I walked back to the log and retrieved his jacket, which he'd taken off after a few hits from the bottle. As he shrugged it on, he looked over, studying me, and I tensed. He was going to ask what I'd decided, and I braced for the question.
"You remember where we left the car?"
I smiled. "Follow me."
As we walked back, I realized he wasn't going to mention Aldrich. Not now. Maybe not ever. He'd found him. He'd told me what he thought I should do. He'd related his own experience. The ball was now in my court, and if I chose to quietly slip off the field, he wouldn't comment.
"I'm going to do it," I said.
He looked back at me.
"Aldrich," I said. "You're right. If I don't, I'll be constantly scouring the news, worrying that he'll go after another girl."
He stopped walking. "You rather I never found him?"
I shook my head. "If Amy was here, she wouldn't tell me to turn the other cheek. She'd want him to pay. He's had twenty years of freedom. Time to end this."
One would think that having made the decision, we should have proceeded amicably into planning and execution. Didn't happen. In fact, the first thing we did was argue.
"You doing it?" Jack asked as we pulled onto the highway. "Or you want me to?"
"I am. Thanks for the offer, but there's no way I can justify--"
"Don't need to justify. I'm offering."
I took a deep breath. "I don't feel any overwhelming need to pull the trigger myself. It isn't about killing him--it's about seeing him dead. But I don't have an aversion to doing it, so that's best."
A few minutes of quiet driving. Then, "If I disagree?"
"I'm not going to screw this up, Jack. I won't see his face and flip out and--"
"Never said that. But I presume you plan to look him in the eye. Tell him why he's dying. Might bring shit up."
"Bring shit up?"
"Stuff you've forgotten."
I stiffened. "I know it's going to bring back memories, Jack."
"Do you?" He glanced over. "Really?"
I glared at him. "Yes, really."
He said nothing more until he turned off into the city. "I'm not a shrink. Never been to one. Shot a couple. Don't think that counts. Point is, I don't know how this works. Memories and shit. Better off confronted? Or buried?"
"Confronted," I said. "I'm sure there are things I've forgotten or repressed that might come back when I see him. But I choose to take that risk. I choose to deal with it."
"You gonna remember that?"
Another glare aimed his way. "If you're asking me to remember my choice if it all goes to hell, I will."
"Know that. Just . . ." He looked over now as we paused at a stoplight. "I want this to help you, Nadia. Make things better. If it makes them worse? Really do not want that."
"I know," I said, and we resumed driving in silence.
I called Emma to say I wouldn't be home for the weekend. It was Friday, and we couldn't pull this hit until Sunday at the earliest.
The next step was disguises. In Michigan I'd been wearing a variation on my usual hitman outfit. Not leather and stilettos, as much as I'm sure that would fulfill someone's idea of a female assassin. I go the polar opposite route. I wear no makeup and sweats with padding to add an extra thirty pounds. My own hairstyle doesn't exactly rock the fashion world--shoulder-length auburn curls--but the wig is worse, nondescript brown hair trimmed with scissors to give it that "I cut my own hair" look. Middle-aged nobody. The invisible woman.
It's a lot harder to be invisible when there's two of you. So Jack usually picks our disguises, which have two basic variations, depending on the locale. Aldrich's neighborhood was nice enough that the biker-and-bitch combo we sometimes use wasn't going to work, so we went with working-class guy and second wife.
I got straight, dark hair and dark contacts. Jack got gray-free hair and contacts that turned his dark eyes hazel. He also got dark beard stubble, which he didn't need to fake, having not been near a razor in a few days. He added a small tattoo on the back of his hand, some youthful whim that I'm sure his character regretted now. I added bright red glasses. The tattoo and glasses were "distinguishing features." They're what people notice, often at the expense of more mundane but important things like face shape and body size.
We set out to Newport, where Aldrich worked. To pull a good hit, you need to know the target's routine. That's not how every pro operates. In fact, contrary to what Hollywood shows, your average hitman isn't a skilled assassin, slipping up on his target in some clever disguise, killing him in some endlessly creative fashion before vanishing into the night. The average hitman is just a thug who doesn't mind killing people. He finds his target alone, walks up, and pulls the trigger.
I located a vacant apartment over a shop across from the police station. Judging by the dust, the apartment had been empty for months, maybe years, and the owners had given up trying to rent it.
We took turns using binoculars. It was nearly noon when I spotted Aldrich coming out of the station.
Jack worried that seeing Aldrich might be too much for me. But as I watched him coming down the steps, I didn't see the man who'd raped and killed my cousin. I saw a target. Any emotional reaction had come when I'd seen his photo in Jack's folder.
I watched Aldrich walk down the stairs and I thought He's gotten old. And, He's put on weight. And, He's favoring his left leg. The observations of a predator sizing up prey.
"That him?" Jack said, squinting out the window.
"It is."
I handed him the binoculars, but he didn't take them, just studied my expression.
"I'm fine, Jack. I had my freak-out yesterday. Now all I'm thinking is that he's gotten old and slow."
"Yeah. Know what that's like."
"Believe me, it'll be a long time before you're that old."
CHAPTER 9
We followed Aldrich for the rest of the day. We established that he had a partner, but I wouldn't have shot him on the job anyway. I had too much respect for the police institution to kill a cop in uniform, even a fake cop.
We'd already decided our basic plan. Kill Aldrich and hide his body well enough that it wouldn't be found. Then I'd leak his real identity, and it would be presumed that he'd bolted, which would avoid the shit storm that comes with a murdered police officer.
When his shift ended, Aldrich went drinking with the guys. Jack decided that the bar was busy enough for a middle-aged couple to slip in undetected. We'd only stand out if we made ourselves stand out, which we had no intention of doing. The more we watched Aldrich, the better we'd get to know him--his personality and habits. Jack thought it was safe. As for whether Aldrich might recognize me . . .
Have I ever fantasized about that? Meeting him someplace and he recognizes me, and sees that I'm not a helpless little girl anymore? Hope that he'd seen me in the papers after I shot Wayne Franco. That he'd know what I'm capable of, and so when I look into his eyes, I'll see fear? Of course I've thought of it, and I've savored those thoughts. But realistically, I wasn't sure he'd recognize me even without the disguise.
I'd only been Amy's little cousin. An obstacle to be tied up and left. That was the last time he'd seen me. I never faced him in court. My family didn't want me to testify, and my dad had persuaded the prosecutor to agree. Aldrich probably didn't even remember my name. I just hope he remembered Amy's. And if he didn't, I sure as hell planned to remind him . . . right before I put a bullet between his eyes.
Jack was still careful. He chose a table off to the side, at least twenty feet from Aldrich and the other cops at the bar. He ordered a beer. I got a Coke. We settled in to observe our target.
When Aldrich used to come around the station, my dad and the other cops wanted nothing to do with him. They said it was because they suspected him of dealing marijuana, but in small-town Ontario, that's like running moonshine in the Ozarks. The truth was that they just didn't like Aldrich. As I listened to him with his colleagues here, I could tell
nothing had changed. He was welcome to hang out with them and join in general conversation, but that was it.
Jack was facing Aldrich. I had my back to him. I was regaling Jack with the story of a honeymooning couple who had equated "wilderness lodge" with "nudist camp," and taken to hiking, swimming, and even picnicking naked. Which gave them quite an appetite, and not for Emma's home-cooked meals. All of which wouldn't have been so bad if the lodge hadn't been hosting some kind of teen purity group from the U.S. I'd tried to point out to the group leaders that the couple was married, but it hadn't really helped.
I noticed Jack's attention shift and stopped talking.
"On the move," Jack said, as he tracked his prey. "Piss break. Fuck. Coming this way. Keep looking at me. Keep talking."
I nodded and glued my gaze to his. "So I have a chat with the couple, and we establish a schedule of when and where they can have their clothing off--"
Aldrich stopped three feet past the table. He looked back over his shoulder--directly at me.
"Keep talking," Jack murmured.
I did. I have no idea what I said, just blather, my gaze still on Jack, sweat breaking out along my hairline as I could feel Aldrich staring right at me. Then he continued walking.
"He looked right at me," I whispered when he was out of sight.
Jack shrugged. "Checking you out."
"I'm well above his age range for that and this outfit is definitely not bar bait."
Another shrug. "Doesn't matter. Still gonna look."
I doubted that. Even on my best days, I'm not bar bait. When I hit puberty, guys started telling me I was cute, and twenty years later, the description hasn't changed. Looking like the quintessential girl next door is helpful for a hitman, but it doesn't make guys stare in bars.
"I think he recognized me," I said. "It was as if he was trying to place me."
Jack shook his head. "Too many years. Good disguise. He was checking you out."
"He's standing at the back by the restroom, looking straight at me."
Jack turned.
"Don't--" I began.
Too late. Jack turned right around in his seat and stared at Aldrich. This wasn't his usual don't-fuck-with-me stare, like he'd given the motel guy who'd complained about the noise. This look was ice-cold. I-want-to-blow-your-fucking-head-off cold. I shivered in spite of myself.
"Jack?" I whispered.
He snapped out of it, swung back to me, and took a gulp of his beer, as if to wash that look away.
"Could be," he said as he finished.
"Could be what?"
"Might recognize you."
My stomach clenched. "Goddamn it, if he knows who am I--"
"He'll do what? Call the cops?"
I glowered at him.
"I mean it," he said. "What's he gonna do? He's using fake ID. Impersonating a cop. On the run from rape charges. Got nowhere to turn. No one to tell. And what would he say?"
"I don't want to take that chance. Can we leave now?"
"Makes it worse. Confirms it's you. There a rear exit?"
I shook my head. The first thing I'd done when we came in was casually scout exits.
"Good. He can't slip out."
Aldrich returned by a route that didn't take him past our seats. After a few minutes, Jack pulled a ten from his pocket and slapped it on the bill. "Let's go."
We left out the front door. As we passed a car, Jack glanced in the side-view mirror.
"Followed us out," he said.
"Okay." I struggled to keep calm. "How do you want to play this? Avoid the car, I presume, or he'll run the plates."
"Wild-goose chase. Let him have it." Jack meant the plates wouldn't lead anywhere and it would be more suspicious if we wandered aimlessly.
For someone who hates attention, I'm actually a good actor. Jack is, too. So as we headed for the car, I raised my voice to normal volume.
"I have a bunch of errands to run in the city before the wedding tomorrow afternoon," I said. "That means an early morning, so I don't want to be out too late tonight. Should we check into the hotel first or go straight to dinner?"
"We have one night without the kids," Jack said. "Definitely to the hotel first." He put his arm against my back, his fingers sneaking down to my ass. "That's what room service is for, babe."
I chuckled. "How many beers did you have?"
"A couple."
"I believe the definition of a couple is two."
He shrugged. "It was a multiple of two."
I laughed and put out my hand. "Car keys, please."
He started handing them over, then dangled them just out of reach. "Where are we going?"
"To the hotel. For rest, relaxation, and room service. Or something like that."
He patted my ass while handing me the keys. "That's my girl."
As we got into the car, I said, "Okay, he'll notice the rental stickers on the plate, which will make it tricky for him. The easiest thing to do is call the station and report he saw us heading for the highway driving erratically after leaving a bar. We'll get stopped and carded. Which means I'm not taking the highway."
CHAPTER 10
We returned to Cleveland on the back roads. Jack dropped me off a half mile from Aldrich's place as he went to switch cars, renting another from a different agency, under a different name.
Aldrich was already home, his truck under the carport. It was past eight, getting dark, and I was able to slip into another carport across the road, where a few days worth of flyers in the mailbox told me the owners weren't home. I had my tactical earpiece, but mostly what I picked up was conversations from the surrounding houses. I had binoculars, too, but I saw Aldrich pass a window only once.
An hour later a whispered, "Going okay?" had me scattering Skittles on the drive.
"Could you please warn me before you do that? Particularly when I'm wearing this?" I took the amplifier out and winced.
"Don't need that shit. Dangerous." He motioned at the bag of candy. "Found those?"
"Yes, and thank you." They'd been in his equipment rucksack. "Although you might regret buying them for me now." I bent to pick them up. "I can just see the headlines: 'Professional Killer Leaves Behind Nothing but Skittles.'"
He chuckled and took a few from the bag.
"You don't want these?" I held out the dirty ones. "Destroy the evidence?"
"You dropped them. You eat them."
I pocketed the Skittles, wiped my hand on my jeans, and gave Jack an update.
He checked his watch. "Still early. You wanna come back? Break in later? Take a look around?"
That might seem risky, but searching for evidence of other crimes after we made Aldrich disappear would be riskier.
"Works for me."
"Got a few hours then. Come on. Parked over--"
He stopped as a car drove past slowly.
"That same one went by a minute ago," I said.
The car--a nondescript silver sedan--reached Aldrich's drive and the brake lights flashed solid, as if the driver just found the place. He turned in, parked, and got out.
He was around Aldrich's age. Average build. Dark haired with a beard and mustache, and dressed in jeans, a light jacket, and a ball cap. I could make out the Cleveland Indians emblem on the back of his coat, and when I looked through the binoculars, I could see it on his hat, too.
I didn't manage to get the camera up before he turned away, but I snapped a few shots of him from the rear. I got a couple of his car, too, and the plate.
He was carrying a six-pack of beer and a bag of pretzels. A buddy coming over to knock back a few on a Friday night. I lowered the camera, but I put my earpiece back in. I left it out slightly, motioning for Jack to listen. He nodded and leaned in, his hip brushing mine, his hand resting lightly against the small of my back.
The man reached the door and rapped. Aldrich answered.
"Hey, bud," the visitor said. "Got your call. Sounded like you could use a little company. I brought friends." He lifte
d the six-pack.
A chuckle from Aldrich. "Come on in."
The door closed behind them, taking the conversation with it.
"Can you get around back?" Jack whispered.
I nodded.
"Do that. I'll cover you. Follow if I can."
It took me a while to get around to Aldrich's small rear yard. It took Jack even longer to join me.
"Nothing," I whispered when he found me, crouched between the garden shed and the back deck. "They went downstairs." I gestured to a dimly lit basement window. "Wherever they are, there isn't a window, and they've shut the door. All I can pick up is the TV. Baseball, I think. So now what?"
"Your call."
"I'd like to wait. See if he starts talking about his day."
Jack nodded and we settled in.
The game ended. The volume on the TV dropped enough for me to hear what sounded like preparations to leave. We decided I'd slip around front and see if I could get any photos of the friend.
I got to a hiding place as the friend was coming out the front door. He held it for a second, calling back, "Give me a call tomorrow. No, wait-- Sunday would be better. Got the kids coming by tomorrow." A short laugh. "Val would kill me if I forgot that."
A pause as Aldrich must have replied.
"Sure, I'll do that. Call me Sunday then. Have a good night."
I took my photos as he headed to his car. When he drove off, I returned to Jack.
"The TV is still on," I said as I picked up the sound from the house. "Can you tell where Aldrich is?"
"Downstairs again, seems like."
"Okay, so . . . should we come back later or wait it out?"
"No need to wait."
"Break in while he's watching TV?"
Jack shrugged. "Room doesn't have windows. Door seems closed."
There are gadgets for detecting typical home security systems and even Jack uses one. Aldrich's townhouse wasn't armed. We had lock picks, too, but the rear door was unlocked, the faint smell of burgers suggesting he'd cooked dinner on the grill, then gone inside forgetting to relock the patio door.
I'd argue that the biggest security challenge isn't alarms or locks--it's pets. Even cats can be a pain in the ass. Once during recon a cat yowled for my attention so loudly that I'd taken off before the neighbors decided someone was being murdered. Neither Jack nor I picked up the scent of pets, but we scanned the kitchen for bowls, just in case. There were none.