“Who did you tell about the money?”
“No one. Why?” The wiry little guy wore an emerald-green robe over purple pajamas. He was nervous, and also confused, trying desperately to work out what my being at his door meant. I noticed that his right hand was hidden from view.
“Somebody knew. He came up behind me on my way to the meet, slammed me in the back of the head, and stole the briefcase.”
While I spoke Hush moved in accordance with his name. When he was a foot to my right I slammed my shoulder against that door. The chain broke and the door swung open—fast. Moore didn’t have time to yelp. He was knocked senseless, sprawled out on the floor while Hush and I rushed in, me retrieving the pistol the point man had dropped and Hush securing the door.
I picked Tim up by his shoulders and threw him into a big yellow chair. Hush moved through a doorway to our right and I checked out the space we were in.
The sofa chair was the only seat in the room. It was placed in front of a seventy-two-inch plasma TV with a small table on the side. The floor was made from wide, dark slats of wood and was heavily sealed.
Moore moaned in the chair and slid down. I let him slump onto the floor. I wasn’t concerned about posture or propriety.
The assassin came back in, telling me with a quick gesture of his head that there was no one else in the apartment.
I was somewhat troubled that we worked so well together.
Hush squatted down in front of our target and pinched his cheek until the skin was bright red.
Moore’s eyes came open and fear filled them to the brows.
Hush showed him his pistol.
“We are going to talk,” he said. “Understand?”
Moore nodded.
“Get in the chair,” I ordered, partly to wrest control of the interrogation from Hush.
Tim was a little unsteady getting up but he made it.
“You were tu€3'>“You rying to have me killed,” I said in a markedly pleasant tone. “Why?”
“I wasn’t—”
“Don’t finish that sentence. Don’t lie. I am all out of patience. Just answer my question and maybe you’ll see another day.”
Moore burped loudly. It had a wet sound to it.
I could see a dozen lies forming and dissipating behind his eyes.
Hush settled on the arm of the big chair, holding his pistol almost carelessly. This pose might have seemed unprofessional, but I could see the ever-growing concern in Moore’s eyes. Something about Hush reeked of finality.
Mr. Hush’s wasn’t the only scent. Moore’s sweat was, if anything, even stronger than it had been in my office.
I noticed a small picture frame standing on the little table. It was a photograph of the woman that Moore had in his wallet.
“Hull,” Tim said and then he burped again. “Roman Hull.”
Finally . . . something that made sense.
“How’s that work?” I asked.
“He, he called me and said to be ready.”
“And?”
“A delivery service dropped off a box about fifteen minutes later. There was this cell phone in it. Maybe fifteen minutes more and I got a call.”
“From Roman?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so. It was another voice. They offered me a whole lot of money. A whole lot.” He emphasized the last words as a kind of explanation. After all, wouldn’t I kill him for the kind of money he was suggesting?
“How do you know Hull?” I asked.
“A long time ago I used to be his driver sometimes. He kept in touch with me when I was in Attica. After I got out he’d give me jobs now and then.”
“Where’s the cell phone?”
“Same guy came and picked it up an hour later. He left me the briefcase, too.”
Hush sat up and Timothy flinched.
“Just to get this straight,” I said. “The money was to kill me.”
The frightened man nodded.
“How do you get in touch with him?”
