“That’s very thoughtful of you,” she says.
Moments later she enters the room, turns her back to me while closing the door, and locks the dead bolt. In the movies, this is where she spins around, holding a gun on me. The audience gasps in shock! But of course this ain’t the movies, and Gwen doesn’t have a gun. Her purse is too small, remember?
She crosses the floor, puts her arms around my waist, holds me tight. Then she tilts her chin and kisses me with good intentions. I kiss her back with bad ones. We go at it awhile, good and bad intentions, moving around the room, backing into the desk, her against the wall, me against the wall, neither of us against the wall, all while making breathless moaning sounds. We sound silly, like teenagers imitating movie romance.
But laughing is not an option.
Success in fighting means not coming at your opponent the way he wants to fight you. Success in lovemaking is just the opposite: you’ve got to come at her the way she wants to fuck you. And tomorrow she’ll want you to come at her a different way. I’d give you the whole seminar, but I’m too busy right now. Plus, she’s asking me something.
“You’ve wanted to do this since the day we met,” she says.
“Yes.”
I decide not to remind her we met exactly twenty-eight hours ago.
She breaks the embrace and backs up to the bed, removes her sandals, and sits down. A small cloud passes over her face.
“What’s wrong?”
“I want to say something,” she says. “About this morning.”
I kick off my shoes and sit beside her on the bed. She scoots to the far side and lies down, motions me to join her. When we’re face to face, she gives me a small kiss. I trace my fingertips over her thigh, from the end of her shorts to her knee, and back again.
“What about this morning?” I say.
“I wanted to thank you for what you did.”
“At the restaurant?”
“Uh huh.”
I lean over and kiss her, softly.
“My pleasure,” I say.
She raises up to a sitting position and reaches her hands behind her head to unroll the scrunchie from her ponytail. Then tosses her head a single time, and ah, the joys of youth: every hair falls magically into place. Except for one tiny wisp that’s hanging over her eye. I reach up and smooth it to the side.
We kiss again, a quick peck, and she says, “You haven’t asked why Lucky would allow that man to feel me up at the restaurant.”
“No.”
“How come?”
“I try not to judge people.”
“You just execute them?”
“I’d like to dress it up nicer than that,” I say, “but…”
“It is what it is?”
“It is.”
We kiss again.
“Can I ask you a question?” she says.
“Of course.”
“Promise you won’t try to read too much into it?”
“I’ll try.”
“How much would you charge to kill Lucky?”
27.
“Under normal circumstances what would I charge to kill your husband? Or are you asking what I would charge you?”
“Both.”
“Under normal circumstances, that’s a hundred-thousand dollar hit.”
“And for me?”
“Is that what we’re doing here today? Making a contract?”
She gives me three short, quick kisses.
“God, I love your face!” she says.
I wait for her to answer my question. She finally says, “I don’t want you to kill Lucky.”
“No?”
“Of course not.”
“Then why’d you ask?”
“I’m trying to understand you.”
That surprises me. “In what way?”
“I’m trying to understand how you place a monetary value on other people’s lives.”
The woman lying on the bed with me today is far shrewder than the girl I met yesterday. Today’s woman is probably smarter than me, which is a plus, if we’re in a relationship. But right now we’re on a bed in a hotel room, and there’s fire in my pants. I want yesterday’s girl to put it out. I sigh, realizing today’s woman is waiting for me to answer her question about how I price my hits.
“There are a lot of factors that go into the equation,” I say.
“Such as?”
“His prominence, how hard it would be to kill him, if there was a specific time and place you needed it done, and if you require a specific method.”
“Of killing him?”
“Yes.”
“So it could cost more.”
“Or less.”
“Interesting.”
“How much to kill Carmine?”
“Excuse me?”
“Carmine Porrello, crime boss, western region.”
“I know who he is.”
“Would you take a contract that big?”
I shrug. “It’s what I do.”
“You could kill Carmine?”
She’s looking at me with bright, hopeful eyes.
I meet her gaze. When I speak, my words are clear and precise.
“I can kill anyone.”
The smile that spreads across her face says she likes my answer.
I say, “Anything else you want to ask?”
“Yes. Are you ever going to fuck me?”
28.
We fucked.
It wasn’t love, but it wasn’t bad. Not even close to the best sex either of us has had, but probably the best sex either of us is likely to have today. Unless Gwen decides she’s in the mood tonight when Maddie shows up.
After our breathing gets back to normal, Gwen moves in close to cuddle me. I hadn’t thought about it till now, but I realize we’re still on top of the covers.
“I hope we can do it again in a few minutes,” she says, touching me down there, as if trying to determine how many minutes it might be.
“I’d like that,” I say, trying to avoid thinking I might be on a time table.
“You’re the best I ever had,” she says.
“Really?”
“Swear to God.”
“You, too,” I say. Then add, “Speaking of lies, there’s something I haven’t told you or Lucky. About Phyllis.”
She sits up. I’d love to describe for you how the sheet falls away slowly, revealing her perfect, artificially-enhanced breasts, but I already told you we’re on top of the covers.
Not that it makes her boobs any less attractive.
“What haven’t you told us?” she says, her voice suddenly serious.
“If I tell you a big secret, will you tell me one?”
“Like truth or dare?”
“Except without the dare.”
“Okay. Wait. Who gets to choose the subject?”
“Me.”
“That might be fun,” she says. Then adds, “Do I have to tell the truth?”
“That’s sort of the whole purpose.”
She frowns. “Well, I can try, right? So what’s your big secret about Phyllis?”
“I met her.”
She’s quite surprised. “When?”
“Yesterday.”
“Before Connor Payne killed her?”
“Yes. And I asked her about the device.”
“The one we’ve been looking for?”
I nod.
“How did you know about it?”
“Connor’s been seeking it awhile.”
“He spoke to you about it?”
“We’re getting off track. Let’s just say I was trying to negotiate a deal with Phyllis, to keep Connor from killing her.”
“She paid you off?”
“No. I was just seeking the device.”
“And she didn’t give it to you?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“She didn’t have it.”
She stares at me. “Who does?”
“According to Phyllis, you.”
“What? Me?”
“She told me she gave it to you.”
“For what purpose?”
“To hide?”
“I hardly even knew the bitch! And she hated me, remember?”
“I’ve got your word for that.”
Gwen frowns. “I see. And we’ve already established I’m a liar.”