Dead and Gone

“And what’s that?”

“Burke, this was business. You understand? Just business. These people come to me. They say their child is kidnapped. And the man who has him will return him for money. They want me to deliver the money. And they will pay for that service. I tell them, of course we will do that. I would have sent one of my people. But then they say there is a condition. It must be you who delivers the money.”

“Me by name, right? So they knew …?”

“That we had done business together? Yes, I think. Otherwise, why would they think I could …?”

“All right. So you knew it was me they wanted. And that it was no kidnapping.”

“That I did not know. It is all over the street, how you feel about kids. And about those who … use them. I thought perhaps they wanted someone who might do more than just pick up the child.”

Dmitri was good. That last bit was a slick stroke. “But they didn’t approach me themselves,” I pointed out, nice and calm.

“If they had, would you have done it?”

“Not without references.” I took a slow breath. “So you’re saying that’s what they paid you for, huh?”

“It is all how you look at it. I did not think it was a plan to murder you. Otherwise, why put all that money into your hands?”

“Because if we hadn’t counted it—together, remember?—I wouldn’t have gone out that night.”

“I did not know, I tell you.”

“Which means the hit squad wasn’t yours.”

“If it had been mine, you would not be here.”

“They were pros, Dmitri. They just got a little unlucky. And a couple of them got dead.”

“Ah. This I have not heard.”

“Okay, who was it who hired you?”

“That I could not say.”

“You mean, won’t say, right?”

“It would be bad business. They were clients. They paid for a service. I delivered that service. I have a reputation.”

“Me, too.”

“Yes. You are a professional, as I am. I don’t believe you would attempt to kill me in my own place. And, anyway, what would you kill me for? I am not going to tell you their names. And you’re alive.…”

“They killed my dog.”

“Your … dog?”

“My dog,” I said, willing the trembling out of my voice. I wouldn’t say her name in front of this … professional. “So that’s enough. For me, anyway. Enough for me to blast you right here. Either you give up the names, or I pull the trigger.”

“That is a child’s bluff,” Dmitri said gently, spreading his hands wide. “I am sorry, Burke. But you—”

The explosion sucked all the sound out of the room in its wake. Dmitri slammed back into the wall, gut-shot. I stepped out of the wheelchair, hit the switch on the armrest, took a deep breath, and walked around to where Dmitri lay on the floor. He looked dead. I put three rounds into his face. His head bounced on the floor. When it came to rest, his brains were outside his skull.

The compartment under the wheelchair was spewing thick yellow smoke. I stepped through it and saw two men with Uzis standing in the entranceway to the restaurant. As soon as I emerged, they started blasting away— shooting high, the spray keeping everyone on the ground. I walked toward them, then between them, and jumped into the passenger seat of the van. The engine was running, the van was already in gear, the driver holding his foot on the brake … and a semi-auto in his hand. The spray-team piled in behind me, and the van took off.

We never even heard a siren.

I carefully removed the clear plastic shrouding from my fingernails, one by one. Then I started soaking my right hand in a jar of kerosene—revolvers really spread their powder residue around. The dismembered pistol was already on its way to an acid bath.

I felt like a man who’d just worked a long shift at a lousy job. The same job that would be waiting on me tomorrow.

I went back to being dead. Stayed deep underground. Spent every day working out, harder and harder. It was nearing Christmas by the time I heard from the Mossad man.

“His name is Anton.”

“The new boss?”

“Yes. But not easily, not without bloodshed. Some of Dmitri’s old crew have moved on. The new organization is smaller.”

“And this Anton, he’s not ex-military?”

“No,” the Mossad man replied. “He’s an ex-convict. A career criminal.”

Like me, flickered in my thoughts before it blinked out. “Thank you,” is all I said.

“Who is this?” The voice on the phone was hard and weaselish at the same time.