'What happens then? Huh? You gonna kill me, Weiss?'
Weiss breathed and waited.
'That the way you figure it? You think you're gonna kill me?'
'No,' Weiss said finally. 'I'm not a killing man.'
Foy laughed that icy laugh again. 'You're not a killing man, huh? Well, I am. I'm a killing man, for sure.'
'I know.'
'And I will kill you, Weiss. In fact, I want her there to see it. In case she thinks you're her hero coming to save her or something. I want her to see what I do to you, how you die. You think it'll be clean? It will not be clean, my friend. I want her to see that too-to see what I turn you into before I'm done. Then she'll know: it's all me for her. It's just gonna be me, nothing else in her life from then on, that's it. All me. Everything.'
Weiss opened his mouth but nothing came out. He was too sick to speak at this point. Just being so near this guy made him dog-sick.
'So what?' the killer pressed on. 'Huh, Weiss? I really want to know. What do you think you're gonna do? What do you think's gonna happen?'
Weiss forced the words out. 'We'll decide it. That's all.'
'We'll decide it,' the killer echoed. 'You think you're gonna send me to jail? You think they can keep me in some jail somewhere?'
Weiss didn't answer. The killer laughed again, with disdain this time. Then, all of a sudden, he stood up. Weiss saw it in the window and tensed. He saw the ghost of a figure rising, hulking, the face obscured by the night. He felt the atmosphere change, felt the heat and the sourness-the rage-lifting away, a burden lifting.
'All right,' the killer said. 'All right.'
'You'll keep away,' said Weiss.
'Until you find her. I'll keep away until you find her. Then I'll be there.'
Weiss nodded once. 'Good.'
There was another moment, the killer hovering over him. Weiss felt his eyes on the back of his neck, felt his ill will burning there, burning.
'Another thing,' Weiss said.
Foy snorted. 'Another thing?'
'The number. The number Olivia called, that the sister called.'
'What about it?'
'You got it, didn't you?'
There was only a second's pause. 'Sure. I got it. She didn't even wait till you reached the parking lot. She didn't even wait until the door shut. She picked up the phone the second you were gone.'
'Sure. That's how I figured it. I pushed her and she picked up the phone to contact her sister. And you were watching. You got the number, right? You heard the call?'
'Sure.'
'So?'
'So what?'
'So save me some fucking trouble,' said Weiss.
Weiss saw the reflection of the killer, saw him rear a little, then shake his head. 'Oh, that's something, Weiss. You're something. That's good. That's really good. I guess we're a team now, huh? I guess we're partners.'
'Just give me the number.'
The killer recited it. The number and an address and a name too: Kristy.
'Looks like we're heading back to Nevada,' he said.
'Kristy,' said Weiss. 'You got the name too. That's good.'
'Sure. We make a good team, don't we?' said the killer. Then, before Weiss could answer, he said, 'Oh-and by the way. You might want to check out the news if you missed it.'
Weiss didn't like the sound of that. 'The news?'
'The local news. Something about a shooting at the Saguaro Hotel. Yeah, you definitely might want to check it out, Weiss. It'll give you a feeling for how it's gonna be between us.'
Weiss stared at the reflection on the dark window. 'What…?'
'I'll be seeing you,' the killer said.
The reflection sank away to nothing.
When Weiss finally risked a glance over his shoulder, there was nobody there.
37.
With a weary sigh, Weiss pushed into a men's room stall and vomited heavily. The cashews came up out of him, spattering the toilet water. A lot of coffee came up too. Two cups at two bucks apiece. Goddamned airport prices.
Weiss bent over the mess, pressing one hand against the tiled wall. When he finished, he waved the other hand down low in front of the sensor to make the toilet flush. He watched what had been the contents of his stomach swirl slowly down the drain.
For another second or so, he stayed as he was, leaning over. He still felt pretty lousy. He wanted to make sure there was no more. There was no more.
He straightened. Turned. Shoved the door open. Stumbled out of the stall. The lights in the white-tiled room seemed overbright. They made him squint. They made his head hurt behind his eyes. They were like a needle on a naked nerve.
He shuffled to one of the sinks in the line of sinks set under mirrors on the far wall. There was a small, tidy- looking black man washing his hands two sinks over. He gave Weiss a sympathetic nod. Weiss nodded back, embarrassed.
'Airplane food,' the tidy-looking man said.
Weiss managed a smile.
He waved his hands beneath the faucet, catching the sensor, making the water run. He cupped his palms and caught the water and splashed it onto his face. The cool, wet shock revived him. He dragged his hands down over his brow and over his cheeks and chin, wiping the water away. When he was done, he found himself looking into the mirror. The sight was sharp and painful like the men's room light.
The big heavy mournful countenance was pale and unhealthy. The sunken eyes with their dark rings looked ghostly, a dead man's eyes. The hound-dog cheeks had a greenish tinge. The bulbous nose stood out as if the face around it were wasting away. The shaggy salt-and-pepper hair seemed pasted on, a wig on a skull.
'For fuck's sake,' he muttered.
A corpse is an unhappy sight to see anywhere, but to find one in the mirror is depressing as hell. It struck Weiss as a premonition. Just what he needed. He already felt sick to his stomach. Now he felt sick to his stomach and doomed.
I will kill you, Weiss. I want her there to see it.
He shook his head and turned away.
He came out of the men's room, moving unsteadily. The airport surprised him, as if it hadn't been there when he went in. The long, broad corridor surprised him. So did the people moving purposefully to their gates. A tired mom shepherding two dancing children. A businessman with a laptop slung over his shoulder. A young couple with their arms around each other. He stood and watched them go by.
There was a flight boarding to his right, a slow line moving past the ticket taker into the Jetway. There was a woman's voice summoning the passengers over the loudspeaker. There were televisions mounted on the wall. It all surprised him. It was all so modern and busy, present and alive. He felt as if he had come out of a fever dream, a dream of a darker, older world. It surprised him to find this world-this bright, loud, modern world-still here.
Still here. Weiss trudged down the corridor. He came to a row of shops and restaurants. He came to a bar. There were brightly colored hangings around the entryway: wooden cutouts of mountains and cowboys and chili
