Before she’d even finished asking, he was out of the wheelhouse. When she reached the deck, he was lowering himself over the side of the boat into the knee-deep water. “Coburn!”
“Can’t leave the truck back there.” He hesitated, then, swearing under his breath, pulled her cell phone and its battery from his pocket. “I guess I should leave you a phone. Just in case something happens to me. But I’m trusting you not to use it. If you have to call someone, call 911 and only 911.” He passed her the two components.
“How do you…”
“Lucky for us, yours is an older phone. It’s easier to do than with the newer models.” He removed the back of her phone and demonstrated how to replace the battery. “Line up the gold bars, snap it into place. Emily could do it.” His eyes met hers. “But—”
“I promise I won’t unless you don’t come back.”
He bobbed his head once, then turned away from the boat.
He slogged his way to solid ground, then disappeared into the undergrowth.
Diego was shopping in a Mexican supermarket when his cell phone vibrated again. He stepped outside the store to answer. “You ready for me?”
“Yes,” The Bookkeeper said. “I want you to watch someone for the next couple of days.”
“What? Watch someone?”
“Isn’t that what I said?”
“What about Coburn?”
“Just do as I tell you, Diego. The man’s name is Bonnell Wallace.”
Who cared what the hell his name was? It wasn’t Coburn. Before he could voice his objections, he was given two addresses, one for a bank on Canal Street, the other a residence in the Garden District. It wasn’t explained to him why this man needed watching, and actually, Diego didn’t give a flip. It was a bullshit job.
With exaggerated boredom, he asked, “Do you want him to know he’s being watched?”
“Not yet. I’ll let you know when another move is called for. If one is called for.”
“Okay.” His cavalier tone didn’t escape The Bookkeeper.
“Am I keeping you from something, Diego?”
Yeah, he thought. You’re keeping me from a high-paying hit. Instead he put The Bookkeeper on the defensive. “I haven’t been paid for the massage parlor girl.”
“I don’t have proof that she’s dead.”
“What, you want me to send you her head in a box like those vultures in Mexico do?”
“No need to go that far. But I haven’t seen anything on the news about a body being found.”
“It won’t be. I saw to that.”
“But you didn’t give me any details.”
“Like what?”
“When you tracked her down, was anyone with her?”
“No. She was soliciting conventioneers there where the riverboats dock.”
“The Moonwalk.”
“Whatever.”
“She was alone? No pimp? Somebody helped her get away. She wouldn’t have had the courage to leave on her own.”
“All I know is that she was alone when I found her. No pimp, or she would have been doing more business,” he said, putting a chuckle behind it. “She was easy pickings. I negotiated a ten-dollar blowjob, then when I got her under some pilings, I slit her throat. For good measure, I opened up her belly, filled it with rocks, and sank her in the river. If her body ever pops up, it won’t look like her no more.”
Referring to Isobel in these terms made him wince, but he had to keep up appearances. The laugh, the cockiness was fake, but he must make himself believed.
The Bookkeeper kept him waiting an interminably long time before speaking. “All right. You can pick up your money tomorrow. Where do you want it left?”
Paydays came in the form of an envelope of cash, left for him in a designated spot that changed each time. He gave The Bookkeeper the location of a dry cleaning establishment that had been abandoned since Katrina.
“There’s an old cash register on the counter. Have it left in the drawer.”
“It will be there. In the meantime, keep me posted on Bonnell Wallace. I want to know anything he does that’s not part of his daily routine.”
“Oh, like that’s a big fucking deal.” Before The Bookkeeper could respond to that, Diego clicked off and returned to the store. He got another cart and started over. He never left anything unattended, fearing a transponder or something worse being planted on it.
And, as nice as an envelope containing five hundred dollars would be, he wouldn’t pick it up for several days. First, he would watch the dry cleaner’s building to make certain that a trap wasn’t being laid for him. The Bookkeeper might not trust him entirely. But he trusted The Bookkeeper not at all.
It was raining by the time he left the store with his purchases and one shoplifted canned ham. Regardless of the weather, he took a long, rambling route home, checking over his shoulder frequently and approaching blind corners with his razor in hand.
Isobel greeted him with a sweet smile and a dry towel. Her shyness toward him lessened a little each day. She was coming to trust him, starting to believe that he wasn’t going to harm her or sell her services.
He had stopped touching her. He no longer trusted himself even to stroke her cheek, not when the sight of her melted his heart but made his cock swell with desire.
At night she clutched her silver crucifix in her tiny fist and cried herself to sleep. She would awaken screaming from nightmares. When bad memories caught up with her, she would weep for long periods of time, covering her face and moaning, overcome with shame for having been sexually coupled with hundreds of men.
But to Diego, she was pure and good and innocent. It was he who was evil, he who was stained with a vileness that could never be washed way. His touch would have tainted her and left a scar on her soul. So he refrained, and loved her only with his eyes and brimming heart.
He emptied the sacks of groceries. They shared a carton of ice cream. He turned on his iPod, and he would swear the music sounded better because she was there to share it. She laughed like a child when her goldfish blew her kisses through the glass bowl.
He thought of her as an angel who had filled his underground room with an essence as bright and clean as sunlight. He basked in her light and was reluctant to leave it.
The Bookkeeper’s stupid assignment could keep for an hour or two.
Honor was sitting on the bunk beside her sleeping daughter, listening to the rain and her own anxious heartbeat, when she heard a bump and actually felt the vibration of it. She slid the pistol from beneath the mattress and held it in front of her as she crept up the steps and peered through the opening.
“It’s me,” Coburn said.
With profound relief, she dropped her gun hand to her side. “I’d almost given up on you.”
“It was a long way back to the truck, especially going overland. By the time I got there, it was getting dark and raining hard. Then I had to find a road. Only waterways were on the map. I finally found a gravel road that runs out about a quarter mile from here.”
It was a miracle to Honor that he’d found his way back at all.
“Everything okay?” he asked.
“Emily wanted to wait up until you got back, but we ate, then played with Elmo a while. I started telling her a story, and she fell asleep.”
“Probably better.”
“Yes. She would’ve been afraid of the dark, and I didn’t want to turn on the lantern. Although I considered putting it on the deck to guide you back. I was afraid you would miss us in the dark. You left me few instructions before you left.”
If he noticed the implied rebuke, he ignored it. “You did right.”
Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and she could make him out. His clothes were soaked, his hair was plastered to his head. “I’ll be right back,” she told him.
She descended the steps and replaced the pistol beneath the mattress, then gathered up some items and returned to the wheelhouse. She passed him a bottle of water first. He thanked her, uncapped it, and drained it.