“The fuck?”
“You got some work for me?”
From the dead silence on the other end of the line I could practically hear the wheels turning.
“What is this, a—whatcha call—previous recording? Someone trying to be funny? Trying to play a bad joke?”
“It’s me. Creed.”
“Bullshit.”
“Go ahead,” I said. “Ask me something only I would know.”
“Holy shit, it is you!”
“You didn’t ask me anything.”
“Only you woulda said something like that. Jesus H. The friggin’ attic dweller comes back from the grave.”
Then, as if something just struck him, Sal said, “I want my money back for the—whatcha call—funeral wreath.”
I laughed. “Take it out of my next job.”
“Don’t think I won’t. So who got killed and passed off as you? And where the hell you been, anyway?”
“You know how it works. That’s classifi ed.”
“And you government fuckers wonder why I have—whatcha call—trust issues.”
“So, you got any work for me, or not?”
“I could give you ten jobs today.”
“Give me an easy one to start. I’m at half strength right now.”
“Which means you’re still the best I ever seen.”
“Stop,” I said. “You’re making me blush.”
“You want easy?” he said. “I was gonna do this one myself.”
“What, some girl scout forgot to deliver your cookies?”
“After all these years you’re still a wise guy,” Sal said.
“I didn’t know wise guys called other people wise guys.”
“I could write a book on what you don’t know. You want this candy job or what?”
“Feed me, Seymour.”
“The fuck you talkin’ about?”
“I want the easy hit first. Then we can talk about the others.”
“That’s my boy.”
“So,” I said, “what makes this hit so easy?”
“The fucker
I didn’t know the fucker, but I knew how he felt.
Chapter 49
“Callie, it’s me.”
