she fired.
He was on his back in the mud. The pain in his chest made him gasp. His heart started banging irregularly, like an engine running crazy on empty just before it quits.
Everything went spinning, and then everything went dark.
They say the last thing that goes when someone's dying is his hearing. Coulter heard distinctly the sucking sound of a boot sole in the mud, very near his head. Joe Ray's voice from high above:
'Both barrels. You surely made a mess here, Cathy Lee.'
'My bad,' Cathy Lee said.
Joe Ray, Juan, and Cathy Lee studied on it for a while, then decided not to bury Coulter nearby. He was, after all, the most wanted man in America. If the police traced him to the area, they'd eventually find the body. On the other hand, the meth guys and Cathy Lee sure couldn't say they'd killed him and try to claim any kind of reward. The farther away Joe Ray, Juan, and Cathy Lee stayed from the law, the better for them.
They decided to drive Coulter off some distance and dump his body, make it look like he was shot on the side of the road. Could be the law would think he was hitchhiking and some mean bastard drilled him for sport. That's if he was found before some gator dragged him off.
The Ford truck was another matter. You could tell that under all that dust and caked mud it was a cherry. They could have it painted another color. Joe Ray knew where he could get a 'ghost truck' VIN from a similar-F-150 that was wrecked and in a salvage yard, and have the truck retitled. The truck wouldn't be legal, but it would be close.
Coulter they wanted no part of, but the truck was worth the risk.
57
The first thing in the morning, Victor drove the Chrysler over to a parking garage off Broadway. From there he walked the crowded, sunlit sidewalks to the offices of E-Bliss.org.
Now and then someone gave him a second glance. He needed a shave. He'd slept with his clothes on, on Gloria's sofa, and his usually razor-creased suit pants were wrinkled. The matching coat, which he'd draped over a chair back, was still neatly pressed. The effect was that the pants looked even baggier. That and the black stubble on his face made him look like a homeless person who'd rolled a rich banker after first getting him to remove his coat. This wasn't at all like Victor, not to care about his appearance.
Palmer Stone glanced up from the E-Bliss applications he was studying when Victor gave a perfunctory knock and walked into his office. Stone was working at his desk with his suit coat on, as was his custom, and was impeccably groomed. Always when someone walked into his office he looked like a captain of commerce interrupted in an important task involving world affairs. This morning, he was quite a contrast to Victor.
Stone laid down the printout he'd been holding. It was rife with information about a lonely, middle-aged widow in Queens.
'Victor! What on earth happened to you?'
'I tried to get in touch with Gloria yesterday afternoon and evening,' Victor said, driving to the point, 'and I couldn't. I spent the night in her apartment. She never came home.'
Stone appeared alarmed at first, then thoughtful. 'It isn't the first time, Victor.'
'It is without me knowing where she was. We always knew-know-where the other one is. We've got this extra sense like we pick up each other's radio waves, and Palmer, she's not broadcasting.'
'Victor, it's a little premature to think she's…gone.'
'I've got a bad feeling, Palmer.'
Stone swiveled to the side and leaned back in his chair, facing the window but obviously not looking outside. Victor and Gloria. He knew both of them well, but there were some aspects of their relationship that still puzzled him, made him wonder. But then, he never had a sister.
'You know Gloria,' he said. 'She's probably off on some adventure.'
'She would've stayed in touch. When I called her cell number, her phone was turned off.'
'Maybe she simply didn't want to be disturbed.'
Victor started to pace, raking his fingers through his hair with each step. 'I told you, Palmer, Gloria and I are on what you might say is the same wavelength. I've really got a hunch something's happened to her.'
'Could be you're being an alarmist.'
Stone didn't like what he was seeing here. More indication of instability in Victor. Gloria hadn't seemed upset when Stone had talked to her about her brother. On the other hand, she hadn't seemed surprised. There seemed no reason for Victor's consternation. He did know his sister was a lesbian with an active sex life, so why couldn't he accept the fact that she might right now be sleeping late in some ladylove's warm bed?
Victor clenched and unclenched his fists. 'Listen, Palmer-'
But Stone raised a manicured forefinger for quiet as his phone rang. He snatched up the receiver.
Gloria, he hoped.
Victor paced and watched while the caller did most of the talking. Stone's mature, handsome features grew more and more set and pale.
Something was obviously very wrong.
Victor stopped pacing and collapsed on the black leather sofa facing the desk.
Stone hung up the phone and swiveled his chair to look directly at him with an expression of fatherly concern.
'Gloria was struck by a cab yesterday near Columbus Circle,' he said. 'They tried to get in touch with someone, but couldn't.'
'She doesn't have a landline phone,' Victor said.
Stone nodded gravely. 'The people at the hospital finally figured out how to look in her cell phone log. The last call she'd made was to here.'
Victor sat up straight. 'Hospital?'
'She's at St. Luke's-Roosevelt, in critical condition. Her skull's been fractured and her hip and left leg are broken.'
'Jesus! But at least she's alive.'
'The cab hit her when she stepped off the curb. That's what witnesses said. An accident.'
'What the hell was she doing-'
'Who knows, Victor? Gloria's her own woman.' That's for damned sure. Stone swiveled his chair toward the window again. He tilted back. 'You'd better drive over there and see her, Victor. See if she's conscious, talking. Maybe she's under the influence of sedatives. You understand what I mean?'
But when Stone swiveled around for an answer to his question, Victor was gone.
Stone combed through both the Times and the Post, but neither of the papers made mention of Gloria's accident. That didn't surprise Stone, but it relieved him. News was news. Gloria wasn't remotely famous, which meant the media would probably ignore the story tomorrow morning, too. That meant her name wouldn't be in the papers or mentioned on television or radio. Stone much preferred it that way. Less of a threat to the business.
A little after one o'clock, Stone's phone rang as he was rifling through a middle file cabinet drawer. Without standing up, he rolled his chair over to the desk and picked up.
Victor, calling from the hospital.
'She looks terrible, Palmer,' Victor said plaintively. 'Her head's all bandaged and her face is so swollen you wouldn't know it was her.'
'Is she conscious?' Stone asked.
Drugged up? Talking?
'There's no way to be sure if she knows what's going on around her.'
'What do you mean, Victor?'
'She's in a coma, Palmer. The doctors say they don't know how long it will last, or even'-Victor's voice broke-'if she'll ever come out of it.'
Stone was surprised to find his own throat tightening. The three of them had been together in one scam or
