'Will there be anything else, ma'am?'
'Not for right now, Emma. Not for right now.'
Emma thought how you didn't often hear Mrs Tappley's voice this soft and sentimental.
But tonight she sat in the darkened den watching all the old films of her son Peter when he was growing up.
How she loved those old films, Emma thought.
Some nights Mrs Tappley would stay in the den until midnight, and sob with such great pain and loss that Emma herself would begin to cry.
Losing a son that way, in the electric chair.
No wonder the woman watched the old films so often, and cried so hard.
CHAPTER 18
There was always risk, and Corday loved it.
In Los Angeles, he had once been trapped in the hold of a ship with two drug dealers he'd been hired to kill. They each had automatic weapons: Corday had only a knife. They had some fun with him, chasing him across the hold, laughing when he tripped and fellbut they had not counted on his intelligence. When he fell, he pretended to bang his head, and become unconscious.
At first the dealers accused him of faking. 'Hey, man, get up, we ain't gonna fall for that old trick.' But after a few minutes, the mood in the hold suddenly turning tense, one of the dealers walked over to the fallen man and leaned down to see if he could hear breathing. Corday put the knife deep into the dealer's right eye, then pulled the dealer down on top of him, snatching the man's weapon. Even before the other dealer could figure out how to fire without hitting his buddy, Corday had killed them both, firing until the automatic pistol was empty and the hold an echo chamber of fired rounds.
There was risk tonight, and Corday loved it.
He rode up to the floor where Eric Brooks had his office and stepped off the elevator.
Plum and gray walls; plush plum carpeting. Nice. Not so nice was the lavish painting of Eric Brooks that made him resemble Clint Eastwood. That kind of bone-clean manliness. You'd think a guy would be embarrassed to parade his fantasies publicly like this. 'Hey, outside I'm this kind of nerdy jerkbut inside, I'm Clint Eastwood.'
Corday looked around.
Nobody in the hall.
Listened for cleaning people. Vacuum or toilets flushing as they were being cleaned. Heard nothing.
Tugged on his latex gloves.
Walked up to the massive wooden door with the name ERIC BROOKS engraved in it. Another touch of humility.
The gray and plum motif continued inside. Corday didn't know anything about interior decorating, but these sure were fancy digs. Eric Brooks might be a weenie but he was a successful weenie. Had to give him that.
Corday went deeper inside to where a group of furnishings were arranged in the center of a vast open area. The general reception was regaled with even more evidence of Eric Brooks' ego. Here were framed hunting photos of him. Corday smiled. God, the guy really was a weenie. Great white hunter. God.
From the reception area, Corday turned right, taking a hallway down several yards then turning left. Here was the reception area and inner sanctum of the King himself.
Corday stood still, listening again.
A voice. Inside Eric's office.
Corday moved swiftly, silently to the partially opened door.
Eric. Laughing. 'You treat ole Eric right, he'll treat you right.' Beat. 'Remember that afternoon I gave you a grand just to go blow on clothes? Well, that could happen again some time. I mean, if you're nice to old Eric.' Beat. 'Babe, I know you're trying to give your marriage a serious shot but just a quick lunch tomorrow is all I'm asking. You know, in my office.' Half beat. 'Right. Like the old days.' Half beat. Giggle. 'I'll introduce you to Mr Bill again. You can give him a nice big kiss. You remember Mr Bill, don't you?' Half beat. 'Good, because he sure remembers you.'
Eric made it so easy.
He was so caught up in laying out his plans for lunch tomorrow that he didn't hear Corday come up behind him.
Eric: 'Anything special you want for lunch? Besides Mr Bill, I mean?' Giggle. 'You want me to tell you what I want for lunch?' Giggle. 'He's pulling into the driveway? You better go, babe.' Beat. 'Around noon would be great. Bye, babe.'
Eric hung up without turning around.
Then he got up from his desk and walked to his window and looked out over the Chicago skyline.
Still unaware of Corday behind him.
Corday smiled.
Great white hunter.
Guy is standing just a few feet behind him with a deadly weapon and the sonofabitch doesn't even hear him.
Corday walked around the desk and perched himself on the edge of it. 'Evening, Eric,' he said.
Brooks turned, startled, stunned. 'Who the hell are you?'
'Death,' Corday said. 'At least for you, I am.'
'Is that supposed to be funny?'
'No. It's supposed to be the truth.'
'How the hell did you get in here?'
'You think I could get me one of those photos of you in your great white hunter outfitfor my own personal collection, I mean?' Corday smiled. He had a wondrously icy smile and knew it. 'How many native boys did it take to bring down that rhino?'
Eric hesitated a moment, looking left, looking right, then plunging for the phone.
Corday clamped an iron hand on Eric's wrist.
Eric glared at him a moment then lifted his hand from the receiver. When Corday let go, Eric started rubbing his wrist. Corday was one strong guy.
'Fifty bucks says your sphincter goes.'
'What the hell are you talking about?' Eric said. But he knew what Corday was talking about. Knew damned well.
'The medical examiner always told me that when the sphincter goes, it's just an autonomic response. Doesn't mean you're a coward or anything. Just as many brave guys have their sphincters go as cowardly guys. At least, that's what the medical guys tell me. But you know what? I don't believe them. I think a really brave guy could control it. Even when he's in so much pain he can't even feel anything anymore.' Corday paused. 'Fifty bucks says your sphincter goes.'
Eric's right hand had started to twitch. 'There isn't a lot of cash up here. I could maybe scrape up five, six hundred or so.'
'Didn't come for cash, Eric.'
He screamed then, a high piercing animal scream, a recognition of the final darkness closing in. 'Then what the hell are you doing here?'
Corday took the scissors from his pocket. 'I already told you that, Eric.'
Eric started running his hands through his thinning hair, pacing off little six-steps-and-back tattoos on the sweetly carpeted floor. He paused and said, 'This is my wife, right? Hiring some hit guy to take care of me? Right? Am I right?'
'Eric, a great white hunter like you should know that a ''hit guy' like me could never tell who hired him. Us 'hit guys' just don't do things like that, Eric. Sorry.'
Now both of Eric's hands were twitching. His eyes were filling with tears.
