“A punk kid named Carl.”
“The Broker’s bodyguard?”
“Yeah. He was trying to shoot me, and I put the Broker between me and him.”
“Well, you did kill the Broker, then, in a way.”
“In a way.”
“Why was the Broker’s bodyguard shooting at you?”
“I told the Broker I was quitting. He thought I was pulling something, and was going to have me put away. It didn’t work out the way he had in mind.”
“Hey, that’s a good story. Maybe the guy that put the contract on you would even buy it. I don’t think so, though.”
“Would it be worth a try?”
“Why the fuck ask me? I’m just another employee.”
“I heard you took over for Broker.”
“You heard wrong.”
Our food came. Sweet and sour shrimp.
“What’d I tell you?” Ash said, his mouth full.
“It’s good food,” I said.
“Look. I’ll do this much for you. I’ll pretend I didn’t run into you. I’ll just look the other way, while you leave.”
“Can I finish my food first?”
“Fuck, yes.”
“And then I just take all that money I made off killing the Broker, and go to Canada or Mexico.”
“Wherever you want. It’s your money.”
“There isn’t any money. But suppose there was. Suppose I killed Broker, and got money for it. Why should anybody care?”
“How the fuck should I know?”
“I want to talk to the man you’re working for. “
“Why?”
“I want to find out exactly why he wants me dead. I want to explain what really happened with the Broker.”
“Then what?”
“Who knows? If he’s taking over, maybe I’ll want my old job back.”
“I don’t know, Quarry.”
“Ask him.”
“I don’t know.”
“It’d be a good idea to ask him.”
“What the fuck… you threatening me, Quarry? What kind of shit is that?”
“You didn’t ask me yet when I got in town.”
“When’d you get in town?”
“Couple days ago.”
“Couple days ago. What you been doin’, since you got in town?”
“Nothing. Looking at dirty pictures and playing with myself.”
“You’ll go blind.”
“I’ll cover one eye.”
“What the fuck you tryin’ to say, Quarry? What you been up to, around here?”
“Nothing. Vacationing. You know. Sightseeing.”
“Sightseeing? In the Quad fucking Cities?”
“Sure. I got this camera. I take pictures of the sights.”
“What sort of sights?”
“Oh, like the river. Important buildings. Classic old homes. Like that brown brick number, up on the hill. You know. That place that looks like some sort of castle or something.”
“When do you want to talk to him?”
“Give me a number I can call.”
He got out a pen and wrote a number on a napkin. “Call this afternoon. Before four.”
“I’ll call sometime before midnight.”
“Whatever.”
“I want to thank you for your help, old buddy.”
“It’s okay. After all, you saved my life once.”
“It was nothing. Believe me.”
“You think I should’ve warned you, huh? Fuck, Quarry, you better than anybody ought to know it’s not that kind of business.”
“How much does it cost you, to get your hair puffed up like that, Ash? Covers up that shiny spot terrific.”
“Fuck you, man. I like my car, and my clothes…”
“And your hair.”
“And my fuckin’ hair, too. I’m doing okay, Quarry, and you shouldn’t begrudge me.”
The Oriental woman came with the check.
“Look,” he said, “I realize I owe you, for that time out west. Maybe I can find some way to pay you back for that, in spite of everything.”
I pushed the check over to him. “Just pay for lunch. That’ll make us even.”
I had him leave before I did, and didn’t follow him.
I had somewhere more important to go.
16
He was still up there. Watching. The sun was out again, and would glint occasionally off the binoculars, and that’s how I knew. He was up there, in that dingy little efficiency apartment, on the second floor of that decaying yellow woodpile that used to be a mansion, watching out the window, watching the brown brick house across the way.
I’d been here all afternoon, sitting in the Buick, parked along the street across from where the apartment house parking lot met the castle’s lawn. I was still dressed casually, like a college kid, and the nine-millimeter was in my lap, with Penthouse over it. It was five-thirty, and it had been a boring afternoon, but I’d found out what I came to find out.
They were going through with it.
It was a job that should have been scrapped a couple times already, but they were going through with it.
Last night Ash seriously screwed up, going in to make the kill and finding an empty house. That alone was enough to consider shelving all plans, stepping aside to let some other team come in and handle it, at a later date.
Then today, over a plate of sweet and sour shrimp, he’d learned from me I’d been in town a couple days and had been watching him and his backup man, and knew they were planning to hit somebody in that brown brick house, and had pretended even to have been taking pictures, of ’em, as I went.
And still they were going through with it.
I’d allowed Ash all afternoon to get in touch with his backup, plenty of time to tell the bogus hippie to get the hell out, which was the only logical thing to do in the situation. But here it was five-thirty, and there the guy was, sitting at his window, with his binoculars, watching the brown brick house across the way.
They were going through with it.
In spite of screwing up last night.
