It could strike the tri-state, if you follow the European models.”
Rook wagged a Groucho air cigar. “I followed a European model once. Until she tazed me.” He felt Commissioner Gilbert’s cool stare and let the mimed stogie fall from his fingers.
“Detective, I have a teleconference with FEMA, the Office of Emergency Management, and two nervous governors this afternoon, so perhaps you could simply tell me what you need to talk to me about.”
“Absolutely. Let’s get right to it.” She gave Rook a cautionary glance to lay back, and he acknowledged it. “You own a mansion out in the Hamptons, is that right?”
“Yes…well, I have a second home there. I’m not sure I’d call it a mansion.” His eyes narrowed in bemusement. “Did something happen to it?”
“No, not that we are aware.”
“Then, if you’ll pardon me, this doesn’t seem like getting right to it.” His demeanor remained pleasant, but he was unsubtle enough to check his wristwatch, an expensive, chunky outdoorsman’s piece with more dials than the Mercury space capsule. Respect notwithstanding, Heat was determined not to let him run her meeting. She wanted to know how the address and private phone number of a man of his stature ended up bookmarking a wad of cash hidden in the floor of a poor immigrant’s flophouse.
But she also knew she couldn’t come at it straight on. Taking as much time and cooperation as he’d give, Nikki set out to start with a wide circle, then angle her way to the central question, learning perhaps more that way than serving his impatience. Or stature.
“Do you go there often?”
Resigned that she would follow her own tack, he answered, “As often as I can. Why are you so interested in Cosmo?”
Succumbing to the urge, she reached for her pen and notepad. “Who is Cosmo, please?”
He laughed. “Cosmo is the name of the property.”
Rook was unable to restrain himself. “It’s not a mansion, but it has a name?”
“Every place out there has a name.”
“Cosmo…is unique,” she said.
“The name of the first ship I bought when I took over my father’s cargo business and expanded Gilbert Maritime into cruise liners. Unfortunately, like the old ship it’s named for, Cosmo is a money pit. I spent more on renovation and upkeep this year alone than I did to buy it. I lost a roof to Hanna in 2008 and a second one last year to Hurricane Irene. I’ve decided next time it would be cheaper just to reshingle with thousand-dollar bills.”
“I assume you’re able to afford it,” she said and watched him grow colder.
“My assets are public record, or will be, now that I’m filing for candidacy. Moving on?”
“Is the house occupied while you’re away?”
“No, unless it’s my wife, who never goes there. Otherwise, I have some maids who come once a week, a gardening staff, and a caretaker.”
“Are they all local?” she asked.
“No, I chauffeur them out from Park Avenue.” His face pinked, probably realizing how One Percenter that came off. Dropping his flash of sarcasm, he replied, “Yes, all locals who’ve been with me for years.”