“Enough so that I just took out a million dollar term life policy.”
We all chuckled, which is the right and manly thing to do in such situations. Everybody knows Army guys are steadfast, hard as nails, and brave to a fault, so that was the act we were trapped in.
But Bill, who incidentally was about six foot two, about 220 pounds, and about as well acquainted with weight machines as our killer, asked me, “What can you tell us about this peckerhead, Major? Strengths, weaknesses.”
“I’m glad you asked. You’ve studied the composite?”
“Danny showed us the shots.”
“Then we all know what he looks like”-I reconsidered that- “well, we know what he looked like this morning. He might be into disguises. But I’m expecting a blind date to drop by. So if a tall, really ugly, fat broad with big tits shows up…”
“Yeah?”
“And she asks for me…”
“Uh-huh.”
“This guy is pretty clever… and, well… there’s only one way to really know. You know what I’m saying? That’s your job, Bill.”
Yuck, yuck.
But we were all, I think, feeling tense and keyed up, and it’s important to get past that, because cool thinking and settled nerves were our only prayer of success.
So everybody stopped laughing, and in a more serious vein, I continued, “Here’s what the composite doesn’t show, that he can’t disguise. He’s about your size, Bill… slightly bigger, perhaps.”
Spinelli commented, “Bigger. The bastard’s built like a tank.”
I cleared my throat and continued, “He’s racked up eight kills we know of, but his skill level suggests he’s killed more. Possibly many more. In fact, we suspect he’s a professional for hire.”
Charlie, I noticed, was shifting his feet.
“He prefers to kill with his hands.” I continued, “His proficiency with other weapons is an open question, but he’s been well trained by somebody, and prudence dictates we assume he’s qualified with all weapons. I’d give him a good-to-go on reflexes, speed, and mental agility. I wouldn’t exactly say he’s a candyass.” How’s that for a soaring understatement?
But Spinelli said, “The guy’s a murderous motherfucker.”
Not helpful, Spinelli. Bill’s eyes went a little wide, so I awarded both him and Charlie another reassuring look, and continued, “Yes, well… why don’t we move on to some of his weaknesses?”
Charlie nodded, eagerly. “Great. What are this guy’s weaknesses?”
“Well, for one, he… uh… well-”
“He’s got no weaknesses,” interrupted Spinelli. “The guy’s a perfect fucking killing machine.”
Bill and Charlie sort of swallowed.
I said, “You’re very funny. For one thing, the killer is not expecting four of us. Also, he may be resourceful, clever, and skilled, but his technique to date indicates an overreliance on surprise. This worked for him in the past; I doubt he’ll discard it. Remove the element of surprise and he’ll lose some of his edge.” I allowed them to think about that before I suggested, “In fact, we should expect him to try some unorthodox way of getting in here.”
Charlie grinned at this remark. I grinned back, but Charlie was the one who worried me. He appeared to be somewhere around thirty, was prematurely balding, black, and slender. What concerned me was his face: too wholesome, too youthful, and too innocent. In fact, he reminded me of a frisky puppy I had as a kid, who ran in front of a truck and became a pancake. Bill also looked wholesome, because all soldiers look wholesome, but there was a hardness in his eyes that dispelled any sense of softness. Unless Charlie was one of those guys who could drill holes in dimes flying through the air, I was sort of anxious about him, and sort of wondering why Spinelli brought him to the party.
But Charlie said, “No problems on that account. I hope he does.”
“Is that right?”
“Sure. That’s why I’m here, Major. My specialty is facility protection.”
This is a fairly important field in an Army with lots of tanks and missiles and things that go boom, because Uncle Sam would get very annoyed at the Green Machine if Abdullah the Jihadist filched an Abrams tank or an Apache gunship and used it to put a few dents in the White House. I therefore gave Mr. Waters the benefit of the doubt. At least, I hoped he was competent. For my sake- for all our sakes-he better be.
The phone rang, I excused myself, and went into the bedroom to take the call. It was Jessica Moner, Jason’s legal brawler, and in her typically brassy, abrasive way, she said, “Drummond, you ass-hole, what’s this shit about you launching a lawsuit tomorrow morning?”
“Who informed you?”
“Bosworth informed me. And now I’m informing you, stop the bad joke-now.”
“You sound angry.”
“I could kill you.” I pondered how literally to take that sentiment as she added, “I don’t know what the bad blood is between you and your firm, but don’t drag us into your shitpile.”
“Sorry, Jessica, my lawyer says it’s the only way.”
“What the fuck are-”
“Maintaining you as a client was Bosworth’s motive. You’re the casus belli of the dispute.”
“No, you’re adding us because we have deep pockets. Bad idea, buddy boy…”
“Blame Barry. He pounded the crap out of me. I never realized what an animal he is.”
“Bosworth can barely lift his dick to pee.”
“He practices at home, on his kids.”
She paused for a moment, as it was obvious this track was leading nowhere.
She then asked, “What is it you think you have?”
Nice try. “All of it, Jessica. Come to court in the morning, and you’ll hear all about your sweet arrangement with Grand Vistas. Make a deal with the devil and you go to hell.”
“Are we forgetting legal confidentiality, Drummond? You can’t expose what you learned working as our attorney. I’ll get an injunction, sue your ass off, and have you disbarred, you stupid shit.”
“Read the statutes on whistleblowers.”
“Whistleblower? You’re an attorney, asshole.”
“You know, that’s what my attorney thinks will make it a particularly intriguing case.” I paused, then said, “Hey, we both might get our names on a famous precedent. Think about it… Drummond versus Moner -nice ring, right?”
There was a long pause before Jessica, suddenly friendly, said, “Sean, look, the offer to work here’s still open. I like your style. You’ll like it here, and you’ll get rich. Don’t fuck this up.”
“You won’t hire me if I sue you? That’s small-minded, Jessica.”
“Okay… sure, I’m hearin’ you more clearly. It’s about the money, right? Make your offer and I’ll try to clear it with Jason.”
“Fine. Two million a year.”
“What?”
“Three million a year.”
“Don’t try to blackmail me, Drummond, or I’ll-”
“Four million a year.”
“Damn it, you asshole, I’ll-”
“Five million.”
There was a brief sputter, followed by another pause, while Jessica contemplated how much her floppy tongue was costing.
“Think, Jessica. What it’s worth to you and Jason to keep the partnership with Grand Vistas out of the courts and out of the news?”
“I’ll… all right. I’ll talk to Jason about three million. Okay?”
“Wrong answer. Ten million.”
“Listen, you pinheaded fuck. Don’t screw with me. I’m giving you your last chance to be rich and healthy. Piss
