A Bomb Built in Hell

to—”

“I don’t care what he wants. I want him. I want to talk to him, you understand? Alone. Just for five minutes.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“You got two choices. I could cut you real quiet and just wait for him back here in this room ... or you could go out front and bring him back here with you.”

“I’ll bring him back. He’d like to go with me. He asked me before. I could—”

“Just relax. Look at this: you know what this is?”

He held the Beretta in one hand, the knife still at her throat with the other.

“I know what it is.”

“Do the other girls get angry if you take a customer?”

“Nobody would get mad if I took him. They only take him in here at all because he’s got a real strong friend in the Square.”

“I know all about his friend—that’s who I work for. I’m here to take the diamond outta that nigger’s ear, you understand?”

“Why didn’t you just say so, man? I know the score. You don’t need the knife, I’ll—”

“You wait in the doorway,” Wesley cut her off, pointing. “Right there. When he comes in, you bring him back here with you. You say anything to the fat man, you scream, you do anything, I’ll put a bullet in your spine before you finish.”

“Okay, okay, stop talking like that. Give me another twenty-five.”

“For what?”

“So’s I can go out and tell Harry that you’re paying for another session—that way he won’t bother you. Then I’ll tell him you’re getting cleaned up so he won’t wonder about you being back here, okay?”

“Okay. Go ahead.”

Wesley’s alternative plan was to shoot both the girl and the manager and be waiting at the desk when the black man came in. If she did anything bogus, he’d have the decision made for him. He screwed in the silencer, making sure the girl saw it, gave her another twenty-five dollars, and watched from the doorway as she walked to the desk.

“Here’s another payment, Harry. Client wants another session.”

“Good. Make this one shorter, understand?”

“Sure, Harry, but I want to work him for a tip, too.”

“Bitch, you work for me, not the fucking customers, understand?”

“Okay, Harry—I’ll get him out soon.”

The manager went back to his newspaper. Wesley thought he must have fantastic eyes to read in that dim light. Joanne returned to the room, walking past Wesley, who was still in the doorway.

“I did it.”

“I heard. Is he going to freak if the black guy comes back here with you without me leaving yet?”

“Man, I thought you knew what that guy’s scene was. Harry wouldn’t expect you to come out.”

“Okay. Just be quiet and wait now.”

45/

They sat in silence as the door opened. It wasn’t the black guy. The new customer seemed to know who he wanted and sat down to wait. In a couple of minutes, a tall, thin girl came out of one of the other rooms and he followed her back. It was 10:48.

The door opened again. It was the black man, wearing a red velour jumpsuit and red shoes with four-inch platform heels. Joanne slipped past Wesley and switched her hips into the front room. The black man looked up as she entered. Joanne smiled and motioned with her hand.

“Changed your mind?” the black man asked.

“A girl can, can’t she?”

The black man followed her back toward the room. Wesley was just walking out of the same doorway. As they moved past him, Wesley wheeled and rammed the silencer viciously into the black man’s kidney. The black man pitched forward into the tiny room, the girl just ahead of him. They went down in a sprawl of bodies. Neither made any effort to get up. The black man was transfixed by the extended barrel of Wesley’s gun.

“No noise,” Wesley told him.

“What is this?”

“It’s a quiz show—you give me the right answers and you win a big prize.”

“Don’t be stupid, man. You know who I am?”

“Yeah.”

Wesley pulled the handcuffs from the webbing belt and walked toward the black man, who extended his wrists as though he’d been through this routine a thousand times. Wesley slammed one cuff over the black man’s