“That’s the whole point!” Finley said. “Don’t you get it? How fucking stupid are you people?”
“Jesus,” David said.
“I don’t think even he could help you now,” Duckworth said.
“I think that’s all for today,” Finley said. “My campaign manager, Mr. Harwood, is available for any further questions.”
He broke through the small gathering and started heading for his car, but the reporters were moving with him.
“How old did you think she was?” someone shouted.
“What does your wife think about you running again?” asked another.
“For fuck’s sake!” Finley said, moving forward, head down. “It’s all ancient history!”
David was in pursuit, as was Duckworth, who managed to come up alongside the former mayor and say, “Where’d you get that, you son of a bitch?”
Finley glanced at him and, in the midst of the disaster his announcement had turned into, managed a smile.
“Best to your boy,” he said, reaching his car. He hit the unlock button on his remote and scrambled into the front seat, locking the doors immediately.
David banged on the passenger window. “Hey!” he shouted. “Let me in!”
But Finley threw the car into drive and took off down the street, leaving the reporters, and David, standing there.
Duckworth needed a few seconds to catch his breath, then asked David, “How’s the new gig working out?”
Fifty-seven
Ed Noble parked the car close to the back of the Laundromat so he could make a quick getaway once he’d put a bullet in Samantha Worthington’s head. He left the car unlocked. What he would’ve really liked to do was leave the keys in, with the engine running. Pull the trigger, run out the back door, hop in the car, and away he’d go.
But that’d be just stupid. There was always the possibility someone — a kid, more than likely — might stroll by and be unable to resist the temptation to take the car for a joyride.
Ed Noble wasn’t sure this was a nice enough neighborhood to take the chance. Didn’t matter where you were — you just couldn’t trust people. He was no fool.
So he got out of the car, pocketed his keys, untucked his shirt so it hung over the small gun he had tucked into the waistband of his pants. It occurred to him, just then, that this gun Yolanda had given him didn’t have a silencer on it. It was going to make a big bang when it went off. All the more reason to have the car close. By the time anyone came to check out what the noise was, he’d be gone.
He was feeling a little bit jazzed about all this. And, if he was honest with himself, scared, too.
Ed had never actually killed anyone before. Hurt, sure. There was that one time he and Brandon — before Brandon held up that bank and got sent up — one night in the North End they beat up this guy good who’d looked at Ed’s girlfriend — well, former girlfriend — the wrong way. Dragged him out the back door when the guy went to take a piss, punched him in the head until he’d lost consciousness, then tried this thing they’d seen in a movie, where they laid the guy out on the street, put his open mouth on the edge of the curb, like he was trying to take a bite out of it, then stomped on the back of his head.
Fuck, the noise. Like you were snapping a two-by-four over your knee.
That was probably the worst thing Ed had ever done. Until he’d tried to kidnap that kid yesterday. But even that was pretty much nothing compared to what he was about to do now. It was like adding to your résumé. When people found out what you could do, you’d get better and better jobs. He knew this would all get back to Brandon, and the guys he knew on the inside. There might be things they’d need done out in the real world, things Ed could help them with.
Word of mouth was everything.
Noble didn’t head straight for the back door. He moved quickly for the wall. Then he inched along it, heading for the door, touching the gun beneath his shirt, making sure it was there, even though he could feel it digging into his side. There was a grimy, dust-covered window between him and the door. He leaned into it, putting one eye on the inside of the Laundromat.
The window looked in on the office at the back. It afforded a view of a desk jammed into one corner, cleaning supplies, a worktable with a coin-sorting machine sitting on it, mini-boxes of soap and other supplies, a calendar on the wall from a local appliance firm that probably serviced the machines. There was a door on the opposite wall that led into the main area. It was open, and Noble could see a sliver of what was going on in there.
He could see the woman, talking to someone. The door wasn’t open wide enough to make out who.
That wasn’t good.
He was hoping there’d be no one there, but of course she was running a business, and there was always the possibility there’d be customers. But if Noble could get Sam when she was in the office, and the door was closed, if someone heard a gunshot, he figured he’d have time to get away without being spotted.
He moved quickly to the other side of the window, gripped the doorknob, and slowly turned it. He pulled the door open half an inch per second until it was just wide enough to allow him to slip inside. Once he was in, he shut the door noiselessly behind him.
He could hear Sam and some man talking. About a fire, about clothes that smelled all smoky.
Noble thought the voice sounded familiar.
Can’t be, he thought.
He could swear the guy she was talking to was the same one who’d been there the morning before, who’d thrown soap in his eyes. If Noble ended up having to shoot a witness, was there a better witness to shoot?
Noble stepped quietly to the other side of the room, positioned himself by the door.
Waited.
He heard the man say something about leaving his car unlocked. Noble’s heart was pounding as he took the gun into his right hand.
Footsteps headed this way.
Just in case there was someone else out there washing clothes, he wanted the door shut and locked before he pulled the trigger.
Needed to buy himself those extra few seconds.
She came into the room, right past him.
He rushed her from behind, using his gun hand to reach around her, his left to cover her mouth. She managed a millisecond of scream.
“Not a fucking sound,” he whispered into her ear.
She squirmed in his arms, fought hard until he brought up the gun so she could see it.
Sam went still.
“That’s smart,” he said. “Don’t do anything stupid and you’ll be just fine.”
Yeah, right.
“We’re just going to move together over to the door.”
He pulled her backward, one hand still over her mouth, his other hand now pressing the gun to her temple. Once they were close enough to the door, Noble shut it with his foot.
There was a dead bolt.
“Don’t you make a sound now,” he said, taking his hand off her mouth long enough to throw the bolt.
He was pleased she hadn’t screamed. The gun, clearly, had scared her into keeping her mouth shut. He felt he could release his grip on her. She turned around, her eyes wide, her face full of fear.
It was kind of a turn-on, seeing how scared she looked.
“What now?” she asked. “What the hell do you want?”
“Who was that you were talking to?” he asked.
“What?”
“Out there. Is that the same asshole from yesterday?”
She had her eyes on the gun. “Just tell me what you want, Ed.”
“It’s what Yolanda wants,” he told her.
Just do it. Don’t stall. Don’t draw it out.
“Carl’s not here,” she said. “He’s at school. And they’re not letting him out of their sight. You can’t pull the kind of stunt you pulled yesterday.”