Dan Simmons: Hard Freeze

Angelina had never met this man, but she knew enough about his history not to be coy with him. "That was Stevie's call," she said. "I was just the messenger."

"Why the Stooges?" asked Kurtz.

Angelina was surprised by the question, but only for a second. "Consider them an entrance exam," she said. She debated lowering her hands, looked at Kurtz's eyes, and kept them where they were.

"An exam for what?" asked Kurtz.

Keep talking , thought Angelina. Another two or three minutes and the Boys would come looking for her when she didn't appear on the return leg of the jog. Or will they? It's cold this morning. The Lincoln is warm . Perhaps four minutes. She kept herself from checking her big digital watch. "I thought you might be useful to us," she said. "Useful to me. Stevie ordered the contract, but I chose the idiots to see if you were any good."

"Why does Little Skag want me dead?" asked Kurtz. Angelina realized that the man must be very strong, since the.40-caliber pistol he was aiming was not light but his extended arm never wavered for a second.

"Stevie thinks you had something to do with my father and sister's deaths," she said.

"No he doesn't." Kurtz's voice was absolutely flat.

Knowing that if she argued witch him, she might gain more time—or might just get shot in the heart more quickly—she decided to tell the truth. "He thinks you're dangerous, Kurtz. You know too much." Such as the fact that he hired you to hire the Dane to kill Maria and Pop , she thought, but did not say aloud.

"What's your angle?"

"My arms are getting tired. Can I just—"

"No," said Kurtz. The pistol's muzzle still did not waver.

"I want some leverage when Stevie gets out," she said, amazed to hear herself telling this ex-con what she would tell no one else in the world. "I thought you would be useful to me."

"How?"

"By killing Emilio Gonzaga and his top people."

"Why the hell would I do that?" asked Kurtz. His voice did not even sound curious to Angelina, just mildly bemused.

She took a breath. Now it was all or nothing. She hadn't planned it this way. Actually, she'd planned to have Kurtz on his knees in a few weeks, his hands restraint-taped behind his back, and perhaps missing a few teeth when she got to this part. Now all she could do was go ahead and watch his face, his eyes, the muscles around his mouth, and his swallowing reflex—those parts of a person that could not not react.

"Emilio Gonzaga ordered your little pal Samantha killed twelve years ago," she said.

For a second, Angelina felt exactly like a duelist whose only pistol shot has misfired. Nothing about Joe Kurtz's hard face changed one iota—nothing. Looking into his eyes was like looking at some Hieronymus Bosch painting of a medieval executioner—if such a painting existed, which she knew it did not. For a wild instant, she considered throwing herself to the ground, rolling, and pulling the.45 Compact Witness from her belt, but the unwavering black muzzle aborted that thought.

Another minute and the Boys will —She knew she did not have another minute. Angelina Farino Ferrara did not go in for self-delusion.

"No," Kurtz said at last.

"Yes," said Angelina. "I know you took care of Eddie Falco and Manny Levine twelve years ago, but they were on Gonzaga's leash at the time. He gave the word."

"I would have known that."

"No one knew that."

"Falco and Levine were small-time drug pushers," said Kurtz. "They were too stupid to…" He stopped, as if thinking of something.

"Yeah," said Angelina. "The little girl. The missing teenage girl—Elizabeth Connors—that your partner Samantha was hunting for. The high-school girl who later turned up dead. The trail led through Falco and Levine because the kidnapping was a Gonzaga gig; Connors owed him almost a quarter of a million dollars and the girl was leverage—just leverage—and those two idiots had been Elizabeth's friendly schoolyard pushers. After your partner stumbled across the connection, Emilio gave the word to Eddie and Manny to get rid of her and then he got rid of the kid. And then you got rid of Falco and Levine for him."

Kurtz shook his head slightly, but his gaze never left Angelina. The gun was still aimed at her chest. Angelina knew that the.40-caliber slug would smash her heart to a pulp before blasting it out through her spine.

"You were stupid, Kurtz," she said. "You even did time to help throw investigators off Gonzaga's track. It must amuse the shit out of him."

"I would have heard," said Kurtz.

"You didn't," said Angelina, knowing that time was up now—his and hers. It had to go one way or the other. "No one heard. But I can prove it. Give me a chance. Call me and we'll set up a meeting. I'll show you the proof and tell you how I can buy you indemnity from Stevie. And more important, how you can get to the Gonzagas."

There was a long pause of silence, broken only by the wind blowing in from the lake. It was very cold. Angelina felt her legs threatening to quiver—from the cold, she hoped—and forced them not to. Finally, Joe Kurtz said, "Take that top off."

She had to raise her eyebrows at that. "Not getting enough, Joe? Been hard to score since you screwed my sister?"

Kurtz said nothing, but gestured with the muzzle of the pistol.

Keeping her hands in sight, she tugged off the straps of the tiny headlamp and pulled the loose sweatshirt over her head, dropping it on the black pavement. She stood there only in her jogging bra, knowing that her nipples were more than visible as they pressed through the thin cotton. She hoped it distracted the hell out of Kurtz.

It didn't. With his free hand, Kurtz pointed to the wall of the underpass. "Assume the position." When she spreadeagled against the wall with her hands on the cold concrete, he approached warily and kicked her feet farmer apart. He tugged her Compact Witness.45 out of its holster and ran his hands quickly, professionally, down her front and thighs, pulling the cell phone from her pocket. He smashed the phone and put the Compact Witness in his peacoat pocket.

"I want that forty-five back," she said, speaking to the cold breath of the wall. "It has sentimental value. I shot my first husband in Sicily with it."

For the first time, there came something that might have been a human sound—a dry chuckle? — from Kurtz. Or maybe he was just clearing his throat. He handed her a cell phone over her shoulder. "Keep this. If I want to talk to you, I'll call you."

"Can I turn around?" said Angelina.

"No."

She heard him backing away and then there came the sound of a car starting. Angelina rushed to the opening of the tunnel in time to see an old Volvo disappearing along the footpath into the trees to the north.

She had time to put on her sweatshirt, tug on her headlamp, and slip the cell phone under her shirt before Marco and Leo came panting down the path, pistols drawn.

"What? What? Why'd you stop?" wheezed Leo while Marco swept the area with his pistol.

I should fire these shitheads , thought Angelina. She said, "Charley horse."

"We heard a car," panted Leo.

"Yeah, me too," said Angelina. "Big help you two would've been if it had been an assassin."

Leo blanched. Marco shot her a pissed look. Maybe I'll just fire Leo , she thought.

"You want a ride back?" asked Leo. "Or you gonna keep running?"

"With a charley horse?" said Angelina. "I'll be lucky to hobble to the car."

It was just getting light—predawn Buffalo grayness bleeding into even dimmer Buffalo morning gray—when Kurtz got back to his flophouse hotel, only to find that Detectives Brubaker and Myers had come to roust him.

Kurtz had various telltales in his hotel to tell him if visitors were waiting, but these weren't called for this morning. The hotel was in a rough neighborhood and the local kids had already spray-painted Brubaker's unmarked Plymouth with the tag UNMRACKED CAR on the driver's side—spelling was not the local hoodlums' strong suit—and PIGMOBILE—they had not planned their spacing well—on the passenger side. Something about the sound of «pigmobi» amused Kurtz.