Quinn’s eyes narrowed with concern. If it was a project that involved him, it would mean someone was going to be killed. A few deaths of amoral thieves selling bomb plans to terrorists was one thing, but corporate murder? That would be going somewhere Quinn wasn’t comfortable with.
Wills seemed to sense Quinn’s reluctance. “It’s not what you think.”
“If it’s not what I think, then you don’t need a cleaner.”
“There
“Wait, what? Are you saying it’s already there?”
Wills said nothing for a moment, then nodded. “It’s been there over twenty years.”
“I GUESS THIS ISN’T A SURPRISE,” NATE SAID.
“Not really,” Quinn agreed.
They were still in Manhattan, standing across the street from a place called Molly Dryer’s Delicatessen.
At the end of the meeting at the restaurant, Wills had asked Quinn to check out the address found on the dead man in the car outside Moody’s house. The name on the license had been William Burke, but the address listed belonged to the deli.
“Hard sell, soft sell,” Quinn said, pointing to Nate first, then himself.
“Fine by me.”
Inside, a long buffet table served up everything from chow mein to Salisbury steak. Next to it another table specialized in salads. There were also shelves with chips and cookies and snacks next to glass-door cabinets filled with drinks. Beyond the buffet were dining tables and chairs ready for the next influx of customers.
A typical New York deli.
The employees manning the kitchen all looked Latin, while the two women at the registers looked Middle Eastern.
He grabbed a bottle of water and a bag of chips and headed for the checkout.
“Are you Molly?” he asked the woman who rang him up.
She gave him an odd look.
“Molly,” he repeated. “The name on the sign?”
“Ah, right,” she said. She leaned toward him a few inches. “There is no Molly. It’s just a name my father picked out of a book. He said it sounded more American.”
Quinn laughed. “He’s right.”
At a signal from Quinn, Nate walked up.
“Excuse me,” Nate said.
The woman stopped herself in the middle of counting out Quinn’s change and looked at him.
Nate smiled. “I’m looking for a friend of mine. Says he comes here all time, so I thought you might know him. Bill Burke. Sometimes goes by William.”
The look on her face didn’t change. “Sorry. Don’t know him.”
“You’re sure?”
Again, she gave him the silent stare.
He raised a hand in the air. “Okay, thanks anyway.”
As Nate walked away, Quinn said, “Nate was a bit of a jerk, wasn’t he?”
“I didn’t notice.”
Quinn and Nate regrouped a block away.
“Like we thought, fake ID,” Nate said.
“You want these?” Quinn asked, holding up the chips.
“Are you kidding?” Nate said. “Of course.” He snatched the bag from Quinn.
“Is there anything you won’t eat?”
Nate smiled, but kept munching. When he was ready to pop another chip in his mouth, he paused long enough to ask, “This new assignment, have you ever been asked to do anything like it before?”
“I had to remove a corpse from a cemetery once. It had been in the ground about two years.”
Nate gave him an odd look. “Why would you have to do that?”
“I don’t know,” Quinn said. “Client never told me.”
“But why do you think … Never mind,” Nate said. “The thing Mr. Wills wants us to do, doesn’t it seem a little odd?”
“A little, maybe.”
“Couldn’t they just go in and remove the body themselves?”
