All I could do with this guy was focus on what would be hard to disguise. General height was one thing--lifts can only give you a couple of inches. Bone structure, too. He was broad-shouldered and burly. While it's harder to fake being thin, his size gave me an attribute to remember. Facial shape was another thing. It takes a lot of work to change that--and it's not something you can do as quickly as pulling on fresh clothes. So I measured, taking mental notes until I was reasonably sure I could find him in a crowd.
So I could follow him. But could I kill him? Here? Now?
My free hand slid under my jacket, finding the gun I'd taken from the car. I pulled it out, getting a feel for the unfamiliar weapon. Tested the weight and slid my hand around the grip, my gaze still on my target, cell phone still at my ear, my mind only half focused on the gun, but automatically running through the details--how close I'd need to get, the quirks of this particular model. My fingers were as keen as a wine connoisseur's nose, recognizing the gun by feel, regurgitating everything I knew about this model.
There was a perfectly placed pickup in the front row, but with no vehicle on either side, it was too exposed. Next best location? The SUV one row away, with a minivan on the other side. Dark tinted windows meant I could creep up the side of the vehicle and take the shot over the hood, hidden behind the cab.
I slid the cell phone into my pocket and the gun into the holster. Then I set out, darting from oversized vehicle to oversized vehicle, leapfrogging across three rows. I slipped up along the SUV and checked my trajectory. Perfect. Target in sight and in line.
As I watched him, the world around seemed to constrict, like looking through a spyglass, everything focused on that one patch of the universe. The rumble of conversation from the smoking pit fell to a whisper. The bright sun faded, my eyes opening wider behind my sunglasses. The smell of cigarettes and exhaust disappeared. All I saw, all I cared about, was him.
I let myself hang there, in that pocket. One moment to revel in the exhilaration of total focus. Then, slowly, I closed my eyes, inhaled and shifted out of the bubble. As blissful as it was, I couldn't stay there. Too cut off from the world, too unaware of my surroundings.
I traced my finger over the gun grip, but didn't unholster it. Finding the perfect shot was step one. Deciding whether to take it was another.
This man still posed a threat. A hitman doesn't drop a job when the first attempt fails, not unless he's been made. So he'd try again, which was reason enough to kill him.
But killing him here was risky. Although I saw no cameras, this was a prison. There would be armed guards nearby. Yet should I decide he needed to die, all that would be merely obstacles, not barriers.
If I did this, though, I might never know who he was. A hitman hired by Evelyn? Someone sent by the Nikolaevs? Or the Helter Skelter killer himself?
I needed answers, and I wouldn't get them by killing him. So I closed my jacket and withdrew to my first hiding place. I watched him for another twenty minutes. Then after one lingering look at his watch, he took keys from his pocket and started walking. I hurried back to my car.
He pulled out of the lot in a gray rental. I noted his license number and details of the vehicle itself, then waited until he was nearly out of sight before pursuing.
I followed the car along the highway, up the off-ramp and through the city streets. I stayed far enough back that he never saw me, but close enough that I never lost sight of him.
Finally, the car turned into a city-run parking lot. I pulled down a side alley, only to discover that I couldn't see the sidewalk or the parking lot. No time to find a better place. I hurried from the car and crept alongside the building.
Near the end of the alley I dug into my purse and found what I wanted. Then I eased as close as I dared to the end of the alley, lifted the open makeup compact and angled the mirror.
The only people I saw were two elderly men heading toward me and a trio of teenage boys skateboarding in the opposite direction.
I was thinking of circling back when I caught a movement at the parking lot exit. A middle-aged executive, silver-haired, clean-shaven and bespectacled, briefcase swinging purposefully at his side. I sized him up against the man from the jail...then stepped back into the alley. Now I knew why he'd lingered in his car.
As I watched through my mirror, he crossed the road and marched away from me. A scant twenty feet later, he turned right, opened a door and went in. I eased out for a better look at his destination. A coffee shop.
It shouldn't take him more than two minutes to grab takeout. Five minutes passed. Obviously, he wasn't getting his coffee to go. Time for my own quick-change routine.
I zipped down the alley and came out on the main thoroughfare. The first promising shop I saw was a drugstore with a window display of tourist wear. Good enough. Three oversized sweatshirts, one ball cap, cold cream, a scrunchie and a bag of penny candy, and I was flying back to my car.
All three sweatshirts went on over my skintight sweater, bulking me up, schlepping me down and giving me ample room to hide my gun. Wig off. Hair pulled back in a tiny ponytail that disappeared under the ball cap. Cold cream on; makeup off.
I knew enough to take off my watch and hoop earrings. But when it came to my ankle boots, I was stuck. All I could do was pull my jean cuffs over them.
Then I returned to my spot at the end of the alley, crossed the road, fell in behind two women close to my age and proceeded past the coffee shop window. One sideways look was all I permitted myself. My would-be killer sat just beyond the window, drinking coffee and reading a newspaper.
I ducked down the first side road and checked behind the restaurant for alternate exits. There was an emergency door, but it was unlikely he'd risk setting off an alarm. So I circled back to my alley, took out my bag of candy and settled in to wait.
Thirty minutes later, I was still waiting.
I'd slipped past the coffee-shop window a couple of times to reassure myself the man hadn't left. But there he was, either determined to read that paper from cover to cover, or waiting for someone.
Evelyn had expected me to pick her up twenty minutes ago. Had I been in active pursuit of a potential killer, I could be forgiven for not swinging by to grab her. But now, hiding in the shadows, I had no excuse...beyond the fact that I hadn't ruled her out as a suspect.
If I called and said, "Hey, I'm across the road from a guy who tried to kill me," she could tell him to sneak out and finish the job. Or come and do it herself. And that's why I needed to phone her--to test my suspicions.
Evelyn picked up on the first ring.
"There better be a good excuse for this," she said before I could get a word out. "I'm freezing my ass off out here."
"You'd better get inside," I whispered. "Find someplace warm. I--"
"What? Talk into the mouthpiece, Dee. That's what it's there for."
"I'm whispering--"
"What?"
A notch higher. "I need to be quiet."
"Oh." A pause. "Wait, let me see if I can adjust the volume on this thing." Pause. "There. Now, what's going on? Is there a problem? Did you get to see Volkv?"
"No."
"No to what? No, there's not a problem? Or no, you didn't see Volkv?"
I considered hanging up but, after another check of the street, I said, "Someone tried to stop me. Permanently."
"Christ, Dee, you've been hanging around Jack too long. Speak in full sentences. Someone tried to--" She stopped. "Shit. Where are you?"
"Following him. He's having coffee."
"Good, good. How long has he been there?"
"Almost an hour."
"He'll be waiting to make his call, then. To report his failure. Where exactly are you?"
I gave her the name of the town and coffee shop.
* * *
TWENTY-TWO
It took Evelyn twenty minutes to arrive.
"Still there?" she whispered as she crept up the alley toward me.
"I think so. I've done
three walk-bys, but I'm afraid of being too obvious."
"I'll take a turn, then. What am I looking for?"
I described him. She nodded and headed for the street.
Two minutes later, as she headed back toward me, the coffee shop door opened and the man walked out. I slipped back into the shadows. As soon as Evelyn appeared at the corner, I waved her over.
"He's--" I whispered.
"Yes, I know. Stay--"
I swung past her, slid to the end of the alley and pulled the compact from my pocket. Through it, I watched the man stride into a phone booth. He dropped his briefcase, picked up the receiver and dialed.
Evelyn appeared at my side.
"Making a phone call?" she said, without even glancing in the compact mirror.
I nodded.
"Does star-69 work at pay phones?" she whispered.
"No idea."
"Damn. Probably no time anyway. Where's he parked?"
I hitched a thumb in the direction. "Half a block down, on this side. The main exit is off this road."
"Here's the plan, then. We're ending this here. I'm going straight down this road, and you're going to circle around the back way--over the curb, through an alley, whatever will get you out on the other side. Then you'll wait for my signal. If you don't see me, let him go. That means it isn't safe. There's only one way out of town, so if he leaves, we can catch up with him. Now where's my car?"
I paused. Considered her "plan"...and how much sense it made.
"One lot to the west," I lied.
"Keys?"
I made a show of searching for them, knowing she'd given me the backup set and still had hers.
"I have mine," she said after a moment. "Just go."
I drove to the lot where Evelyn was hurrying along the rows, her keys in hand, her lips moving in silent curses as she searched for her car.
I didn't have time for this. Every moment I delayed was another moment for my target to escape. I should have left her here. I'd wanted to. The moment she'd given me the instructions, I knew she was planning to give me the slip and go after my pursuer herself, and I'd wanted so badly to say, "Fine, then," take her car and peel out after him myself, leaving her where she'd planned to leave me--stranded in some no-name town.
I'd have been justified in doing so. Jack would have agreed. But letting Evelyn out of my sight wouldn't be the smart move. After this, I trusted her less than ever. All the more reason to keep her at my side, where I could watch her.
So, I forced myself to turn into that lot, unclenched my hands from the wheel, forced my frustation--my rage--down, pulled up alongside her and put down the passenger window. She shook her head and reached for the door handle. I hit the lock button.
"Lean in first and toss your gun on the floor."
She glared over at me. "We don't have time--"
"I'm not the one playing games. Now get your gun out and on the floor or I go after him by myself."
She looked around, then dropped it onto the seat. I leaned over and laid it on the floor.
"Backup weapon, too," I said.
A colorful oath, but she took out the second gun and put it into the car. I unlocked the doors, and was moving again before she had hers closed.
"Leave your guns on the floor," I said. "You can reach them if you need to, but not without me seeing you."
She fastened her seat belt. "Nicely played. I'm impressed."
"Well, I'm not. I don't like games, Evelyn. Maybe you were testing me. Maybe you didn't think I was competent enough to come after this guy with you. Maybe you wanted to make sure I didn't go after him. If that's it, and you're protecting him or you're in on this--"
"Then I would have killed you in that alley."
"Maybe. All I'm saying is that just because I picked you up doesn't mean I trust you."
She smiled. "Good girl."
His car turned off at an exit ramp. I noted which way he turned at the top, then put on my signal.
"So who do you think this is?" she asked.
I told her. She pursed her lips, saying nothing.
"Doesn't that make sense?"
"It would certainly make our lives easier, wouldn't it?" Before I could reply, she pointed at the signs atop the exit ramp. "Well, either he's hungry or he's holing up for a while. There's nothing else up here."
We found his car in an Econo Lodge parking lot.
"Pull over behind that transport."
"Shouldn't I park in another lot?"
Evelyn shook her head. "You're not parking, just stopping and getting out. I saw a mall at the last exit. I'm going back for supplies while you watch which room he takes and keep an eye on it. I doubt he'll go any farther than one of these restaurants before I get back."
"So we're going to interrogate him, I assume."
"I prefer 'talk,' but yes, that's the general plan."
"What are you picking up?"
"Basic supplies," she said. "Gloves, duct tape, rope..." She met my gaze. "Is that a problem?"
"Better grab garbage bags, too."
Evelyn knocked on the motel room door. She hadn't altered her disguise from earlier--blue-rinse hair, pince-nez, polyester slacks, a flower-dotted cardigan and a purse big enough to defy airplane carry-on regulations.
When no one answered, she rapped again and called out in a querulous voice.
"Harold? Harold? I can't find my key."
The door cracked open, the chain jangling, then snapping taut with a click. Standing by the hinges, I could see nothing of the person inside, meaning he couldn't see me, either.
"No Harold here, lady."
"What?" Evelyn leaned forward, blinking nearsightedly. "Who are you? Where's my Harold?"
"You've got the wrong room."
The man started to close the door, but Evelyn's foot darted into the gap, leaving him no choice but to keep it open or crush her. Even cold-blooded killers have their limits.
"Look, lady--"
"Stop whispering, young man. I can't hear you. Where's my Harold? Open this door right now."
"You've got the wrong--"
Her voice rose to a screech. "Open this door!"
I tensed, listening for a certain sound...
"Lady--"
"If you don't open--"
Click. He'd disengaged the chain. I kicked the door open.
* * *
TWENTY-THREE
As the door crashed open, the man flew back. I swung in, gun raised, Evelyn covering me.
"On your knees," I said.
The man froze, but didn't drop. His gaze flicked down, presumably to the gun holstered under his jacket.
"Hands up and get on your knees," I said as Evelyn closed the door behind us.
Still he hesitated, and I knew what he was thinking. He wasn't about to drop for a couple of women--and one a senior citizen. Better to take the risk, pull the gun and trust that he could get the drop on us.
I pretended to glance toward Evelyn, as if getting her opinion. The moment I moved, he went for his gun. I kicked his kneecap and he dropped down with a grunt. When he looked up and saw my gun pointed in his face--and Evelyn's at the side of his head--he decided to raise his hands.
I ordered him onto his stomach, hands to his sides, palms up. Evelyn motioned that she'd stand cover while I bound him, but I shook my head. I wasn't lowering my gun and my guard while she had a gun. Not after that stunt in the parking lot.
As she bound him with the duct tape, I took a closer look at the man. Did he bear any resemblance to Manson? It was hard to tell, since I presumed he was wearing makeup. He was certainly bigger than Manson, but that could come from his mother. The age seemed reasonable.
Evelyn patted him down, removing a 9mm, a hidden switchblade and a wallet. When she finished, I repeated the pat down. If she was offended at my double-checking her search--and her binding job--she gave no sign of it.
I took the wallet. Inside were a half-dozen twenties, some smaller bills and a Virginia driver's license
. The name and the license were fakes, but I had no idea how good a forgery it was. That's the beauty of using out-of-state licenses. If you get pulled over, chances are the officer who writes up your ticket wouldn't know a real license from a fake.
"Robert," I said. "Would you prefer Rob or Bob?"
The man only glared up at me.
"Bert, then," I continued. "You look like a Bert to me. So, Bert, not exactly a story you can barter for beer at the legion hall, is it?"
"You made me, didn't you?" he said, eyes on mine, voice as calm as if we were indeed discussing this at the legion.
"A takedown in a prison parking lot? In front of witnesses?" Evelyn shook her head. "Amateur hour."
"I could have done it," he said.
"But you didn't. You fucked up. Having a mark make you before you even get within firing distance? Unbelievable." Evelyn stepped forward, eyes trained on his. "But you didn't have all the facts, did you? You didn't know she was a pro."
"Pro?" Bert squinted at me. "She's a hitwoman?"
"No," Evelyn said. "You just got your ass kicked by the Avon lady."
His squint narrowed to a slit. "He told me she was a con artist." A sharp twist of the lips. "Paying me five grand to off a pro? Fuck, I deserve twenty for this."
"For what?" Evelyn said. "You didn't kill her."
Bert shrugged his brows as if he hadn't abandoned the hope of collecting.
"And for me?" Evelyn said.
"Two."
"Two grand? Two--"
I stepped forward, cutting her off. "Who hired you?"
Evelyn waved me back. We stared each other down for a few seconds, then I rolled my shoulders and moved beside Bert, gun at the ready. I'd already taken the muscle role. Too late to change my mind now.
"Who hired you?" she asked.
"I want to make a deal," he said.
"Do I look like Monty Hall? Here's your deal: either you tell me or you never leave this motel room."
His gaze shifted from Evelyn to me. "Look, if you're a pro, you know the score. If I go blabbing on my employer, my life ain't worth shit."