an overnight bag and took a cab to the airport. An hour later he was boarding his flight to Acapulco. It departed on time.
Vittorio was having a very nice lunch on the beach at La Jolla with Birgit, his friend, the masseuse, at La Reserve. She was a good six feet tall, blonde, and beautiful in a sweet way.
“So, Vittorio, you’ve come to visit me at last.”
“Yes, and I’ve been looking forward to it.”
“How long can you stay?”
“A day or two. I’ll do the best I can.”
“Is your visit connected with your work this time?”
“Yes. In fact, it’s connected with the same work I was doing last time.”
Birgit laughed. “Yes, she checked in last night. I should have known you would not be far behind.”
“Do you know what name she’s using?”
“Keeler,” she said. “I gave her a massage this morning, and the staff has been talking about her. Apparently, her rich husband recently died.”
“Yes, that’s true. Do you know what her plans for the day are?”
“I believe she’s staying close to her cottage. She made a dinner reservation in the dining room while I was there. Eight thirty this evening.”
“That’s good to know,” Vittorio said, then he set about seducing Birgit, an action she received with alacrity.
53
BARBARA DAWDLED OVER her lunch, thinking. She still had something to clean up before she could be at peace. Jack Cato was no longer of any use to her, so she needed fresh talent, someone closer to the scene. She got out her untraceable cell phone and made a call to Santa Fe, to a woman she had been intimate with when she had lived there.
“Hello?”
“Hello, little one.”
“Barb…”
“
“What’s up, baby?”
“Tell me about you, first.”
“Oh, business is slow, and there’s not much love in my life at the moment.” Betty Shipp was a small, beautiful woman who liked sex of all sorts but preferred women.
“Not in mine, either.”
“Let’s get together, then.”
“I’m afraid I’m a long way from you right now, but maybe later. If business is slow, maybe you could use a nice chunk of money.”
Betty laughed. “Sure, who do I have to kill?”
Barbara said nothing.
“
“You were.”
“Let me guess: the tall guy.”
“And his girlfriend. It’ll be easy; they live together.”
“When?”
“A Sunday morning would be perfect.”
“How?”
“Two each to the head would be nice. Something small will do, maybe a.22.”
“I never did two people before. Come to think of it, I’ve done only one just the one time, and God, the bastard deserved it. You’re the only one who knows.”
“I know; I was your alibi, remember? Here’s how you’ll do it.” Barbara explained in detail. “Got it?”
“Sounds simple enough. You mentioned money?”
“I’ll wire you twenty-five thousand today, another twenty-five when I read about it in the papers.”
“I’ll give you my account number.”
“No. Just go to the Western Union office on Cerrillos Road, you know it. Give me a couple of hours to get it there.”
“You got a deal. I never liked him anyway.”
“You’ll like her even less, baby.”
“When will I see you?”
“We’ll need to wait a few weeks for things to cool down, then I’ll bring you to a place you’ll love. Bye-bye, sweetie.”
“Bye.”
Barbara hung up and went to her suitcase for the cash.
JACK CATO WALKED through the Acapulco airport, his eyes darting everywhere.
Ahead and to his right a man in a red straw cowboy hat held up a sign. Jack caught his eye as he passed and nodded, then continued outside. He stood on the curb and watched the man cross the road to the parking lot, then he followed.
The man in the red hat walked to a van, opened the rear doors and got in, leaving the doors open. Jack looked around, then got in, too.
“Good day, senor,” the man said.
“Good day.”
“I got some things for you.” He unfolded a map. “You know Acapulco?”
“Pretty good.”
The man pointed with a stubby finger. “Here is the airport. You leave, turn right, take the coast road. A few miles, you pass a bar, El Toro Loco, then you take your first right turn and follow the road to the beach and turn left. It’s the boss’s house, numero 1040. You can remember that?”
“Easy.” He remembered that he was going to have to do something about filing his tax return, unless he wanted another government agency searching for him.
“You park your car here,” the man said, pointing.
“Car?”
The man rapped on the side of the van. “Parked just here.” He handed over the keys. “Every afternoon, five o’clock, about, the two women go to El Toro Loco for a margarita, then they go to town for shopping, on this road, here. It’s a quiet road; you can hit them going or coming, take your pick. Must look like a robbery, yes?”
“Yes, I know.”
The man handed him a very small semiautomatic pistol. “Is.380, plenty big?”
“Yes.”
“Comes with this,” the man said. He handed over a Ziploc bag containing two magazines, a silencer and a pair of latex gloves, and, using a handkerchief, he dropped the gun into the bag.
“Gun and bullets don’t have no prints on them. You use gloves when you handle and when you drive car, got it?”
“Got it.”
“When you are finished, you drive into Acapulco and park car somewhere, walk away, leave nothing. Get a hotel. You call the man. He will arrange to meet you with the money; he will tell you where. Then you go back to Tijuana. Go now. Any questions?”
“Do the two women have names?”
“You know them: Tina and Soledad.”
He knew them. Wells was leaving no loose ends. He thought maybe he would like to fuck them first, as he had
