Meanwhile Angel was staying close to William Daund, who was on the faculty of the Department of Literature and Language at the University of North Carolina in Asheville. Louis would have bet a dollar that William Daund had read Look Homeward, Angel so often he could recite passages from it by heart. He probably even liked the book. Louis was looking forward to killing him.
Zilla Daund finished giving her opinion on Cleopatra’s ruthlessness, which apparently extended to slaughtering her own relatives when the situation required it. ‘She lived in an age of murder and betrayal,’ Daund told her friends. ‘I don’t believe that she killed because she liked it. She killed because it was the most effective solution to the problems that she faced.’
The other women laughed – that was their Zilla, always following the shortest route between two points, no matter who or what happened to be in the way – and Louis watched as Daund laughed along with them. The group broke up. Louis returned his attention to Maxwell Perkins. In a letter dated November 17, 1936, Perkins was trying to come to terms with the fact that Wolfe was severing ties with him. ‘I know you would not ever do an insincere thing,’ wrote Perkins to Wolfe, ‘or anything you did not think was right.’
Louis had to admire Perkins’s faith, even if he adjudged it to have ultimately been misplaced.
‘He ruined Thomas Wolfe, you know.’
Louis looked up. Zilla Daund was standing before him, her copy of Cleopatra cradled beneath her left arm, her right hidden in a pocket of her coat.
‘He did good by Hemingway and Fitzgerald,’ said Louis. ‘Can’t win ‘em all.’
He didn’t allow his eyes to drift to her right hand. He held her gaze.
‘No,’ she said, ‘maybe you can’t. Enjoy your wine – and your book.’
She walked away, and Louis thought: she’s made me, or thinks she has. It didn’t matter. If she and her husband were as smart as Cambion and the Collector seemed to think, they must have learned quickly that the private detective they’d tried to kill was different, and the perpetrators of the attack on him were being hunted not only by the police, but by men who were not unlike themselves. Perhaps they had simply not expected to be found so quickly, if they were found at all. Louis wondered if Cambion had already warned them.
He called Angel as he watched her walk across the street to the parking garage.
‘Where is he?’
‘In his office,’ said Angel. ‘He’s been in tutorials since this morning, and he’s about to give a class until four.’
‘If he cancels, call me.’
‘Why?’
‘I think the woman is spooked. If I’m right, she’ll contact him. You know where he’s parked?’
‘Yes.’
‘Watch the car.’
‘What about you?’
‘I’ll take the house. Stay with the husband. And, hey?’
‘What?’
‘You ever read Look Homeward, Angel?’
‘Fuck, no. It must be a thousand pages long. Why would I want to do that?’
‘I knew there was a reason why I liked you,’ said Louis.
‘Yeah?’ said Angel. ‘Well, if I think of one in return, I’ll let you know.’
Louis was ahead of the woman all the way. He had parked at a meter, just outside the store, so as soon as she was out of sight he left cash for his wine and returned to his car. Angel had already taken care of the house alarm earlier in the day, once he was certain that William Daund was committed to his tutorials. It meant that when Zilla Daund entered the house, Louis was waiting for her. She said only one word as she set her bag down, Louis’s suppressed .22 inches from her head.
‘Fuck.’
‘I prefer “fucked”,’ said Louis. ‘And just for the record, you’re wrong about Maxwell Perkins.’
He closed the front door with his foot, and took a step back from her.
‘You know what this is about?’ he asked.
‘The hit in Maine.’
‘Someone told you to expect trouble?’
‘We knew from the aftershock, but we got a call.’
‘Cambion?’
She didn’t respond.
‘Not that it’s any consolation, but he told us about you as well,’ said Louis. ‘Not everything, but a start.’
‘Like you say, we got fucked.’
‘Yes, you did. Drop the bag.’
A big purse hung from her left shoulder. He’d watched her as she drank her wine earlier, so he knew that she was righthanded, even before she’d spoken to him with that hand concealed, probably holding a weapon aimed at him. He figured she had at least one gun on her person, and maybe another in the purse.
‘If you’re armed, you better tell me now.’
‘In my purse.’
‘But not your right coat pocket?’
‘Oops.’
Louis stepped back and told her to let the coat fall from body. It landed with a heavy thud on the wood floor.
‘You got anything else?’
‘You’re welcome to frisk me.’
‘We’re below the Mason–Dixon line. Us colored folks got to be careful with the white women down here. I’d prefer it if you just told me.’
‘Left side, on the belt.’
‘You expecting war to break out?’
‘We live in a dangerous world.’
She was wearing a loose-fitting cardigan under a light jacket, the kind that would easily cover a gun.
‘Use your left hand,’ Louis said. ‘Thumb and index finger only. Slowly.’
Zilla Daund lowered her left hand, pushed aside her jacket with her forearm, and used the palm of her hand to raise the cardigan, exposing the gun. It looked like a little hammerless S&W 642 in a .38 Special.
‘This is awkward,’ she said. ‘The holster’s tight.’
He saw her tense, and was a second ahead of her. She was fast, twisting her body at the same time as she raised her right hand to lash out at him, but by then Louis was already bringing the butt of his gun down on her right temple. He followed her to the floor, wrenching the .38 from its holster and tossing it aside. She was stunned, but conscious. He kept the gun at the base of her neck while he pulled her jacket and cardigan to her elbows, trapping her arms, then patted her down. Her jeans were skintight, but he still checked them for a blade. He released her when he was done, and watched as she rearranged her clothing. He found her phone and handed it to her.
‘Call your husband,’ he said.
‘Why?’
She looked dazed, but he thought that she might have been exaggerating for his benefit. He allowed her to sit up with her back against the wall, although he insisted that she keep her legs outstretched and her hands away from her body. It would make it harder for her to raise herself up if she tried to attack him again. Louis was under no illusions about how dangerous this woman was.
‘Because I know that you called your husband after you spoke to me at the bookstore. My guess is that he’s expecting the all-clear.’
Angel had called Louis when he was within sight of the house to tell him that William Daund was on the move. ‘Let him come,’ had been Louis’s instruction.
Louis waited while she went to her ‘Recent Calls’ and found ‘Bill’. He let the gun touch her left temple as her finger hovered over the call button.
‘If I was aware that your husband was coming, then you understand I’m not working alone. Your husband is being followed. If you say anything to alert him, we’ll know. This doesn’t have to end badly for you.’