R. Jagger - A Way With Murder

“Which firm?”

“I can’t remember,” Waterfield said. “It doesn’t really matter. It wasn’t ours.”

Suddenly a figureappeared in Waverly’s peripheral vision and sat down next to her.

It was the last person in the world she expected.

Tom Bristol.

He looked at Waterfield and said, “Sean, are you putting the moves on our new temp?”

Waterfield nodded.

“Got to,” he said. “Look at her.”

Day Two

July 22, 1952

Tuesday Morning

With no good wayto abduct the little-nobody-waitress target at the moment, River headed back home to the rail spur to find January scrubbed up and looking pretty damn nice. She handed him a sealed envelope and said, “This was taped on the outside of the door.”

“Did you see who put it there?”

“No, why?”

“Just curious.”

Inside was a short, sweet message: “You missed the deadline. Contract is rescinded.”

River tore it in half, then another half and another, and threw it on the ground.

“What’s wrong?”

River heard the words coming out of January’s mouth but his brain was on too much fire to process them.

“What’s wrong?” she repeated.

“Later,” he said.

His body was already in motion, trotting for the car.

January was suddenly running at his side.

“Let me come with you.”

“No.”

“River-”

He swung her to a stop and held her at arms length. “Stay here.”

“But-”

“I’ll explain when I get back,” he said. “Right now it’s best if no one sees your face.”

“Why?”

He kissed her.

“Just trust me,” he said. “Stay here ’till I get back.”

Then he was in the car and gone.

He pointed the front enddowntown, paying just enough attention to traffic to not bend someone’s fender.

Worst-case scenarios pounded through his brain.

He’d never had a contract rescinded before.

This was bad.

Bad.

Bad.

Bad.

Bad.

Bad.

It might even be the end.

Not just the end of his tenure but the end of his life. If they weren’t going to use him anymore, why would they let him keep breathing? What was the upside?

There wasn’t one.

He’d be a lot less risky six feet under in a wooden box. Let the spiders crawl over his face.

How would they take him out?

A cowardly bullet from the distance?

A knife in the back?

A rope around the neck?

More importantly, when would it come?

Tonight?

Yeah.

It would be tonight.

He could feel it moving in like an ugly black sky.

One thing was clear, crystal clear, crystal clear beyond belief, namely he’d been a fool for working all these years without knowing who he was working for. He should have never let the money lure him in. That would never happen again, guaranteed.

He parked a block down the street and headed to Alexa Blank’s restaurant at a brisk pace.

Through the window he saw her.

She was in a white dress and a black apron carrying two plates of food to a table.

He opened the door, stepped inside and took a seat in the corner booth.

She smiled at him and said, “Be right there.”

“No rush.”

Day Two

July 22, 1952

Tuesday Morning

When Wilde pressed Alabamato tell him how she knew Mitchum wasn’t the dropper, she eventually relented even though he’d get mad. “I told him I had a secret place where you could see all the lights of Denver. When he asked where it was, I said, It’s up on a roof over on Market Street. You want to go there with me?”

Wilde frowned.

“That was stupid.”

“Yeah, well, if he’d said yes, I wasn’t really going to go,” she said. “I was going to pretend to sprain my ankle or something. The important thing is that he wasn’t interested. He was more interested in a nice soft bed.”

“And that’s what happened, the bed?”

She nodded.

Wilde pictured it.

He must have had a look because Alabama punched him on the arm and said, “You’re jealous.”

“No I’m not.”

“Yes you are.”

“No I’m not.”

“Just say the word,” she said.

“What word?”

“Tell me I’m yours.”

Wilde lit a book a matches on fire, let them burn down to his fingertips and threw them out the window.

“I don’t want you to see him again,” he said. “This isn’t a game.”

“See, you are jealous.”

“No I’m not. The thing is, just because he didn’t want to go to a roof doesn’t mean he’s not the dropper. Who knows how these guys think? Maybe he’ll just store it away for a week and jack off to it. Then one night seemingly out of nowhere he’ll say, Hey, didn’t you mention once about wanting to see lights ?”

“ Jack off to it ,” Alabama said. “You’re such a poet.”

Wilde nodded.

“I’m a poet and don’t know it,” he said. “I can make a rhyme any time.” He put a somber expression on his face. “I’m serious when I said not to see him again.”

“He’s a good lover,” Alabama said. “You’re probably better but then again I don’t really know.”

“Alabama-”

“Look at it this way,” she said. “If he’s not the dropper, no harm done and I get a little very-much-needed R amp;R. If he is, he’ll suggest that roof thing at some point. I won’t go up, don’t worry, I’m not that stupid. Either way, we win.”

Wilde lit a cigarette.

“I’ll fire you if I have to.”

“Go ahead and try.”

“Fine, remember it was your idea,” he said. “You’re fired.”

She ran her fingers through his hair.

“Looks like it didn’t work,” she said. “I’m going to pick up some donuts. You want any particular kind?”

He paused.

“White cake with chocolate frosting.”

She tweaked his nose.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Two minutesafter she left, the door opened and Secret walked in wearing white shorts and perfect golden legs. She pulled a pink tank top up and rubbed her stomach on Wilde’s.

“Tonight,” she said.

Wilde knew what she meant.

They hadn’t done it last night thanks to Alabama’s little disappearing trick.

“Tonight?” Wilde said. He put his arms around her waist. “What’s wrong with right now?”

“You’re kidding, right?”

No.

He wasn’t.

He wasn’t at all.

To prove it he flung her over his shoulder, locked the door, took her into the adjacent room and kicked the door shut with his foot.

There were no windows.

The darkness was pure magic.

He laid her on the floor, stuck a knee between her legs and kissed her deep.

She responded.

Slowly.

Then she responded more.

Suddenly a terrible thought entered Wilde’s head-Alabama; she’d be back with donuts right in the middle of everything.

He got to his feet and said, “Don’t go anywhere.”

“Wilde-”

“I’ll be right back.”

At the main door, he hung his tie on the outside knob and relocked everything tighter than tight.

Figure out the code, Alabama.

Figure it out or I really will fire you.

Back between Secret’s legs,he picked up where he left off, except the woman had something to say. “I remember what I wanted to tell you. Something popped into my head this morning. I think I read something back in New York a couple of years ago about a woman falling from a building.”

“You mean like here?”