He didn’t trust the summons; it came too soon after his afternoon with Drea. Maybe Salinas had changed his mind about the offer and was, in retrospect, feeling as if his machismo had taken a hit. It had taken a lot more than a hit, but the assassin didn’t think Salinas had figured that out yet. Drea was too good at what she did; she’d keep quiet about how much pleasure she’d gotten out of the deal.
So he waited, and he watched. He was as curious as ever about Salinas ’s future plans, but while he didn’t have many virtues, patience was one he possessed in abundance. Something was going on; he could tell by the expressions on the faces of Salinas ’s goons, on Salinas himself. The assassin had observed the man coming and going several times, and it was obvious he was in a bitch of a bad mood.
When he judged Salinas had waited long enough, he first indulged himself with a leisurely tour of the Metropolitan Museum, which was one of his favorite places in New York. He didn’t mind the tourists, or the gaggles of children; the exhibits were their own reward. When he was finished, he stood on the broad steps and made the call.
“Come to the penthouse,” Salinas ordered. “When can you be here?”
“I’m nearby,” the assassin said calmly, “but it’s a nice day. Bethesda Terrace, in half an hour.” He disconnected, then turned off his phone and slipped it into his pocket. Not only would Salinas have trouble setting up an ambush in such a short time, but the Terrace was a public place, full of both tourists and city residents. It was also wide open, so his avenue of approach wouldn’t be limited. From there he could disappear into the depths of Central Park, should Salinas be of a mind to have him followed.
He had no idea exactly where Salinas was, so half an hour might be an impossible deadline for him to meet. For himself, though, Bethesda Terrace was a pleasant walk. If Salinas was up in the penthouse, he’d have plenty of time to get there. If he was across town…tough. For something important, he’d make contact again.
The assassin enjoyed making things difficult for the bastard, even in such a small way. Pleasure came where he found it, though, so he followed both his instinct to play it safe, and his inclination to jerk Salinas ’s chain.
He walked into the park, pausing to get an ice-cream cone. Though he knew the park fairly well, he nevertheless bought a map, and spent a few minutes studying it because he liked to know exactly what his options were if he happened to need one. He kept the map in his hand, knowing Salinas would spot it, and draw the conclusion that the assassin didn’t live locally and therefore wasn’t familiar with the layout of the park. The conclusion would be half right, because he didn’t really live in any one place; he stayed in various places for various lengths of time, and right now that place happened to be a few floors below Salinas.
He found a vantage point and watched. If he saw anything that looked suspicious, he’d call off the meet. He knew Salinas wouldn’t meet him alone; a man like that couldn’t afford to go anywhere without his muscle in attendance. The assassin didn’t worry about the thugs he could see, though; it was the ones who weren’t out in the open that he looked for.
Finally he saw Salinas, only a couple of minutes late, and with three men behind him. The assassin studied the surroundings, but didn’t see anything suspicious: he knew many of Salinas ’s men on sight, so he didn’t have to rely only on behavior in judging whether or not it was safe to approach. No one appeared to be lurking without reason, no one seemed to be trying to stay out of sight. Finally he left his own concealment and strolled forward, still eating his ice cream.
Salinas was irritably checking his watch when he looked up and saw the assassin. “You’re late,” he snarled as he gestured his men back.
“Long line at the ice-cream stand,” the assassin said lazily. “What’s up?”
Salinas looked around, then took an old-fashioned transistor radio from his pocket and turned it on. The volume was loud, so loud that if Salinas hadn’t taken a step closer, the assassin couldn’t have heard him.
“Drea stole two million bucks from me, four days ago, and took a powder. I want you to find her and take care of the matter. Permanently.”
A rivulet of melted ice cream trickled down the cone. The assassin caught it with his tongue, hiding his surprise. “You sure? She didn’t seem bright enough-though I guess that would be the proof, right?”
“I’m sure.” Salinas gave a grim smile. “And, yeah, on the list of stupid things to do, ripping me off is right at the top.”
10
NEVER PISS OFF A SMART WOMAN.
Given the timing, he didn’t have to be a genius to understand what had happened. Drea had been more than upset by Salinas giving her away; she’d been furious. This wasn’t just an “I’m leaving you” message, but an “I’m leaving you and take that you bastard!” gesture. As gestures went, it was an attention-getter.
Amused, he took another lick of ice cream. He was more inclined to applaud her than go hunting for her. Still, a job was a job. “Make your best offer,” he drawled. “What’s it worth to you?” He couldn’t decide if he’d take the job until he knew how much was on the table.
Salinas looked around and thumbed the volume on the radio even higher. The people passing by gave him annoyed looks, not that he gave a shit. “The same amount she stole.”
Two million, huh? That definitely put a different light on the situation. He’d have to think about it, but in the meantime he didn’t want Salinas looking for anyone else to take care of the situation. If he didn’t take the job, his delay would at least give Drea a better chance of getting away clean, and the thought gave him a certain satisfaction. He didn’t have to like his clients, but he had nothing but contempt for Salinas.
“Half up front,” the assassin said. “I’ll let you know where to wire it.” Then he tossed the rest of the ice-cream cone in a nearby trash can and strolled away, his manner relaxed, though his eyes never stopped searching his surroundings. He spotted someone who was almost certainly a fed, too suit-and-tie for his surroundings, stooping to tie his shoe while keeping his head slightly turned in Salinas ’s direction. That would be Salinas ’s tail, hurrying to catch up.
The assassin wasn’t particularly concerned. His meeting with Salinas had taken less than a minute, not enough time for a tail to get in place and snap some photos. By the time the tail had arrived, the meeting was over and he was already walking away. He went across the Bow Bridge, then into the heavily wooded Ramble, where there was plenty of cover. Though the day was hot and humid, the temperature hovering close to ninety, there under the thick shade the air was cooler, and he could feel a slight but pleasant breeze against his skin.
He deliberately didn’t think about the offer; time enough for that later, when he was certain he wasn’t being followed. As a matter of habit he focused intensely on the right now, aware of everyone around him, whether or not anyone was approaching him from behind, what his ever-changing avenues of escape were. Paying attention to details had kept him alive this long, so he saw no reason to change his habits. That was why he spotted the second tail almost right away; this guy wore jeans and running shoes, so he wasn’t the fed who’d been following Salinas.
The assassin calmly analyzed the situation. Just because this new tail wore casual clothes, didn’t mean he wasn’t a fed. It just meant he was better prepared. The FBI wouldn’t have any reason for having him followed other than his meeting with Salinas; it was possible they were exploring any and all contacts. Or the tail could be one of Salinas ’s goons, following him for God knows why. Maybe Salinas was pissed because he’d had to walk to the park, and he thought an attitude adjustment in the form of a beating was needed-though, in that case, he’d better send more than one man. Maybe he wanted to know where the assassin lived, no more than that, on the theory that there was no such thing as too much information.