R. Jagger - A Way With Murder

How could she do that to someone who snatched her out of the water?

Day Two

July 22, 1952

Tuesday Morning

River woke Tuesday morningin a panic. He was supposed to take the target, Alexa Blank, no later than yesterday. That didn’t get done. He needed to take her this morning, right now, before anyone found out he screwed up.

He rolled out of bed.

January reached over and grabbed his hand.

The covers fell off her body. The tattoo of a dragon started on her stomach, wrapped around her hip and over her ass, then around her left leg, ending slightly above the knee. Unlike the tattoos on her arm, which were a jumbled mess, this was a work of art with perfect colors and a fascinating imagination.

“Where you going?” she asked.

His instinct was to take her.

His body was strong enough now.

It hadn’t been last night.

He shook it off.

“Business.”

“This early?”

He nodded and kissed her.

“I’ll be back by noon,” he said. “Go back to sleep.”

She curled up and closed her eyes.

He was halfway out the door when he heard, “River, come back here a minute. I lied to you about something.”

He headed back.

“Lied about what?”

“About me,” she said. “My initial plan was to kill you. I was just going to be nice and bide my time until the right moment came. What you did last night to those two guys, that made everything even. You don’t have to worry about me any more.”

A beat passed while he processed it.

“Fair enough.”

He headedfor the shower boxcar, got the temperature as hot as he could stand it and lathered up.

Don’t do anything stupid.

That was the important thing.

He needed to get Alexa Blank this morning but had to be careful to not be in such a rush that he did something stupid.

He had to be sure she didn’t see his face.

He had to be sure no one saw him.

More than that, he had to be sure no one even connected him.

How was he supposed to do that in the daylight?

Even thinking about it was stupid.

He took the cardowntown and swung by the Down Towner on foot.

There she was, pouring coffee in someone’s cup.

She was fit.

Pretty, too.

She had a nice smile.

How did she factor into anyone’s equation? What made her important enough to be a target? She was basically a walking nobody. She hardly registered on the world. Did she see something she shouldn’t have? Did she know something she shouldn’t?

Maybe River would question her after he took her.

The answer might turn out to be a lot more lucrative than the payment. The information might be something he could use to blackmail someone. He’d just need to be careful that it never got traced back to him. Maybe he’d let January take the lead if it got that far-set her up as the blackmailer.

Interesting.

Should he bring her in as a partner?

Day Two

July 22, 1952

Tuesday Morning

Tuesday morningat the office, Wilde paced, chain-smoked and drowned his stomach in coffee. When Alabama walked through the door at 8:15 wearing the same dress as last night, Wilde hugged her tighter than tight and said, “You’re alive.”

Alabama knew the reason for the statement.

She left the Bokaray with Robert Mitchum last night before Wilde could intercede. She spent the night with him.

“I was going to call and let you know I was okay,” she said, “but I didn’t want to blow my cover.”

“Blow your cover? You’re not supposed to have any cover. You’re supposed to be doing one thing and one thing only, namely not doing anything stupid. Do you remember when my lips moved in that direction, when they said plain as day, don’t do anything stupid?”

Yes.

She did.

But things got out of control.

She got dressed up last night to come down to the Bokaray. She spotted Mitchum at the bar and wandered over to see if he called himself Robert.

He did.

“He liked me,” she said.

“He wasn’t supposed to know you exist,” Wilde said.

She poured a cup of coffee and took a long slurp.

“You would have done the same thing if you were me,” she said.

Wilde set a book of matches on fire and lit a cigarette.

“Look,” he said. “We’re going to have this conversation one time and one time only. When I tell you what the risk boundaries are, you have to respect them. I set the boundaries and you stay in them, that’s the way it is. I can’t have you going rogue and doing your own thing. I can’t be worrying about you when I need to be thinking about other things. When I tell you not to do something, you have to not do that something.”

She smiled ever so slightly and wrapped her arms around his neck.

“You were worried about me?”

“Alabama, I’m serious.”

She pecked a kiss on his lips.

“You’re so cute when you’re all protective,” she said. “Do you want to know what I found out?”

Wilde took a long drag and blew smoke to the side.

“Just don’t tell me you slept with him.”

She ran a finger down his chest.

“Maybe you didn’t get a good look at him,” she said. “He actually is Robert Mitchum, only better.”

She drankthe last of what was in her cup and went to get another. Over her shoulder she said, “He’s not the killer.”

“How do you know?”

“I can’t tell you. You’ll get mad.”

Day Two

July 22, 1952

Tuesday Morning

Tom Bristol passed by Waverlythree or four times and didn’t once emit a glimmer of a reaction to indicate that he recognized her from the little fiasco at the houseboat last night. Every time Waverly saw him she pictured his hand slapping down on an ass.

She needed to find the owner of that ass and warn her.

Bristol was dirty.

Waverly could feel it.

At 9:30 Su-Moon called with some unexpected news. “I’m down the street from the marina. I’m going back to the houseboat.”

“Are you nuts?”

“He’s at the office right now, right?”

Yes.

He was.

“Write this number down,” Su-Moon said. Waverly picked up a pencil and wrote numbers on the top sheet of a scratch pad. “That’s Bristol’s home phone number. If he leaves the office, call that number and let it ring twice. That will be my cue he’s loose.”

“What are you trying to find?”

“Whatever it was we missed last night.”

Waverly exhaled.

“Don’t do it.”

“Talk to you later.”

“I’m serious. I have a bad feeling.”

“You always have a bad feeling.”

An hour passedthen another. Bristol didn’t wander from the office haunts and Su-Moon would have been long done by now. Still, when Sean Waterfield swung by and asked Waverly if she wanted to go to lunch, she dialed Bristol’s number and let the phone ring twice before leaving, just to be safe.

They ended up at Fisherman’s Wharf with takeout plates of shrimp and rice, which they ate on the edge of a dock.

Their legs dangled over the water.

The boats were out to sea.

Mooring posts were wrapped in tires.

Seagulls filled the air.

The street buzzed with vendors.

The sky was clear but the temperature wasn’t more than seventy.

“That Hong Kong deal was weird from the get-go,” Waterfield said. “We were big in Europe but hadn’t done anything in Asia yet. This would be our first. Tom Bristol went there to personally meet with the owners and go over the specs. He came back as excited as I’ve ever seen him. He worked up all the drawings and bid documents himself, working until who-knows-when every night after the rest of us left. The bid got submitted and then he crossed his fingers and waited. In the end, another firm got the project.”