9:06 p.m. PST
“Harvey Goodwill is a professional eliminator, Peter…” said Andrews with a tight grin.
In a quiet hall, wide enough for a compact car to drive through, Peter shook hands with Harvey, a short man who looked nothing like an assassin. What little hair the man had was dirty blond, and he stood in a simple olive- colored suit with brown shoes. Energy coursed through him, making his movements jittery and quick. He smiled like an old pal at a high school reunion. But he had the frigid eyes of a killer.
“Pleased,” said Goodwill.
Peter’s lips didn’t move. His voice box barely shivered as if frozen in sub-zero temperature.
“Harvey is one of our friends.”
The words were a code, the meaning: He is with us and party to our secrets.
“Of course, that’s not his real name,” said the old man. “He’s not as sloppy as your man, Polaski. No one notices when Goodwill comes and goes. Excellent for our operations. Mr. Goodwill has served the needy by killing in most European countries and many of their colonies. He’s as nonchalant as a taxi on Manhattan Island and as careful as a software engineer,” said Andrews.
“What’s he for,” said Peter, the air dusty and cold around them. He smelled cedar.
The old man smiled. “Mr. Porter is being held in the North Bay Police department, is he not?”
Peter nodded.
“You will direct Goodwill there in order to accomplish one goal.” Andrews lifted his chin.
“We want Porter killed before he discusses KM-2 and 3 in the federal courts,” said Peter.
“Now you’re thinking like one of us, Peter. We will expect a summary of the proceedings.”
The bullet left the chamber, creating a burst of light and a painful chirp which echoed in the tight space behind Bruno’s cafe.
Alred felt her heart stop.
It started again when she realized she was still standing. Her eyes closed and snapped open accordingly.
Figeroa’s twisting form fell limp against the ground.
No way to escape this guy, Alred thought, staring at the man in black through the reeking darkness. She tried to examine his clothes and recognized them to some degree. This man could have been either of the two who’d murdered Ulman.
Wisely, he stayed near the alley entrance, his gun sturdy in his hand at chest level. “It would be such a simple thing to kill you.”
“But a complete waste,” she said. “I already told-”
“I heard you. And if you’re lying-”
“What happened to Porter,” Alred didn’t move. This man had just killed the thief behind her. If he’d slain Ulman as well, he would most likely not hesitate to execute her. But what else could she say? Alred refused to be beaten.
“Bullets hit people who get in their way. Now, you’re going to help me-”
“I’m not doing anything for you.”
The man sipped liters of cold air. He pushed his bottom lip against his top, and sucked on his left canine. “All right.” He lifted the gun to arm’s length.
A screen door came out of the back of Bruno’s. The weak metal smashed into the assassin, turning the gun away and shoving him over.
A jaguar in the shape of a man followed the screen, lunging at the man with the weapon. Fists drummed like hail into the killer’s face until he tumbled into the ripped bags of reeking refuse.
The gun disappeared among the garbage piles.
When the man in black failed to rise, Bruno whipped around to face the student. One of the front tails of his button-down shirt had come free of his pants. The old man fixed it while the chemical rush gave his eyes fifty years of youth. “You okay?”
Alred looked at the second assassin, unmoving, his head lost in the rubbish. Stepping away from the corpse, warm water floated up between her eyelids as she glanced at Figeroa’s body.
Rubbing his worn and tender knuckles, Bruno said in a husky voice, the softest she’d ever heard from him, “Get out of here, girl. I’m phoning the police, an I gotta hunch you don’t wanna be here when they arrive.”
She stared at the old man, attempting uselessly to decipher reality. But nothing made sense. Why would anyone kill so much over an archaeological find? Is this what Stratford feared? No professor could afford all these hit men, no matter how strong the lust to steal the glory Ulman deserved. Someone wanted KM-3 bad. But how could they know about it?!? Nevertheless…Porter couldn’t be right about all this.
“Go!” said Bruno, moving to the cafe’s rear door, hidden in the dark. He shot her a serious look.
Alred left the alley, thinking about predator shadows and hospitals. She wondered what Porter had faced and what had resulted…
May 3
11:57 a.m. PST
“Alred! I didn’t think you’d be my first visitor,” said Porter. He looked around the white room with red brick walls, thankful he could smell Alred’s sharp perfume instead of the sanitized hospital he’d been in the last couple days, or the dirty earth scent of his new cell.
Squinting, Alred said, “You haven’t spoken with a lawyer?”
“Not yet. Guess they’re booked. Or no one wants to work my case.”
“You don’t know what I had to do to find you, Porter,” said Alred, pulling her overcoat tightly around her, though there was enough heat in the room to make a man think he had a fever. “How could you be in jail!?”
“My mom always said I had a knack of getting into things,” he said into the microphone through the glass sheet separating them. There was enough room at the top of the pane to slide his fingers through to touch hers. But the cameras would see, the guards would freak, grab him, strip him, and arrest Alred. Not that she would slip her fingers over the glass to meet his anyway. Porter longed to feel the warmth of someone. But he couldn’t call his family, especially his mother, so he phoned no one. And Alred looked beautiful for some reason.
“I didn’t want to believe it when they said you’d been shot. In the abdomen? How are the wounds,” she said, pointing with her chin at his shoulder. Porter’s right arm hung in a sling.
“Sometimes I think there are people out there who just don’t like me,” Porter said.
Alred smiled.
“You one of them?” he said, his eyes sparkling, but his smile nodding downward.
“If only you could read-”
“Ah!” said Porter, lifting a hand quickly. His eyes flickered toward the microphone standing like a perched cobra about to strike.
Alred grinned without emotion as she looked at the table.
“It’s a terrible thing to have something you wanna tell someone, isn’t it? When you can’t utter a word?” said Porter. They were no doubt being taped.
“You realize we’ve lost any chance of graduating,” said Alred.
“Sacrifice is an important part of life. Build’s character,” said Porter, but the thought hurt inside. “There must be opposition in all things. We’ve walked into places angels don’t even talk about.”
“I’m not so easily defeated,” said Alred.
“Oh really?” said Porter with a sigh. “You saying that for your own peace of mind? Because you don’t want to think you’ve moved your last chess piece and admit the game is finished?”
Alred smashed her lips together, but kept her eyes relaxed. She looked at Porter. “Isn’t there a Mormon prayer to help you out in court? May 5th is just around the corner.”
“I was baptized on that day,” said Porter.
“Well it will definitely be the day you begin your new life.”
“Am I guilty?” said Porter.
