Side by Side

sewer with a school of shit-sucking catfish.

“He’s going to tell his father,” Max said. “Soon as he gets over seeing the barrel of your gun, he’ll call Peanut. He doesn’t really believe you can take his old man out of play.”

Serge nodded. “You think I may have overestimated his sense of greed? I don’t think so, but. .” He tapped the wheel with his fingertips. “That boy has real potential.”

“A lot can happen to complicate this deal. Peanut is smart, vicious, and he could complicate things. That bunch doesn’t operate by any playbook but their own,” Max warned him.

“The Smoots are animals,” Serge said. “Click knows it. I think he will look into the future and make his decision based on that. He isn’t anything like the others.”

“Would you?” Max looked over at the SUV, the dark silhouettes of the killers inside. “Turn on your blood, turn down a known quantity for some money in the future he thinks he can get anyway?”

“He isn’t me,” Serge replied.

“Would you turn on your firm?” Max asked. “If someone came in out of the dark and said, ‘You’re too bright to work for Intermat for chump change. I’m going to take Intermat down. Join me or die.’?”

Serge didn’t answer. He was considering the value of Click weighed against the potential loss of this deal to his employers. The Smoot end of Laughlin’s empire accounted for huge profits. Tens of millions over the next couple of years. He wanted the Smoots’ action, needed it. Losing it now would put his life on the line, because his employers had already entered the figures into their projections. Laughlin had agreed to watch the Smoots be pushed aside, but the American probably wouldn’t be sorry to see Serge fail. Maybe he should get rid of Click just in case he misjudged the boy. A bird in the hand. .

“Let’s do this,” Max said. “We can keep Click under wraps until this operation is over. We can take him to the house and after Peanut and the others are done in, he’ll be easy to bring over.”

Serge said, “I was going to suggest the same course of action.” Randall was indeed a very smart man.

“After the Dockerys are dead, we can deal with Peanut and his family and let the trail end at their corpses.”

“I’m listening,” Serge said.

Max laid out a plan that brought a smile to Serge’s lips. He inhaled and considered it. Max Randall never disappointed. He had a strategic mind and made life-and-death decisions effortlessly. He would do fine for the firm as long as he played it straight, and Serge was sure he was intelligent enough to do just that.

“Take two men, get Click, and I will meet you all back at the house. Use whatever force you deem necessary to find out if he made any calls to his father, but keep his brain intact. That part of him we need in good working order. Use your best judgment.”

“I’ll handle it,” Max said, slipping from the car.

Serge dropped the window long enough to flick his lit cigarette out into the wetness of the night.

44

Winter Massey saw that Click was still sitting where he’d been earlier-in the recliner, still tapping his sock feet to the music, watching naked girls on a stage gyrate to rock tunes the dancers were too young to have listened to growing up. The choice of musical accompaniment was more for its nostalgic value to the middle-aged skin- worshipping congregation that regularly attended their local branches of the First Church of the Brass Pole. People who were younger than the men who actually put donations inside the dancers’ garters probably watched the DVDs and videotapes without listening to the music.

Winter wondered if Click had called his father to tell him about Sarnov’s nocturnal visit and job offer, or if he was weighing that offer while the Dockerys were awaiting death. It really didn’t make any difference. Winter looked in at the large TV screen, frowned, and circled the house. As he passed the rolling garbage can in the shed, he spotted the corner of a pizza box sticking out from under the lid. He pulled out the box, strode around to the front door, took out his SIG, and rang the doorbell. He pulled the bill of his cap down to shadow his eyes.

He didn’t hear Click coming, but the porch light came on and the front door opened enough so that Winter could see that the young Smoot had put on a plaid bathrobe over his T-shirt and boxers. The chain on the door was a substantial model, which might not give without allowing Click a chance to fire through the wood. This kid would probably have some sort of weapon at hand, especially given the earlier Sarnov/Randall visit. With a little luck on Click’s side and a decent-caliber round, Winter might find himself lying on his back bleeding out-an armed home- invading stranger. Taking the chance wasn’t necessary.

“What?” Click growled through the crack.

“Pizza,” Winter said. The rain striking the concrete walkway behind him helped mute his voice.

“I didn’t order any pizza.”

“Fourteen dollars and twenty-six cents.”

“I didn’t order it.”

“If you’re standing inside two-two-one-five you did.”

“It isn’t my pizza. I got one from you last night. Maybe your cheap-ass computer put me back on for one tonight.”

“Fourteen twenty-six cash or check. It’s getting cold.”

“It was only like twelve bucks last night.”

Winter shrugged. “Take it for twelve,” he said.

“I didn’t order it.”

“Fine. Ten then,” Winter said. “It’ll just go in the garbage.”

“What’s on it?”

“How should I know? What’d you order on it?” Winter asked, trying not to laugh. Young Click wasn’t going to pass up an opportunity to eat pizza just because he didn’t order it.

“Ten bucks. And that’s tip included.”

“Sure.”

“Hang there. I’ll go get you the money.”

When Click returned, Winter heard the sound of something heavy being set down, and knew it was a gun Click was putting on a table by the door so he could open it and pay for the pizza. Winter had been right not to try and muscle his way in.

Click opened the door with the bill in his hand, looking hungrily down at the pizza box. He didn’t raise his eyes until Winter handed the box over and Click realized it was empty. When he looked up at Winter, there was mild confusion in his eyes, which changed instantly to fear when the deliveryman raised a gun and aimed it directly at Click’s chest.

Click backed up, hands still clenching the empty box. Winter entered, lifted a blue-steel revolver from the narrow table cluttered with junk mail. He opened the revolver’s chamber, tilted its barrel up, and let the rounds drop into a half-filled trash can before tossing the gun on a stack of newspapers in the corner.

“Wait a minute!” Click said. “You’re robbing me?”

“No, I’m not.”

“Do I know you?” Click’s brain was racing, trying to sort through its memory banks to figure out where he’d seen Winter before.

“Where would you know me from?” Winter asked him.

“I don’t know, but. .” His eyes were darting back and forth between Winter’s face and the SIG. He seemed more curious than frightened. “Have we met before?”

“Maybe you remember me from the Westin this afternoon. That’s where I saw you.”

Click’s expression changed, a smile growing as he remembered. “Yeah, I saw you there. Why are you here?”

“Why were you there?”

“I was meeting an exotic dancer. She didn’t show.”

“I don’t think so, Slick,” Winter said. “I think you followed somebody there.”

“It’s Click, not Slick. No, I didn’t follow anybody anywhere.” Click sat on the arm of the recliner, tossed the