“What?” Lucky says.
“I’m starving.”
To me he says, “Can you go through the drive-through, get her some fries or something?”
I give him a look.
“Please, Mr. Creed?” Gwen says. “I love french fries.”
I look at her in the mirror. She licks her lips in a way that indicates far more than her love of french fries.
To Lucky I say, “You want anything?”
“Diet coke.”
“And a shake,” Gwen says. “If you don’t mind.”
“Uh huh.” Long as I’m a waiter, might as well go all in. “Anything else, Mr. Peters?”
“No,” Lucky says, “just the drink. And get yourself something. I’m buying.”
Something in his tone. Disrespect? Or maybe I just don’t like the man. I think about how he made his housekeeper, Tina, work tonight, and feel a twitch, the kind I get when bad things start to go down.
Lucky’s staring straight ahead, his eyes focused on something outside the car. Probably calculating the odds on what color car might turn into the lot next. His hands are in his lap, and all I can think of is how careless he is to offer me complete access to two unguarded targets. I’m three feet away. I could kill him two different ways with a single strike. He’s left me not only the temple, but the jugular as well. Temple or jugular. Temple or…”
“Mr. Creed?” Gwen says. “Fries?”
I glance in the mirror.
She does that tongue thing again, and now I’m thinking fries.
That’s me, in the white rental car. Donovan Creed, deadliest man on earth. Ordering fries, a Diet Coke, and a shake at the Wendy’s drive through. Telling the guy, “I’m only going through this line once, son. Don’t fuck up my order.” Him saying, “Relax, Pops. I’m on it.”
Pops?
22.
I drive past Phyllis’s house, turn the corner, and park the car. I tell them to wait two minutes, then circle the block, and drive the car right into the garage.
“You can break in that fast?” Gwen asks.
“Faster. But I want to check the house before you guys enter, to make sure it’s safe.”
“Why wouldn’t it be?” Lucky says.
“Connor Payne.”
“Good point.”
I have zero interest in searching Phyllis’s house for the second time in thirty hours. Gwen doesn’t want to be here either. She’s tired and bored, and it wouldn’t take much to set her off. Lucky’s a different beast. He claims to be exhausted, but gamblers have legendary stamina. They can sit at a poker table for three, four days at a time and never lose the ability to concentrate. In other words, fatigue is not going to make him quit. On the bright side, he’s losing faith in the device, because even if he finds it, he won’t be able to use it without the wrist unit.
I’m not the type of guy to purposely create friction in a marriage unless I’m trying to kill the husband or bang the wife. And even though I’d love to bang Gwen, it doesn’t appear I need to do much more than show up with a bag of fries to make that happen. But since I’m ready to call it a day, I decide to manipulate them into a major argument.
I break into Phyllis’s house quickly, and make my way to her bedroom. From my jacket pocket I retrieve the gift-wrapped box, the one that contains Lucky’s cufflinks and a condom, and the note that says, “Your turn to get lucky!” I place the box on top of the night stand next to her bed. As I head down the hall I can practically hear the time bomb ticking. Then I go to the garage and press the button to open the door.
23.
It’s a long ride back to Lucky’s house. The two are barely speaking to each other.
When they entered Phyllis’s house a few minutes ago, I arranged it so Lucky and I would start searching Phyllis’s office, and Gwen could check the bedroom. It took about ten seconds for her to notice the gift, and she brought it to us immediately.
“Should I open it?” she said.
I asked Lucky, “Does it look about the right size?”
He nodded.
“Go ahead,” I said.
She did.
She didn’t get mad.
