'What you think, Rico?' she said to Patresse, and discovered she could hardly speak, so short of breath was she.
'He's dead. You got him. You gonna be all right, joe?'
'Yeah.'
They moved forward cautiously, levelling their guns, ready to fire at the first movement. The other cops were moving in too. A dozen pointing gun muzzles staked the man's body. The driver of the Chevrolet threw her gun down on the ground, and covered her face with her hands.
Teresa could hear her wailing with fright and misery.
They all advanced slowly, but William Cook was not going anywhere. His head was tilted back at a horrible angle, and a rictus of pain distorted his face. His eyes stared into inverted distance. Teresa kicked his rifle away from him, just in case, and it skittered across the dusty road.
Her arm was bleeding badly.
'I guess that's it,' said Patresse. 'You wanna get that arm looked at, joe?'
'In a while,' she snarled, and kicked the body of William Cook in the gut, with just enough force to be finally sure he was dead. 'You OK there, ma'am?' she growled at the witness.
'Sure, honey.'
'You carryin' a licence for that gun, ma'am?'
Then Teresa stood back and looked around again at the static scenery, glowing in the windless heat of the day.
She Located, Identified, Verified, Envisioned, Removed.
LIVER.
Copyright (0 GunHo Corporation in all territories
The words stayed visible for a few seconds, then faded slowly and smoothly. There was no music.
CHAPTER 23
Teresa ate alone in the hotel dining room that evening. She used her elbow to hold open the paperback beside her, while she forked in the food with one hand. She was glad there was no one else around. Amy served her, coming and going with the dishes, not saying anything unnecessary, but nevertheless seeming friendly. There was no sign of the four young Americans, and when Amy brought coffee Teresa asked if they had checked out.
'No. They said they wanted to eat out this evening. 1 think they went to Eastbourne.'
'Do you think they're going to find the sort of food they like in Eastbourne?'
'You know about the food, do you?'
'Nick has dropped a few hints. 1 gather they're picky.'
Amy said nothing, but smiled and moved away from her table.
Teresa dawdled over her meal, because a long unoccupied evening loomed ahead, and she wanted to resist the easy temptation of the bar as long as possible. She had a few practical matters to attend to; notably, she needed to sort out her credit-card accounts. Every use of the ExEx equipment ran up a large bill. Although in theory the bills would be comfortably within her credit limits, the accounts, she had belatedly realized, would be sent for settlement to her home address. As there was no one there to forward mail nothing would be paid until after she went home. She had noticed 24hour emergency phone numbers printed on the backs of the cards, and she was planning to call them this evening to try to straighten out the problem.
She was tired after her long and physically demanding sessions on the ExEx equipment, and in similar circumstances at home she would have killed the evening mindlessly: watching TV, catching up with letters or housework, calling friends. None of these appealed or was possible while she was stuck in her hotel room, and the thought of running up more transatlantic phone charges from a hotel line was discouraging. The time differences anyway meant most of her friends would still be at work.
So she continued to read the paperback while she sipped her coffee at the table. When she realized Amy was waiting for her to finish up, she reluctantly closed the book and went upstairs, thinking vaguely about what to say to the creditcard company, and how to say it in the shortest way.
As she walked down the short hallway towards her room, card-key ready in her hand, she became aware that someone was standing in the shadows at the far end. A disagreeable sensation of fear passed through her. The man stepped forward. He went as far as the door to her room, then halted. He stood there, waiting for her.
She recognized him immediately as Ken Mitchell, the young man who had spoken to her before, and the fear dissolved into irritation. She recalled that the last time they had met he had also been in wait for her outside her room.
'Hi there, ma'am,' he said, with his falsely friendly smile.
'Good evening.'
She raised the keycard, and looked ahead to the door lock, trying to disregard him. He stood right beside her door, in such a way that if she wanted to go ahead and open it she would have to press past him. She could smell something expensively and subtly aromatic: a tonic lotion, a hair dressing, a body oil. He was wearing a suit, but it was cut in a casual style and made of lightcoloured fabric, for informal wear. His tie was straight, knotted neatly, and with a restrained pattern. His hair was short and tidy. He had white, regular teeth, and his body looked fit. He made her crave to ruin him violently in some way.
'I've been trying to find you, Mrs Simons. We need to speak together.'
'Excuse me, I'm tired.'
