Dead and Gone

target of the assassination attempt which occurred when there was an attempt to ransom back their son.

“The woman was very brusque. She demanded to know whom I represented. What I was really doing there. I told her I was only a person with a message for them. Only those who hired me could answer her questions. I asked her if she wanted to meet those people.

“But before she could answer, the man asked me about Petya. He wanted to know what had happened to Petya. I had never heard that name from you. The woman hissed at him to be quiet, called him … It is hard to translate, but it means a man who is no man. A … gelding, perhaps?

“Then she asked me, why did whoever sent me think she and her husband were in danger? They had done nothing wrong.

“I told her what we had decided on—that the person who had almost been killed was brain-damaged, a vegetable in a coma.

But his friends believed he had been set up, and the only lead was Dmitri. They went to see him, but Dmitri turned to violence, and he was killed. That left only them—the man and the woman. The people who employ me believed they would be the next targets. And that the information should be worth a great deal of money to them.

“But that did not work as you expected. Instead of trying to bargain, the woman asked me again who my employers are. Again, I told her I did not know them but I could arrange a meeting. When I said that, the woman made some kind of signal with her hand and they both got up. I could not see where they went, because the skinheads were already charging at me.”

“Skinheads?” Byron asked.

“It looks like they wanted to snatch Gem,” I told him. “Maybe take her someplace where she’d do a better job of answering their questions.”

“Well, you’re both here, so …”

“Yeah. And whoever hired the skinheads is the same one who hired the Russians. Maybe.”

“Why only maybe?” Gem asked.

“First of all, they were kids. Not little kids, but teenagers. Not professionals. I can’t see someone who’d spend a few hundred grand to hit me saving a couple of bucks now by hiring amateurs. And, from the way you tell it, they weren’t there to watch the Russians. They were there to do whatever the Russians told them to—no orders going in. If it was a snatch from jump, they would have vamped on you from behind, while you were seated. It looks like they reacted to the woman’s signal.”

“So you figure, maybe the Russians aren’t straw men after all?” Byron asked.

“You add up what went down earlier to the fact that they got in the wind before the hit on me went down—the answer’s got to be no. They have to be players; we just don’t know how, yet.”

“I—” Byron started. The sound of his pager cut him off.

While Byron was dialing out, I picked up his pager from where he had tossed it on the couch. The only number showing was 411. So his man had information—it wasn’t an emergency.

I couldn’t make out what Byron was saying on the phone—he was probably keeping his voice down in case the guy at the other end had to keep things quiet.

Byron hung up, turned to me and Gem. “One of them went out. In a car. From the garage. Stayed out maybe a half-hour. My man figures they wanted a pay phone, playing it safe. Going to be daylight soon enough—we’ll have to pull out. That neighborhood’s not going for unexplained cars sitting around.”

“All right,” I said. “We’ve got the edge. They don’t know what we know. No reason for them to fly.”

Byron nodded. “When things open up tomorrow, we can do some checking. But that place—it sure doesn’t look like any temporary rental. And there’s one more thing.…”

“What?”

“My friend says he can code-grab the remote they use to open and close the garage. The driveway’s nice and straight. And there’s no gate.”

“Let’s see what happens,” I told him. “That one’s a last resort.”

The ringing of the bedside phone woke me the next morning. I was lying facedown on the bed, Gem draped over me like a warm, soft blanket, her face nestled between my shoulder blades. She didn’t stir as I reached for the phone.

“Yes?”

“We got a budget for this one, bro?” Byron’s voice, as fresh as if he’d grabbed eight hours.

“Sure.”

“On hand?”

“Yep.”

“Can you meet me? On the waterfront? Just take Alder—that’s the block the hotel’s on—east. You’ll know you’re on track if the street numbers keep getting lower, okay? Make a right on Fourth, and a left on Taylor. Follow it down; you’ll see the river. Find a place to park anywhere near Front Street, then just walk across and stroll north along the waterfront. I’ll pick you out easy enough. Give it … thirty minutes, okay?”

“You got it.”

“May I come with you?” Gem asked, her voice formal.

“Sure. But …”

“Yes?”

“We have to be there in less than a half-hour.”

“Pooh! You think it takes me so long just to get dressed?”

“No. I mean, I was just—”