I led the way out the door, leaving behind the bitter, spiked coffee and the paper while he trailed, keeping close enough so I knew he was there but far enough so it didn’t look like I was being coerced.
“To the right,” he said. “Down the alley, then left.”
“I just met you, you’ve got a gun pointed at my back, and you want me to go with you down an alley?”
“Yep.”
“Just checking.”
It was a fairly unremarkable alley. Not too narrow, with a couple of trash cans, a Dumpster, and a fire escape ladder just out of reach. Pretty typical. But it was long and it was out of view to the public at large, and there was nobody else in it.
At a convenient moment, I spun around and hit just the right spot on his wrist to compel him to drop his gun, which I caught with my free hand. With one sweep of my leg I buckled his knees, and just like that I was standing over my erstwhile captor holding his gun with him kneeling before me.
Here’s a little bit of advice if you ever meet an immortal and feel like challenging him to a fight. It is simply impossible to live this long and not pick up a few hand-to-hand combat techniques here and there. I was a black belt before there was such a thing. Not that I’m bragging.
“Well,” my new friend said, “that was impressive. Did you break my wrist?”
“No, but you may have to give it a couple of minutes before you try and use it again. What do I call you?”
“Stan.”
“What’s this about, Stan?”
“Can I get up?”
“No.”
“It’s just that my knees kinda hurt.”
I pressed the gun against his forehead.
“All right,” he conceded. “I’m a bounty hunter.”
I pulled back. “That’s a new one. Who put a bounty on me?”
“No idea. It’s a private contract. Unofficial. Very under the table.”
“Sounds illegal.”
“That’s sort of splitting hairs, isn’t it?” he answered. True enough. It had to be illegal, as the police had only been looking for me for two days. This was about something else.
“Dead or alive?” I asked.
“Alive.”
“That’s heartening.”
“With allowances for wounding.”
“You’re over-sharing,” I pointed out. “What were you supposed to do with me once you found me?”
“Call a number.”
“What number?”
“The job came with a scrambled phone. It automatically calls the correct number, so I have no idea.”
“That’s convenient,” I said. “Did the syringe come with the package, too?”
“Yes.”
“Where’s the phone?”
“In my car,” he said, adding, “look, my knees are starting to hurt here.”
“Oh, stop whining. Keys?”
“In my pocket.”
“What kind of car?”
“Caddy Escalade. Black.”
“Nice ride,” I commented. I didn’t know what an Escalade looked like, but I knew what a Cadillac was.
“I make a decent living,” he said. “Look, I really wasn’t going to hurt you. You seem like a nice enough guy and all.”
“Thanks, Stan. I need to know something else. A couple of nights ago two friends of mine were beaten to death in their apartment. You know anything about that?”
“No,” he said.
I cuffed him in the ear with the butt of the gun.
“Oww!” he cried.
“Try again,” I suggested.
“It wasn’t me, all right? There are other bounty hunters out there. You’re worth a lot of money to somebody.”
“How much?”
He hesitated. “Five million.”
“Wow.” I know inflation has changed the relevance of the word “million” but that still sounded like a lot.
“Yeah, wow,” he agreed. “So, now everybody is in on it.”
“How’d you find me?”
“Lucky,” he said. “I saw your picture in the paper. I was heading to the police station to ask for details on the case. Figured they had a lead on you. But then I saw you outside.”
Guess my big makeover wasn’t as thorough as I thought. “Cops just hand out information like that?”
“I’m FBI.”
“No shit?”
“No shit.”
“Show me.”
I let him pull out his wallet. He handed it over. It looked real enough to me, but then what do I know? I pocketed it.
“Thought you said you weren’t law enforcement,” I said.
“I said I wasn’t police. And I’m not acting in an official capacity at this particular moment in time.”
“The ID says you’re based in San Antonio. They let you drive off whenever you feel like it?”
“Technically I’m on suspension.”
I smiled. “You’re a bit dirty, aren’t you Stan?”
He didn’t respond.
“Okay, you can stand up,” I said.
Stan pulled himself to his feet with help from the wall, while I checked both ends of the alley. Didn’t look like anybody had noticed us.
“Thanks,” he said. “Now what?”
“Now we have a problem,” I admitted.
“Yeah?”
“Look at it from my perspective, Stan. You’re a killer. You know how I know that? Because you were willing to accept the consequences of your little injection without blinking. Now I can’t let you go because you’ll just try and find me again, and next time you probably won’t give me a chance to disarm you. And I’m not at all fond of the whole being-turned-in-on-a-bounty thing in general. I’m more of a free spirit in that way.”
“I could just walk away,” he said, his voice rising somewhat. “Forget we ever met.”
“I don’t think you’d do that. Plus, you know what I look like. You could put that information to pretty good use. Maybe make a little money out of it.”
“I wouldn’t,” he insisted.
“Stan, Stan, Stan. I’m not stupid. I didn’t get to live this long by being stupid. I’m sorry, but when you think about it none of this was my idea.”
“But…”
I pressed the gun up to his chest and fired, once.
It made a little pop like a cork. Just like he said.
