The kid hesitated, probably because the table was what Tyler remembered from his glorious stint as a busboy as a six-top—seating for six—but it was three in the afternoon and the place was nearly empty.
“Sure. Follow me.”
Tyler caught a whiff of cigarette smoke as he followed Jody five paces to the right and sat in the booth.
Oh Jody. You rebel.
“Your server will be with you in a minute.” The kid placed a menu on the table.
“Thanks.”
When the waitress came, bored and clearly underwhelmed by her party of one, Tyler ordered a coffee. Her mood dropped another rung on the enthusiasm ladder.
Two sludgy refills later, a blonde girl with big blue eyes and a heart-shaped ass arrived to tuck her purse behind Jody’s station.
The evening crew had arrived.
Jody chatted for a few minutes, fingering the pack of cigarettes in his pocket.
Here we go.
Jody excused himself and headed for the back.
That’s my cue.
Tyler rose and followed the boy.
Jody pushed through a swinging door into the kitchen. Tyler loitered outside the bathroom for a moment and then pushed into the kitchen. The staff glanced up, and, but for a couple of double takes, ignored him.
Tyler headed straight out the back door, icy wind slicing through his striped, short-sleeved guayabera shirt.
Sweet Jesus. Why didn’t I bring a coat?
He’d lived in Miami so long he’d forgotten weather could be so cold—thought the weather app had been joking.
I’m going to die out here.
He scanned the parking lot to find it empty, but for what he guessed were employee vehicles.
No sign of Jody.
He tried the door to get back inside.
Locked.
Tyler growled.
Hopefully, the kid was still on his way. Tyler decided to wait five more minutes. He set himself up behind the door and stood, shivering, his arms wrapped around his core like nervous pythons.
Three minutes later, the door opened and Jody, wearing a heavy jacket, strode out, fumbling with his pack of cigarettes. He tucked a napkin in the lock to keep the door from sealing and then turned, jumping when he spotted Tyler beside him.
“Jeeze, you scared me,” he said, slapping his hand to his chest.
“Sorry, man,” said Tyler.
Jody laughed. “Are you locked out? Aren’t you freezing?”
Tyler fought to stop his teeth chattering long enough to speak. He nodded to the cigarette. “Could I bum one?”
Jody shrugged and reached for the pack he’d slipped into his jacket pocket.
“Sure—”
Tyler pounced. He wrapped his arm around the kid’s throat and locked him in a chokehold. The warmth of the boy’s body against his own felt wonderful. He twisted to use his victim as a wind shield.
“Tell me what I need to know and you’ll be fine. Got me?” he hissed.
Jody nodded.
“I need the name of a big guy. Blond, beard. He was here with another tough old bird about a month ago. I saw you talking to him like you knew him.”
Tyler released the pressure on the boy’s throat to let him answer.
Jody coughed. “Mr. Nilsson?”
“What’s his first name?”
“I don’t know.”
“Think.”
“I don’t know—”
He jerked Jody back into the corner of the building.
“Think.”
The kid tapped his arm and Tyler eased again.
“Wait—I remember. It’s like that actor with the weird name,” he said.
“Who?”
“He plays tough guys. He was in Lord of the Rings.”
Tyler rolled his eyes. “I don’t watch that magic shit. What’s the name?”
“It starts with a V—Viggo, Viggo Mortensen.”
“The guy’s name is Viggo Mortensen?”
“No. The guy you’re looking for is Viggo Nilsson.”
“Make up your mind.” Tyler tightened his grip. “Jody. Viggo. Don’t you people have anyone named David in this godforsaken place?”
Jody put his hands on Tyler’s arm, struggling. Tyler eased again.
“You got something else?”
The kid shook his head. “That’s all I know.”
Tyler raised his left hand behind Jody’s head and clucked his tongue.
“That’s too bad.”
Curling the fingers on his right hand, Tyler whipped his arm back, catching Jody’s chin in his palm, his left hand applying pressure on the back of the boy’s skull.
The snap! of the kid’s spine filled him with pleasure.
Like popping a zit.
Body limp in his arms, Tyler pushed the kid behind the brown bushes lining the mall’s outer wall. A million tiny icicles stabbed his cheeks, making his eyes water.
He broke into a jog and, rounding the mall, headed for the entrance. He needed to buy a damn jacket.
Minneapolis was as close to hell as he could imagine.
He chuckled as he ran.
Hell, I did the kid a favor.
&&&
Tyler scored on his first attempt. Minneapolis had a thousand Vikings, but the Internet promised only four of them were named Viggo Nilsson.
Four. Unbelievable.
Only one of those had an address close to the mall, though. No one becomes a regular at a restaurant on the far side of town.
Pulling to the curb a few hundred feet down the street from Viggo’s address, Tyler pulled binoculars from his pack and scanned the house. He could see the giant through the sheer drapes covering his front window, sitting, fiddling with something on a table.
That’s the guy.
“Looks like ole’ Jody didn’t lie,” he muttered, exchanging the binoculars for his gun. He couldn’t fly with his favorite weapon, a Dan Wesson Elite Series Havoc, but he’d done a job in Minneapolis before and had known where to get a gun quickly. The Berretta 92 cost him fifteen hundred dollars he wouldn’t be able to expense to the client, but it was a small price to pay to regain his honor.
Snug in his new jacket, Tyler walked between the neighbors’ houses and approached Viggo’s back door, hoping to get lucky. Peering through the window, he could see straight through the small kitchen to a man beyond, sitting
