Burge bites the bullet. CHAPTER NINE
I’m not going to get that nine hundred thousand, give or take a few by myself or by being coy. I have to get a team together. Julius is desperate now, homeless, scared and without a driver’s license. Hoffman knows he’s under the gun. Epstein knows something is up. There’s also the matter of who will be the next President of the United States. I can’t be the only one with flies on the wall. If I want to cash in on this situation I’ve got to move, and move fast. First thing is another meeting with my moron cabbie, so I called him and left him a voicemail to call me back. I got the call back around ten minutes later and I told Trump that it was urgent that I meet with him, that I know some of the trouble he’s in and that I’m in a position to be of some help.
We meet at the Greek’s diner where I tell him it’d be better if we talk in my car. I tell him to go ahead and order, that I’ll pick up the tab.
Trump goes all out ordering a T-bone steak platter with consomme entree with all the trimmings, mashed potatoes, salad, a slice of cherry cheesecake. (All this and of course a large Diet Coke to wash down his dessert.)
I sort of level with the moron.. I tell him that I am a private investigator that I do not work for the government that I am not a newspaper reporter and that I know about the $923,000. Then I tell him that I know about Prospect Park and that I know that there is not any one person alone who can remove that concrete block, do a rapid excavation and recover the loot.
I tell him we need to put a team together to get things done. Trump tells me we have to have a sit-down with Billy and with Julius and make a plan and I agree.
Julius hasn't been hanging around the garage. But he won't be hard to find.
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