I call Lou.
“You made the news,” he says.
“Me?”
“They’re looking for Connor Payne. He’s a person of interest in the airport attack.”
“What’re they saying?”
“That he’s a foreign agent who breached security. Had phony papers that gave him top-level security clearance.”
“What’s the government say?”
“Never heard of him.”
“Typical.”
“What happened?” Lou says.
“What are they reporting?”
“Three people dead, twenty-three wounded.”
“Wounded?”
“Stampede. Apparently a bomb went off. People freaked.”
“Anyone seriously injured?”
“Not that I’ve heard.”
“Thank God for that. Hang on a sec.”
The co-pilot turns to me and motions me to end the call.
“We’re taking off,” I say. “Call you later.”
When we pass 20,000 feet, I put the battery back in my cell phone and see that Callie has called me twice, and Darwin has called five times. My phone buzzes. I check the caller ID. Make that six times.
“Where are you?” he snaps.
“Airborn.”
“You never made contact with the limo driver. Why?”
“He knew them.”
He pauses. “How do you know?”
“Several reasons. In addition to those, he had a gun in his pocket. I don’t suppose you know anything about that, do you?”
“Of course I do.”
“Really?”
“He was one of ours.”
“Ours?”
Uh oh.
I ask, “Have you heard from him?”
“No, asshole. You killed him, remember?”
“Who told you?”
“Marshalls service. What do you mean he knew them?”
“When he recognized one of them, he put his right hand in his pocket, where his gun was. Then he raised the sign with his left hand.”
“That doesn’t prove anything.”
“You weren’t there. Trust me, he knew them.”
He pauses.
“I thought he might. That’s why we put him there.”
“Excuse me?”
“I wanted to see how you’d handle it. Figured you’d kill him if he deserved to die.”
“You had me assassinate one of our guys?”
“I didn’t make you pull the trigger. Why did you, by the way? And how did you know M was dressed like a woman?”
“The driver knew the accomplice, but not M. The accomplice knew M and the driver. I figured if I shot the driver suddenly, without sound or warning, the accomplice would instinctively turn to look at M. I was right. He looked directly at the woman in front of me. Couldn’t take his eyes off her. Looked nowhere else. It had to be M.”
“So you shot her.”
“Him.”
“What if you’d been wrong?”
“I’d feel terrible.”
“But you’d get over it.”
“I never get over it. But I move along.”
Darwin pauses a long time before speaking. At no time does he thank me for a job well done, or congratulate me, or say anything to make me feel wanted, needed, or appreciated. Doesn’t even give me the reassurance he isn’t plotting to kill me. When he speaks, he’s curt.
“I’ll call you when I need you,” he says.
And that’s that.
Take off to landing is eighty-three minutes, according to the on-board display panel. I spend most of it talking to Lou. I probe him about Darwin, to see if he’s got an opinion about what happened. He says all the right things, but who knows what he, or Darwin, or both of them might be up to. I tell him to send twenty grand to the nervous kid who made the bomb, and add it to my bill.
“We were lucky to find him on such short notice,” Lou says.
“Keep him on the payroll. The kid knows his bombs. What’s his name?”
“Joe Penny.”
“Good kid,” I say.
“I’ll tell him you said so.”
We hang up and I think about what Darwin asked. How would I feel if I’d shot an innocent woman in the back? Thinking about it now, I can’t imagine I took a chance like that. But at the time, when I was in the moment, it seemed obvious.
And maybe that’s the real difference between a hit man and an assassin.
42.
I’m in the rental car, heading to Lucky’s house.
I called Gwen after landing, but got no answer. I thought about leaving a message, but I’m the world’s worst when it comes to voice mail. If Gwen isn’t waiting up to let me in I’ll sleep in the car. In fact, I’ll sleep in the car anyway, and make Lucky happy.
This guy Lucky never warmed up to me after I threatened to kill him. Nor was he thrilled I made Hampton Hill feel him up. Nor will he be pleased to learn I spent two hours fucking his wife instead of guarding him. Hell, when Gwen and I run off together he’ll probably be upset about that, too.
It’s like my grandpa often said: “There’s just no pleasing some people.”
I’m a mile away from Lucky’s when I realize something is terribly wrong up ahead. The road is flat, the horizon full of colors. The kind of colors cop cars and ambulances make.
The line of cop cars starts a hundred yards before Lucky’s gates, and continues fifty yards beyond. There are a dozen cars in Lucky’s front yard, and at least two ambulances. Though it’s after midnight, there’s traffic, and it’s crawling as people crane their necks to gawk. Two cops are directing, telling everyone to move along. I want to say something, but can’t. If I ask what’s happened, the cops’ll tell me to move along. If I tell them I’m Lucky’s bodyguard, all hell will break loose. They’ll want to know where I was, what I was doing, who was I with, why wasn’t I here, and of course, I’ll become their primary suspect. They’ll start looking into my past and see I have none. This will raise eyebrows and next thing you know, I’m in lockup.
What’s the best thing that can happen at that point? That someone in San Francisco took my picture on their cell phone and help me establish an alibi? That I won’t be in trouble for whatever happened at Lucky’s because I was busy setting off a bomb and killing people in San Francisco?
No thanks.
As I slowly pass Lucky’s entrance, I stop as long as I can and crane my neck, same as all the others did. Except that I’m looking for Lucky and Gwen among the two dozen people talking and taking pictures around the gate, in the yard, and around the house. I don’t see either of them, but I do see two large blankets covering two large bodies next to the gates. My best guess is someone killed the gate goons, and Lucky called the cops.
I don’t think Lucky and Gwen are hurt, because if someone planned to kill them, they’d have to kill the gate goons first. You say obviously they did, but I say why leave them lying on the ground? If, after killing the gate goons, you still had to kill Lucky and Gwen, wouldn’t you drag the bodies out of plain sight before approaching the house?
I would.
So I’m not overly concerned about Mr. and Mrs. Peters.
I keep moving.
After passing Lucky and Gwen’s house, I keep driving until I find a little L-shaped neighborhood shopping center that has a sports bar. Business isn’t booming, but the joint’s not empty, either. I find a parking place, go inside, and belly up to the bar. The bartender’s busy, but he nods, and I take it to mean I’m next on his list.
“You come from the town side?” he says.
I nod. “Any idea what happened?”
“From what they’re sayin’…” he gestures to one of the TV’s. “It’s four people dead. All of ’em shot execution style.” He goes on to explain what that means: “Once in the chest, once in the head.”
I don’t care what he’s saying. I’m suddenly in a daze.