Макс Коллинз - Killing Quarry

I shot a glance at her. “But it happened now, on the heels of him sending you and Simmons to cap my ass. What the hell, Lu? Would one of Vanhorn’s ‘peers,’ as you put it, want to take him out, to take over his business?”

“Possible,” she said. “If he had told the others about you, and what you’ve been up to, that might make somebody want to consolidate and take over and do things right. I mean, you got away with offering your particular... service, shall we say... for a damn decade. Much of it at Vanhorn’s expense, since most of the Broker’s people went over to him.”

“But all four of the seminar attendees took it in the teeth because of me, too, at one point or another. Not often enough to see a pattern maybe, but...”

The almond eyes got as wide as they could. “Right. But that gets you killed, not Vanhorn. Any ideas?”

“Oh, well, sure. I don’t know about you, but I’m going to that seminar.”

I was wrong about those eyes — they could get bigger.

“You can’t be serious,” she said. “If they do know about you...”

I grinned and it probably looked a little crazy. “They may know about me, but they don’t know me. They don’t know what I look like.”

“You can’t be sure of that.”

“I’m sure enough. I have two choices, Lu. I pack up my marbles and go running off to God knows where, to what? Find a new game? Hide out for the rest of my life? Or I can take in the seminar. Come with me. Don’t you want to know where to stow your ill-gotten gains?”

When Lu, in my pajama top, stumbled into the A-frame living room from out of the bedroom down the hall, I was in the kitchenette making scrambled eggs and bacon. In my pajama bottoms and a t-shirt and bare feet. No chef’s hat.

Her blondeness was nicely tousled and the Asian eyes were still sleepy. “And he cooks.”

“I can do breakfast, passably. No coffee, but there’s tea. Also, refrigerator biscuits and, later, all manner of frozen dinners. Sit down.”

She climbed onto one of the chairs — really stools with high backs — on the other side of the counter. I served her up, and myself, then sat opposite her. She began slowly, poking at the food, but soon picked up her pace. We didn’t talk. We hadn’t talked much last night, either, on the rest of the ride back or on our return around two-thirty AM, when we just crawled into bed together.

I gathered the dishes and went over to dump them in the sink and run some water over them while she sipped at her second cup of tea. I, of course, had a can of Diet Coke going, as do all civilized people at breakfast.

She asked, “Did I dream that?”

I returned to my seat. “Which part?”

“The three dead guys I accept as reality. You thinking we should crash that Cayman Islands party... I can’t really have heard that, right?”

I swigged Diet Coke. “I have a satellite dish.”

She just looked at me. Did not blink, just looked. My apparent non-sequitur would have been hard for anybody to respond to, let alone someone who just got up.

“Good for you,” she managed.

“I was up a couple of hours ago and watched the Chicago news. It’s on the satellite because WGN is part of most basic cable.”

“How interesting.”

“How interesting is this? Seems a prominent Wilmette business leader was murdered. Also, two of his security people. Police discovered this after the security shift changed early this morning. Apparent a home invasion gotten out of hand. It’s early stages of the investigation, obviously, so nothing else is known. Or anyway nothing else was shared.”

“That was quick,” she said, one eyebrow arching.

“Not really. We could have anticipated Vanhorn and his guards would be found when the other two guards came on shift. I thought maybe, with Vanhorn’s connections, there’d have been some kind of cover-up, or stall, before the media got it. You know, till the place had been swept of anything incriminating as to any mob ties of his. Otherwise, I pretty much expected this.”

She leaned her elbows on the counter and her palms pressed against her cheeks and what was showing of her face stared at me. “This shows you, doesn’t it?”

“Shows me what?”

“That we can’t... infiltrate that seminar. I never really thought we could, but surely now you can see...”

“That we have to? Or anyway I have to. Optional, in your case. But I’d remind you that your precious Envoy was murdered, while you were off supposedly helping murder me. And that my cottage industry of interfering in mob-sanctioned murder has been exposed — on some level, anyway. So I have to get, uh... what’s that stupid word everybody’s using lately? Proactive.”

She shrugged, then — her voice very quiet — said, “I don’t. Have to. Be proactive.”

Now I just looked at her. “I cooked you breakfast,” I reminded her.

She smiled just a little. “Yes, but no coffee. I’m looking for a man who can make me breakfast with coffee.”

“I’m willing to work on that.” I gave her half a smile in return. “Look, I can’t tell you exactly how this impacts your life, or even your work. Maybe it doesn’t. You can probably go back to St. Paul and sell antiques for now. Then if some new broker or envoy shows up and wants to represent your considerable talents, hey, groovy. But right now? I could use your help.”

More tea. “Accompanying you to that seminar.”

I nodded. “One of those ‘peers’ of Vanhorn’s killed him — that’s all but certain. We have four of them — the likely four I’ll bet — all in one place, just a few miles from here. Which provides the opportunity to sort things out and find out where we stand.”

She was leaning back now. “By ‘sort things out,’ you mean kill whoever’s responsible.”

“The way you say it makes it sound a little harsh.”

That got a bigger smile out of her. “What do you want out of this, Jack?” Her tone turned arch. “Surely not to be able to start using the list again, to hit hitters and save the scum they were hired to remove.”

I shook my head. “No, that ship has sailed. But I’m well-off enough, and have a successful enough straight business here, to want to find a way not to have to run.”

“I get that.”

“But even if I do , first I’d like to tie off as many loose ends as possible.”

“Which is better than being a loose end yourself.”

“Much. And that might be how you’d wind up, Lu — a loose end. To be fair, though, with your skills, whoever the new Envoy, the new Broker, might turn out to be... you would probably be viewed a valuable asset.”

Her forehead frowned but her mouth smiled. “Are you trying to talk me out of it now, Jack? Out of helping you?”

“No, honey. I’m genuinely fond of you. And I owe you. You saved my life the other day. True, you blew the guy’s brains out right in my face, which was a little gross...”

That made her laugh. I told you, great sense of humor on the girl.

“...but if you want to quit,” I went on, “whether to focus on antiques or run off and start over at something else that isn’t murder for hire... well, even the best pro athletes know their careers can’t go on forever.”

“And I’m getting older.”

“So am I. Not as old as you, of course.”

She grinned, gums showing, and slapped my arm.

Then her grin softened into just a small smile. Very quietly she said, “You’re right, Jack. I am looking for the exit out of this game. I have a successful front business, too, with enough stashed away to leave this risky, dangerous life behind. But starting over with all these... yes, loose ends dangling, I’d be looking over my shoulder all day and afraid to go to sleep at night.”