“What happened?”
But he just shook his head.
Esperanza came in and handed Myron the contract. Myron in turn handed it to Chaz. He grabbed it and hurried to the door.
“Sorry, Myron. But this is business.”
“You can’t beat them, Chaz. Not on your own. They’ll suck you dry.”
“Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.”
“I don’t think you can.”
“Just stay the fuck out. It ain’t your business no more.”
He took off without a backward glance. When he was gone, Win opened the door between the conference room and Myron’s office. “Interesting conversation,” Win said.
Myron nodded, thinking.
“We’ve lost a client,” Win said. “Too bad.”
“It’s not that simple, Win.”
“That’s where you’re mistaken,” Win replied steadily. “It’s just that simple. He dumped you for another agency. As he so eloquently put it, ‘It ain’t your business no more.’”
“Chaz is being pressured.”
“And you offered to help him. He refused.”
“He’s a scared kid.”
“He’s an adult who makes his own decisions. One of which was to tell you to fuck off.”
Myron looked up. “You know what they’ll do to him.”
“It’s a world of free will, Myron. Landreaux chose to take the money in college. And he chose to go back to them now.”
“Will you follow him?”
“Pardon?”
“Follow Chaz. See where he takes those contracts.”
“You complicate the simple, Myron. Just let it be.”
“I can’t. You know I can’t.”
Win nodded. “I guess I do.” He thought a moment. “I’ll do it for the sake of our business,” he said. “For the added revenue. If we get Landreaux back in our stable, it will be very profitable. You may enjoy playing superhero, but as far as I’m concerned, this is no moral crusade. I am doing this for the money. That is the only reason. The money.”
Myron nodded. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”
“Fine. As long as we are clear on that point. And I want you to take this.”
Win handed him a Smith & Wesson.38 and a shoulder holster. Myron put it on. Carrying a gun was incredibly uncomfortable, yet the weight felt good, like a reminder of some kind of protective bubble. Sometimes the sensation made you feel heady, invincible even.
That was usually when you got popped.
“Be extra careful,” Win said. “The word has hit the streets.”
“What word?”
“A price has officially been put on your head,” Win said, as if it were amusing cocktail conversation. “Thirty thousand dollars to the man who takes you out.”
Myron made a face. “Thirty thousand? Hell, I used to be a fed. I should be worth sixty, seventy grand minimum.”
“Bad economy. Times are tough.”
“I’m being discounted?”
“Appears so, yes.”
Myron opened the revolver and checked the bullets. Just as he suspected. Win had loaded the gun with dumdums-bullets with cross-hatched tips to expose the lead. Wasn’t enough to be using hollow-point Winchester Silvertip bullets. Win had to doctor them for that extra little crunch. “These are illegal.”
Win put his hand against his chest. “My. Oh. My. How. Awful.”
“And unnecessary.”
“If you say so.”
“I say so.”
“They are effective.”
“I don’t want them,” Myron said.
“Fine” He handed Myron uncut bullets. “Be a wimp.”
Chapter 21
Jessica listened to the message on the answering machine.
“Hi, Jessica. It’s Nancy Serat. I’m so sorry to hear about your father. He was such a nice man. I can’t believe it. He was here the morning he died. So weird He was so nostalgic that day. He told me all about that favorite yellow sweater he gave Kathy. Such a sweet story. I wish I could have been more helpful. I just can’t believe-well, I’m rambling, sorry. I do that when I’m nervous Anyway I’ll be out until ten o’clock tonight. You can come by then or give me a call Bye.”
Jessica rewound the message and played it back. Then a third time. Nancy Serat had seen her father on the morning of his murder.
Another coincidence?
She thought not.
Myron called his mother. “I won’t be home for a few days.”
“What?”
“I’m going to stay with Win.”
“In the city?”
“Yes.”
“New York City?”
“No, Mom. Kuwait City.”
“Don’t be such a wise guy with your mother, save it for your friends,” she said. “So why are you staying in the city?”
Hmm. Should he tell her the truth?
“You sure about this?”
“Yes.”
“Be careful, Myron. Don’t walk around alone at night.”
Esperanza opened the door. “Urgent call on line three,” she said, loud enough for Myron’s mother to hear.
“Mom, I gotta go. Urgent call.”
“Call us.”
“I will.” He hung up and looked up at Esperanza. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.”
“Is there anyone on the phone?”
She nodded. “Timmy Simpson again. I tried to handle it, but he says his problem needs your particular expertise.”
Timmy Simpson was a rookie shortstop for the Red Sox. A major-league pain in the ass.
