Lethal People

“I’ll entertain a hypothetical,” Unger said, “provided it’s a short one.”

“Suppose I win ten million dollars in the state lottery.”

“Go on.”

“I get a lump sum payment of ten million and use one million of it to pay off my outstanding loans. I look for a way to invest the balance. My attorney tells me about an annuity he’s found that’s offered by a privately funded group of investors from California.”

Unger had been saying, “Uh huh,” to move me along, but when I said, “California,” he suddenly became silent. I continued, “The lawyer says the return is astronomical, three times what I can get anywhere else. Not only that, but I’ll get this huge monthly payment for the rest of my life! If I die before receiving the first month’s payment, my wife gets the annuity payment for the rest of her life. But somewhere in the fine print, the contract says if my wife and I both die after receiving at least one payment, the entire principal is forfeited to the company. That sound about right?”

We were both silent awhile until I said, “How much did they pay you?”

“I beg your pardon?” Unger asked, working to put on a show of great indignation.

“Joe DeMeo,” I said. “How much commission did he pay you to place the contract, to sell out your own client?”

“I don’t have to listen to this!”

“You signed their death warrant,” I said.

“I’m going to hang up now,” Unger said.

“Before you do, I want you to give DeMeo a message for me.”

“I don’t know any DeMeo,” Unger said.

“Of course you don’t.” I gave Unger my cell phone number and said, “If by some chance you happen to cross paths with DeMeo, have him call me before six tonight. If he fails to do so, I’m going to call the FBI and see what they think about my hypothetical theory.”

CHAPTER 16

I hung up and waited to hear from DeMeo.

Joseph DeMeo lived in LA, which got me to thinking about Jenine, the young model and potential body double from Santa Monica I’d told Callie about, the one I’d been sharing e-mails with for a couple of months. Listen to me: model. At best she was a model hopeful, and I was nearly twice her age. We both knew what this was. We’d shared a couple of photos and text messages, she’d invited me to visit her, and I’d said I’d try, next time I was in the area.

I took a cat nap and woke up and waited for DeMeo’s call. While waiting, I challenged myself to remember all the plates I was trying to keep spinning in the air. I was testing the ADS weapon for the army. Okay, that’s one. Two, I was trying to keep Janet from marrying the shit bird from West Virginia. Three, I was trying to start a romance with the shit bird’s ex. Okay, well that plate had already fallen and crashed, but I was going to have to deal with the effect it had on me, so maybe that’s four. Maybe the model from LA could help me get over the feelings I had for Kathleen. I’d make that one plate number five.

I spied the empty tumbler by the phone. There was plenty left in the bottle. I poured another shot into the glass and worked it around my tongue, thinking, Now let’s see, where was I? Oh yeah, plates in the air. Number six: I had started accepting murder contracts from an angry, quadriplegic midget with dreadlocks. Seven: I was still taking contracts for Sal Bonadello, the crime boss. Eight: I was trying to set up a face-to-face with Joe DeMeo, a meeting that would almost certainly result in my death. And of course, I still had my day job of killing terrorists for the government. So that made nine plates.

I was as out of control as the Looney Tunes conga line. It was time to wrap up some of these loose ends. I called Lou Kelley.

“You got my information yet?”

“If you’re referring to the age progression on Kathleen, I e-mailed it to you an hour ago.”

“What about the match profile on Lauren?” I asked.

“Well, I didn’t know her name till just now, but you were right. If her picture is current, our guys can get her up to 91 percent.”

“So that’s a powerful resemblance,” I said.

“It is.”

“If I wanted to pass Lauren off as Kathleen, who could I fool?”

Lou thought about that a bit. “You wouldn’t fool her spouse or a close friend or relative. Beyond that, you’re probably okay.”

“Good. That’s what I was hoping to hear.”

I asked Lou about getting me a jet. He put me on hold a few minutes while he made the arrangements. He got back on the line and said, “Got one. It’ll be waiting for you at the FBO in White Plains, at the Westchester County Airport.”

“How far is that from where I am?”

“Depends on where you are,” Lou said.

I told him. He hit a few computer keys and said, “Fastest way is to get you a chopper. The flight is only ten minutes, but it’ll take me about forty to set up. If you’re not in a hurry, you can use a driver, but I’d wait a couple hours before heading there, since it’s rush hour now.”

I looked at my watch. “If I leave the hotel around seven?”

“You’re looking at an hour’s drive to White Plains, maybe more.”