Morgan and Felicity exchanged glances. They seemed to silently agree that they had gotten all they could expect from this one. She tugged at his sleeve, getting him to lean toward her.
“Will you be killing him now?” she whispered. “I mean, do you have to?” His only answer was a sly smile.
“Throw Pearson a towel, Red,” Morgan said. When she did, Pearson snatched it out of the air and spread it over his groin.
“Thank you, eh…” Pearson looked at Morgan nervously.
“Miss O’Brian.” Then Morgan turned to Felicity. “Give me my pistol, will you? And I need you to go pack for the two of us. We’ve got to move, and soon. Pearson and I are going to be busy for a while. And you might want to stay out of the living room for a few minutes, okay?”
Felicity headed for her bedroom, happy to be freed of the weight of the gun. In a lifetime of crime she had rarely been involved with firearms and wanted to keep it that way. She had also rarely taken direction from anyone, and this was a new feeling for her. She had decided she was boss of this team long ago. After all, she was paying him for his services. Still, she realized it made sense for him to lead while they played the game in which he was the expert.
Her room, in the corner of the building, had huge windows on both outer walls. The sunset melded with her decor, which was layers of blue: carpet, drapes, bedding, walls and ceiling in progressively lighter shades. Her furniture was all hand worked oak. Her big, four-poster bed stood to the side of the door, turned so she would face the beach when lying down. She quickly tossed a few things into an overnight bag. She wouldn’t need to carry much for a trip to New York. Next, she figured she would go to the guestroom and gather everything Morgan had there. It should all fit nicely into a single suitcase.
But when she left her bedroom, Felicity stopped. She could hear the sound of fabric being cut. When it ended, she stepped lightly to the guestroom door. Morgan stood on one side of the floor with all the room’s furniture. Pearson, once again dressed, was rolling up the other half of the carpet at gunpoint.
“What the hell are you doing?” Felicity asked, her hands on her hips.
“Cleaning up the mess we made,” Morgan said. “Believe me, you don’t want to watch this.”
“No, I believe I do.”
Morgan shrugged his shoulders as if to say, “suit yourself,” and by waving his pistol directed Pearson to carry the piece of carpet into the living room. There he laid it out flat in front of the corpse-laden chair. She felt Morgan’s eyes on her as he bent and grasped the dead man’s ankles. She gagged, but kept it down and never turned her eyes away. Morgan’s facial expression told her he was impressed and for some reason that made her inordinately proud of herself.
Pearson lifted his dead partner under the armpits. The two men stretched the body out on the cut carpet. Morgan removed the dead man’s wallet, tossing it to Pearson. They rolled the carpet up, around the body. Morgan cut the cord Felicity had brought out earlier into two even pieces. With them, Pearson tied the ends of the rug roll with practiced skill.
“Be ready to leave in fifteen minutes,” Morgan said. He slipped his automatic into his jacket pocket, keeping the muzzle pointed at Pearson. He lifted the back end of the bundle easily onto his left arm and Pearson, on cue, hefted the other end. Without being asked, Felicity opened the door and the men filed out.
Pearson stood quietly through an uneventful ride in the freight elevator, but by the time they reached the street, he could no longer conceal his tension. The sound of kids playing in the street and the blare of horns in traffic made him jumpy. Behind him, Stark’s steps made no sound at all, but Pearson was very conscious of the gun pointed at his back and he knew his usefulness would soon end. This Stark character was just too relaxed. He had even started whistling.
On the street Pearson took cues from Stark, walking at the front end of their bundle, careful to hold his end up so no blood dripped out the opening. It wasn’t his first time carrying a rolled body, but he had never done this with an enemy before. The eyes of passers-by seemed more menacing for some reason. He could smell the cupric odor of his partner’s blood coming from the end of the carpet roll and wondered how passersby could miss it.
After a long six block walk, they found what Stark apparently had been looking for. Every city has them. It was a deep, narrow alley. Garbage lined the sides. Some of it was even in cans and bags. The walls on all three sides were tall brick barriers, interrupted only by an occasional window. Claustrophobia now added its effects to Pearson’s already ragged mental state.
They laid the carpet coffin down behind a row of trashcans. Pearson stood up, stoically facing the wall. If their positions were reversed, this was when he would do it. One quick shot in the back of the head. Why make a man build up fear in his last moments? He was ready now. He had been the man behind the gun often enough. Now it was his turn to stand in front of it. It was all part of the game.
“Turn around,” Morgan said.
“Aw, shit,” Pearson said.
“Look, dude,” Morgan continued, “I really, really don’t like for people to point guns at me or my friends. On the other hand, I don’t like to leave unnecessary messes lying around, so I’m prepared to offer you a deal.” Pearson looked into his eyes, trying to see there some clue to what would come next. “It’s a one time offer.” Morgan raised the nine-millimeter for emphasis. “If I ever see you again in life, you’re dead meat. You follow? For right now, if you can be out of my sight in forty-five seconds, you can walk away from this job.” Pearson stared in disbelief. “Forty seconds left,” Morgan said.
That was all Pearson needed. After taking three steps backward he turned and sprinted down the alley toward sunlight and freedom.
When Morgan reached the sidewalk, the hired hit man was indeed out of sight. Morgan grinned, holstered his pistol, and began a slow jog back to Felicity’s apartment. It was a beautiful summer day and Morgan wasn’t even bothered by the fact that he was filling his lungs with smog.
His mood darkened a bit as he approached Felicity’s door. He was worried a little about Felicity’s emotional state. Without warning, her life had been threatened, she had witnessed a messy death, sat in on a torture interrogation, and watched him roll up a body and cart it away. He wasn’t sure what he expected when he opened the door.
“How do I look?”
Felicity sat on the couch, her legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. She had washed her hair and it tumbled across her shoulders in rolling crimson waves. Her eyes sparkled like emeralds set in a china doll’s face. An inviting smile danced across her moist lips. Her makeup was subtle but perfect. She had changed into a light fawn colored sundress and suede low-heeled shoes. A gold braid bracelet on her right wrist was her only jewelry.
“Red, you are gorgeous.”
“Well, you said to be ready,” Felicity said in a breathy voice.
“And are you?”
“I’m ready,” she sighed, “for anything.” He made a conscious effort to control his breathing. He walked over to her and took her gently by the arms, lifting her effortlessly to her feet.
“Lady, I would surely love to relax with you here for an hour or two, but we need to be out of here now. Some very nasty people know where we are.”
“All right,” Felicity said, somehow both energetic and breathless. “I keep a flat in New York. If we go there, it’ll put us closer to Stone. Meanwhile, we’ll consider your last remark a promise to be fulfilled there. And just to release some of this electricity…”
Felicity gripped Morgan’ jacket with both hands and pulled him to herself. The kiss that followed was the hottest, most passionate one Morgan could remember.