“No, no. We need the head.”
“The whole thing?”
But of course. Pity was, Kowalski didn’t know any crime-scene cleanup crews in Houston. It would be a new city for him. Shame it couldn’t have been in Philadelphia. The Dydak Brothers would have had a field day with a head removal.
“We need something else.”
“Anything for you,” said Kowalski, but immediately he regretted it.
Keep things professional.
“We’d like you to pin down the location of a woman named Kelly White. Want me to spell it?”
“White as in the color?”
“Yes.”
“What do I need to know about her?”
“She may have come in contact with Professor Manchette within the past forty-eight hours. We’d like to know if this is true.”
Kowalski said fine, and thought about asking his handler to meet for dinner when he got back. Just to catch up. He wanted to say, Hey, it’s not as if I’m tied down to any broad. Not anymore. Nope, not as of a few months ago.
And I’m not going to be a father, either.
But he let it drop.
Kowalski caught another cab and told the driver to take him to Philadelphia International Airport. The interior was blue vinyl. It smelled like someone had sliced a dozen oranges and then baked them to mask the aroma of sweat. A square red CHECK ENGINE was lit up on the dashboard.
“There is no flat fee,” the driver said.
“What do you mean?”
“Only apply Center City. We are twelve block south. You must pay what’s on meter.”
“But South Philly is closer to the airport than Center City. Hence, it should be cheaper.”
“No flat fee.”
Kowalski considered asking the driver to take him to Dydak Brothers turf and then shoving him up against a wall and blasting his head off—that’d be a nice little cleanup job for the Polish boys. Bet you didn’t know you were messing with the South Philly Slayer, did ya pal? Too much to risk, though. Kowalski had to return to this city soon enough, and he didn’t need additional complications. The press was already writing stories about a psycho with a rifle hunting down gangsters. He had to finish this before he was caught and had to cash in too many favors.
“You know what? I’m not worried about the flat fee. Let’s go.”
THE WHEELMAN. Copyright © 2005 by Duane Swierczynski. All rights reserved.
