‘But she saw me?’
‘I do not think, honestly, that she can recognize you.’
‘Ho ho. Bullshit there.’ Burns’s eyes narrowed. His breath hissed through clenched teeth. ‘She saw me. She saw me.’
‘It was dark. It could have been —,
‘She saw me.’ Burns stood up and paced the cabin. He rubbed his wrist again and then snapped his hand. Okay, so they turn up Corrigon. Sooner or later they’ll probably turn him up, know what I mean? Maybe even figure out who he is. Then they put his picture in the paper. She recognizes him, see. She leads them to the scene. Your front door. And then she starts doin’ the mug books. Maybe she didn’t see me, but then maybe she saw enough there, to make me from the pictures.’ He turned and stood over DeLaroza. ‘See what I mean? She could put me together with Corrigon at your front door and there goes the fuckin’ ballgame. You got that picture there?’
DeLaroza nodded.
‘I was, uh, I didn’t want to worry you,’ DeLaroza said.
‘Oh, you didn’t, hunh? Gonna let me sit around, wait till the building falls in one me?’
‘It is both of us.’
‘I did the bit. Just like in Hong Kong that time. It was me!’ Burns bellowed. ‘I’m the one they’ll come squat on. You may go down the toilet there, Victor, but I get the gas pipe.’
‘Well,’ DeLaroza said and let the sentence hang.
‘We got a saying in the rackets. The rope only has one noose. You know what I mean, Victor? I only got one neck. How many times you think they can stretch it? How come you wait so long to gimme this piece of news?’
‘I just found out.’
‘When?’
‘At noon.’
‘Jesus. I don’t believe you. I don’t fuckin’ believe you. Here we got this broad can hang us both higher than the church steeple, you’re still gettin’ a little. You just finished tellin’ me you don’t know how to handle this here with Hotchins, you’re dippin’ the wienie. Jesus Christ!’
‘It was not like that. I talked to her. Told her to step out of Hotchins’s life. She is a threat to his future.’
‘Well, I’ll bet she lapped that up with a fork all right.’
‘No, you are right. She did not lap it up with a fork.’
‘What do ya need, a picture book? They’ll get ya every time. Ask Adam. Ask John the Baptist. Ask Samson, Ask ‘em all, man. She’s got a meal ticket. He goes to Washington, she goes along for the ride. Besides, that ain’t the question here. You know what the question here is, Victor. Can she put it on us? Can she finger me for chilling Corrigon? And if the answer is maybe, that means the answer is yes.’
DeLaroza said nothing. He wanted desperately to light his cigar. Outside, the first deep rumble of thunder rolled across the sky.
‘Listen to that. It’s gonna rain like a son of a bitch,’ Burns said. He fell quiet. The juices were beginning to run. He felt the first nibble of excitement, the first surge of lust. His palms tingled. He licked his lips.
DeLaroza went up the steps and opened the hatch door leading to the cabin, watching the storm clouds race angrily across the sky. He lit the cigar, letting the hard, cold wind carry the smoke out across the lake.
‘You know where she lives?’ Burns asked.
‘Yes. In fact, I, uh, I am going there tonight.’
Burns shook his head. ‘Unreal,’ he said.
‘It is something special. A goodbye. I have known this woman for a long time,’ he said. Then, after a pause: ‘Too long, maybe.’
Burns smiled but there was no mirth in the grin. Then he said, ‘Not too long. So long. Get what I mean?’
DeLaroza turned and looked back at him. ‘What do you mean?’ he said.
‘What do you mean, what do I mean? You know what I mean. Don’t act dumb, because I know you ain’t dumb.’
A sudden flash of lightning jarred DeLaroza. A second later it cracked like a whip snapping in the trees nearby. Burns seemed to draw strength from it. His eyes lost their coldness and began to beam with exhilaration.
‘You’re gonna be right there,’ Burns said. ‘So you can case out the Situation for me. You’re in the catbird seat there, Victor, because we ain’t got a lot of time. Now do you know what I mean?’
DeLaroza did not answer. His lower lip began to tremble. He was thinking about tonight, about making love to her.
Burns was totally calm, the killing machine, lubricating itself with visceral oil.
‘You did good, Victor,’ he said.
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Sure you do. You didn’t come out here to feed me all that bullshit about my passport, that crap. You came out here to put the edge on the knife. Right?’
DeLaroza fell quiet again. He stared down at the cigar. ‘I ain’t pissed about it, Victor. In fact, I gotta hand it to you. In your own sweet way you’re just like me. You’d kill your own mother for a two-pont safety. You worked it out
