Neither of them falls down. The table appears to be holding them up, though they’re slouching against it. Maybe turns to Hailey and motions her to go downstairs. She does. When Maybe turns back, one of the men starts sliding sideways, and falls to the floor. His chair overturns and makes a loud, crashing noise.
The woman sneaking a cigarette directly below the deck, out of view, calls up to ask if everything’s okay. Getting no response, she takes several steps toward the beach, turns and looks back onto the deck. At that moment, one of the men raises his hand. The woman comes running inside, yelling, and Maybe can only hope Hailey is standing ready to shoot her. She opens the screen and carefully places another bullet into each man’s head. Back in the condo now, the house is quiet, which means Hailey did her part.
Maybe heads toward the master bedroom, turns the door handle, hears a shower running. She enters the bathroom, pulls the glass shower door open, and shoots a heavily tattooed woman—shit!—in the arm. She turned just as Maybe shot. Now she’s screaming bloody murder. Maybe fires a second shot right into the center of her mouth. The force of the shot slams her against the back of the shower, and she crashes to the floor, moaning loudly. Maybe puts one more in her temple, then heads back to the staircase. She hears someone coming up the steps.
Hailey.
Maybe motions her to stand guard, and quickly makes her way up the steps. When she gets to the top, there’s a landing with yet another deck. Horrified, Maybe realizes this deck overlooks the one below it. If someone had been on it, they would’ve seen the men get shot. Maybe and Hailey checked the back of the condo earlier, but from their angle, this deck hadn’t been visible. It’s a lesson learned, and lucky for Maybe, no one was there. She makes a mental note to circle the entire house the next time she finds herself in this situation.
Off the landing there’s a door that almost certainly leads to a second master bedroom. Maybe tests the door. It’s locked.
On TV and in the movies, this is the part where the hero kicks the door open. Maybe knows you’re supposed to aim just left of the door knob. She lifts her foot, then pauses. If she kicks and it doesn’t open, whoever’s inside will hear.
She lowers her foot, and knocks on the door.
A man’s voice says, “Yes?”
Maybe assumes the most adult voice she can, and says, “I’m the owner of this condo. Can I ask what you’re doing here?”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re not supposed to be here this week.”
“Just a minute,” the man says. “I’m not dressed.
“I’ll wait.”
When he opens the door Maybe blows him away before realizing how young he is.
Was.
Twenty-two? Something like that. Obviously one of the aides.
Her eyes dart around the room, seeking the last hooker. She glances once more at the corpse and smiles, remembering how the bullet’s impact lifted him off his feet a few seconds ago. One minute he’s full of life. The next, he’s on the floor, a crimson stain spreading across his chest.
Maybe enters the bedroom, sees clothes strewn all over the place. She enters the bathroom.
No one in the tub.
Separate shower. Opens the door.
No one in the shower.
Toilet door closed. She knocks.
“I’m still in here,” a woman’s voice says. “Be right out!”
Maybe walks over to the shower and gets the water running, so the woman will think her friend is taking a shower.
Maybe exits the bathroom, walks through the bedroom, steps over the dead guy’s body, walks half-way down the stairs and whispers to Hailey, “Did you lock the lower level door?”
Hailey whispers, “Yes. What’s going on?”
“Last woman’s using the toilet.”
“What should we do?”
“Search the men for wallets so we can make a positive ID. I’ll go back upstairs and wait.”
She goes back into the bathroom and removes the extra clip from her back pocket, sits on the floor, her gun aimed just above the door knob...
Wondering how many bullets she’s fired.
She does a mental count.
Eight.
Her weapon holds nine.
Should she replace the clip?
No. Having just one bullet intensifies the high.
Finally, the toilet flushes. A moment later, the woman comes out, does a double-take as she sees Maybe shooting at her, but falls dead before her brain can process what she’s seen.
Maybe ejects the clip, replaces it, and heads down the stairs. Hailey’s waiting for her, proudly waving the two wallets in the air.
“It’s the mayor!” she says.
“Cool,” Maybe says. She shoots Hailey in the throat. Hailey’s gun clatters as it hits the ceramic tile. Her hands instinctively go to her throat as she staggers a few steps, spewing blood.
“Oops!” Maybe says.
Hailey hits the floor like she’d been dropped from a high place.
“Wh-why?” she whispers.
“You were right. I was jealous!”
“H-help me!” Hailey whispers. Her throat is flooded with blood. It’s oozing through her fingers, spilling down her chest.
“I’ll help you,” Maybe says, “if you tell me his name.”
Hailey tries to say something, but her words are garbled.
“You’ll have to do better.”
Hailey gathers all her strength, tries to shout. Her words come out in a loud, raspy whisper, but they’re clear.
The name Maybe hears means nothing to her. And why should it? She doesn’t know anyone outside her little circle of acquaintances. She repeats the name to Hailey.
“Sam Case?”
Hailey nods. Then whispers, “P-please h-help me.”
Maybe puts one in Hailey’s forehead to end her suffering. Then she picks up Hailey’s gun, removes the silencer, and drops both pieces into her tote. She repeats the process with her own gun. Then she picks up Hailey’s tote bag and removes Hailey’s wallet and car keys before stuffing the rest of Hailey’s gear, and the bag, into her own tote.
Then she walks out the front door and heads down the two-lane highway all the way to the public beach where Hailey’s car is parked. Once there, she drives to the country club, puts the totes and her suitcase in the trunk of her rental car, then drives Hailey’s car to a convenience store. She buys the type of wet wipes that contain bleach, uses half of them to remove fingerprints and DNA residue from the interior and exterior of Hailey’s car. Then she drives to the airport and turns it over to the guy at the rental car agency, being sure to wipe the steering wheel, gear shift, interior door handle, and the keys with a wet wipe before climbing out.
She walks into the airport, takes the escalator up two floors, and hails a cab to take her back to the country club to retrieve her own car. Before returning it, she goes through the same procedure of wiping down all the surfaces. After returning her rental car, she walks to the airport’s long-term parking garage, climbs into her own car, and drives back to Jacksonville.
On the way, she calls Sam Case.
33.
“HI, IT’S ME,” Maybe says to the voice mail recorder. “Call when you can.”
She’s passing the Brunswick exit when his call comes in.
“Everything okay?” he says.
“Peachy.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m still in Georgia. Everything’s peachy, get it?”
“Right. Does this mean you finished the job?”
“It does.”
“Damn, you’re good.”
“I know.”
“Everything go okay with Hailey?”
“You never said I had to work with someone else.”
“Couldn’t be helped. Pay’s the same, though.”
“She froze.”
“What?”
“She froze up on me. Killed one of the hookers, and then just stood there. I couldn’t get her
to leave.”
“I don’t understand.”
“She was catatonic, Sam.”
Maybe smiles as it registers in his brain that she used his actual name.
“She told you my name?”
“Yes. Just before she froze.”
“She told you my fucking name?”
“She did.”
“Where is she now?”
“Back at the condo.”
“What? You left her there?”
“Like I said, she was catatonic. There was nothing I could do.”
Sam’s beginning to panic, and his voice shows it. “You should’ve killed her!”
Maybe says nothing. Finally Sam says, “You did, didn’t you.” More like an answer than a question.
“I asked myself, ‘what would Sam Case do?’ And then yes, I killed her. Didn’t want to, but I was afraid she might tell the authorities what she knew. Did I do good?”
He pauses. “You’re telling me the truth?”
“You don’t believe me?”
“I didn’t say that. It’s just, I don’t understand why she’d freeze up like that.”
“On the way there she said she couldn’t deal with killing innocent people. Said you hired her to kill businessmen, and she didn’t sign up for this type of work.”
“You got all that out of her? Plus my name?”
“I don’t know how you ever trusted her. I can’t believe you slept with her.”
“What?”
“She told me all about it.”
“That’s not true.”
“You’re denying it?”
“If she said that, she was lying. I met her exactly once in person.”
“How can I believe you? Sounds like everything else she said was true. I don’t know why she’d lie about that.”
“Are you okay?”
“I don’t know. Depends on if I can trust you.”
“I’m telling the truth. Hailey and I never had sex. Period.”
“That’s your story and you’re sticking to it.”
“It is, and I am. And it’s the truth.”
“So you say.”
They’re both quiet a minute. Sam ends the silence.
“Guess we’re lucky she got one of them. Did you verify it was the mayor?”
“Yes.”
“I hate to lose Hailey, but it’s clear you’ve become my go-to person.”
“I’m glad you feel that way, seeing as it was just the two of us anyway.”
“I’m going to ask you a question,” Sam says. “I know the answer, but I have to ask.”
“Go ahead.”
“What happened to her car, her luggage, and so forth?”
Maybe tells him.
“You’re a natural,” Sam says.
“My turn to ask a question.”
“Okay.”
“Is your name really Sam Case?”
“Yes.”
“Why’s that a big deal?”
“Who said it was?”
“If it’s not a big deal, why haven’t you told me? You say you love me, want to have sex with me, want me to trust you, but you won’t tell me your name?”
“You call yourself Maybe. Because you may or may not stay.”
“I think you and Hailey had a thing. You told her your name.”
“Let’s move beyond this silliness. I want you, and I can tell you’re ready to be with me.”
“You’re pretty cocky.”
“And you’re pretty.”
“Are we going to meet?” Maybe says.
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Soon.”
“Are you married?”
He pauses. “Yes.”
Maybe pauses. Then says, “Have you told your wife you want to fuck me?”
“No. But she’s got a lover. We’ve lived apart for a long time. She’s actually trying to get pregnant, and not with me.”
“Bummer.”
“Is that all you’ve got to say?”
“No. I want you to pay me the balance you owe me, and the balance you owe Hailey.”
“What right do you have to her share?”
“I saved your bacon today. You were going to pay her anyway.”
“Okay,” Sam says.
“Okay?”
“It’s reasonable. Anything else?”
“Yes. I want you to bring the money in person.”
Sam thinks a minute. “How about tomorrow night, seven o’clock?”
“Where?”
“Your place.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Are you going to bring your wife?”
“Do you want me to?”
“Not this time.”
34.
Present Day…
Donovan Creed.
GEORGE BEST IS furious about meeting me at PhySpa this late at night, but the only other option I offered was his house, with his wife present.
“You’ll do well to hold your temper,” I say.
“Why? Are you going to rip my ear off if I don’t?”
I point to a large item on the table between us. “Ever seen one of these?”
He looks at the industrial staple gun and shrugs. He’s not impressed.
I pick it up, stand, lean my weight on it while pressing it to the table top. When I click the trigger, George jumps at the sound. When I move the gun he sees the top of a steel staple resting flush against the table top.
George plays it cool. He puts a little edge in his voice and says, “What’s so important it can’t wait till tomorrow morning?”
“The bomb that went off at Landmark and Trace?”
“What about it?”
“I was there.”
He gives me a look of disdain. “Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.”
“I was a witness, not a participant.”
“So?”
“The bomb was detonated by a guy in a white van.”
I’m feeding George a little piece at a time, waiting for him to either fill in the blanks or keep saying “So?”
He says, “So?”
George isn’t a tough guy, but he’s no pushover, either. Pushovers don’t contact arms dealers and mislead them about a weapon’s effectiveness.
He’s sitting there, angry, arms folded in front of his chest, working hard to keep the anger out of his voice.
“Let’s cut to the chase,” I say.
He shows me his pissed-off look. Then says, “Why are you smiling?”
I’m smiling because I realize George isn’t fighting to hold back his anger. He’s trying to hide his fear.
I say, “Tell me the truth. How much trouble are you in?”
Instead of responding, he does something that takes me completely by surprise.
He bursts into tears.
35.
GEORGE ISN’T JUST crying, he’s sobbing. He buries his head in his arms on the table, convulsing with each sob. It strikes me this could take a while. I check my watch and wonder if I should have eaten something on the way over.
George is sitting directly across from me, but all I see are his arms and the top of his head. He’s mid forties, appears to have a nice head of hair. He’s wearing a flannel shirt, which makes me wonder how many tears it could absorb if he was sitting up instead of allowing them to leak all over my table. Of course, I can’t complain about the table. I just put a flippin’ staple in the center of it. I pick up the staple gun and inspect it, take a minute to wonder how far it can shoot, and try to guess whether it would have the ability to penetrate over distance.
George continues to sob.
I wonder what Dr. Phyllis Willis would say if she saw this beautiful table with a staple in it. In truth, I was surprised the staple “took.” I’m not a wood expert, but I thought the table top was some sort of laminate. I figured the staple would make a loud sound, maybe crack the laminate or something, but had no idea it would actually penetrate the wood. Seeing George
fall apart so easily, I’m starting to think I put a hole in a perfectly good table for nothing. Then again, it felt incredibly satisfying to pull the trigger and see the result. I find myself wanting to put another staple in the table.
George is still sobbing. There’s something in his crying that doesn’t sound quite right. I focus on the staple in the table, and wonder what the best way would be to remove it.
When George stops crying I look up at him and notice he’s pointing a gun at the center of my chest.
Good thing his gun’s a semi-automatic. Unless there’s a round already in the chamber, he can’t just pull the trigger and shoot me. He’s got to manually load the first round by racking the slide mechanism.
“Helluva gun you’ve got there,” I say.
“You think?”
“K11 Slovak. You didn’t buy that at Wal-Mart. Your arms dealer must’ve given it to you as a gift.”
“That’s right.”
“I would’ve held out for a K100 Whisper with a threaded barrel and silencer. Of course I’d never try to use either of these guns.”
He frowns. “Why not?”
“Arms dealers are notorious bastards. Your gun is probably rigged to blow up in your face.”
“You’re not going to trick me into giving up my gun.”
“Fine. Let me ask you this: what’s your arms dealer’s name?”
“Boris.”
I chuckle.
“What’s so funny?”
“Nothing. Okay, so I’m guessing at some point Boris asked what else you have that might be for sale, right?”
“So?”
“And I’m guessing you said this is all you’ve got, right?”
George frowns again.
I say, “So we’ve got an arms dealer using a fake name who’s negotiating with a rookie on a one-shot deal. And he gives you a K11 Slovak?” I chuckle again. “Did he provide the ammunition, too?”
George says, “Whatever you’re up to, it won’t work.”
“I’m on your side here, Gumby.”
“My side? You ripped the ears off my friend. You held us captive in this very room. You’re trying to force us to manufacture t-shirts with a stripper! We take our business very seriously, Mr. Creed.”