David Liss - The Ethical Assassin

Doe felt himself blanching. “Jesus, he isn’t bringing that freaky cunt, is he?”

“He brings Desiree everywhere, and since he’s coming here, I guess he’s bringing her. Makes sense, don’t you think?”

“That girl is weird. And that scar is nasty. But you ever think she’s also kind of, you know, sexy? Like you wouldn’t want to fuck her, but if she came up to you and was, like, Come on, let’s go, you’d probably end up fucking her. You know what I mean?”

“You’re going to get fucked, and not by Desiree, if you don’t start working with me.”

Doe stood up. “Wait a second there, Gamb. I don’t much like the way you’re talking. Are you blaming me for something?”

The Gambler kept his expression blank. “I’m just trying to find out why Bastard was acting so weird, letting one of my bookmen pitch him for three hours. And I’m trying to figure out why you were skulking outside the house the whole time.”

“I saw the kid on the street, gave him some lip. That’s all. I don’t fucking know why Bastard would invite him in. Maybe it was all a big joke to him.”

“You want to hear my theory?”

Doe didn’t especially want to hear his theory, but he figured he’d have to listen to it if he protested or not, so there was no point in griping. He sat back down.

“My theory,” the Gambler said, “is that Bastard invited the kid in because he was scared that something was going to happen to him, and he thought he needed a witness. Since you were slinking around outside, it’s going to look to some people like he was afraid of you. And since you and he seemed to be fucking the same crankhead, and he ends up dead with our money missing, it’s going to look to some people like you killed him and you took his money.”

Doe slapped his coffee cup down, spilling it on the particleboard table. “You want to tell me which people exactly are going to see it that way?”

“B.B.,” the Gambler said. “And if you don’t find that money, you are going to be in some deep shit, my friend.”

That took some of the anger out of Doe. It was true enough. The Gambler was a smug old fucker, but he knew how to call it. If B.B. was coming to check on the money, it meant he didn’t believe that Doe could handle the situation. If the money didn’t show up, the arrangement could be in trouble.

Still, it didn’t seem inevitable that B.B. would blame Doe. All this business about how people were going to see things was crap. The Gambler was going to make sure that B.B. saw it a certain way to cover his own ass.

The fact was, Doe could come up with the money himself if he had to. It would mean a trip over to the Caymans, and it would hurt, but he could do it. He had to admit the money had been lost on his watch. Still, he’d only consider that option when all others were exhausted.

“So what do you think happened to it?” he asked.

“I don’t fucking know,” the Gambler said. “It beats the shit out of me, but you’d better find out.”

“Yeah,” Doe said. He finished his coffee and set down the cup, leaving it in a film of spillage on top of the table. With all the weight the Gambler was putting on him, Doe was starting to think that maybe the Gambler had the money himself. Maybe he’d killed Bastard and Karen and taken the cash. Doe had never seen the Gambler kill anyone, but he’d seen him beat the shit out of some crankheads trying to rip them off. It might well be that he’d gone over to see Bastard on some ordinary business, things had gotten out of control, and the next thing you know, Bastard and Karen are dead. Now he was either trying to cover his tracks or find some way to take advantage of the situation.

It was possible that the Gambler was setting him up not just in case- but setting him up, period. And that meant Doe was going to have to do some clever thinking to get out of this.

Once Doe had left the room, B.B. came out of the bathroom, where he’d been hiding in the tub behind a tan shower curtain streaked with a Milky Way of mildew. Now he walked into the room and took a seat at the foot of the bed. He dusted off his linen suit and flattened out his pants as he walked.

B.B. sat in the armchair but shot up almost at once. “The chair is wet,” he said.

“It’s just water,” the Gambler said. “I spilled some ice last night.”

“You saw I was going to sit in a wet chair, and you didn’t say anything?”

“Jesus. I spilled the water last night. I forgot about it.”

B.B. went into the bathroom and got a hand towel, which he dabbed repeatedly against his ass.

He’d always been a little off, but this was how it had been going lately- fussing over his clothes, his hair, and his shoes like a woman, obsessing over the smallest and strangest details of the operation, having his crazy scarred bikini girl do all the important work. Lately he’d been distracted, as though the business were taking him away from something more important.

That morning, while they’d been waiting for Doe to show up, after agreeing that B.B. would hide in the bathroom, he’d wandered off without telling the Gambler where he was going and when he’d be back. Next thing you know, there’s no B.B. The Gambler had stuck his head out the door and seen him, on the balcony, staring at a couple of shirtless boys by the pool. If Doe had come by, the plan would have been shot to hell.

Not that the Gambler cared. If B.B. wanted to go around fucking boys or chickens or accident fatalities, that was his problem, but don’t forget you’re running a business. That was the thing. You took care of business first, and you kept your eye on the ball.

It was at that moment- when he saw B.B. leaning against the rail, leering at a couple of boys like a drunk in a strip club- that the Gambler knew he couldn’t let things go on this way. For everyone’s good. The only problem was that he had no idea how to take over. This wasn’t The Godfather. He couldn’t have his boys whack B.B.’s boys. There were no boys to speak of and no whacking. Their operation didn’t work that way. They kept it low-key, what with the encyclopedia front and the hog lot front.

Now B.B. was staring at him, slightly red in his smooth, babyish face, wiping at his ass as though he’d just taken a shit. “Next time be a little more mindful.”

“Sure. Fine. Whatever.” The Gambler held up his hands in surrender. “I’m sorry you sat in my wet chair. Let’s move on.”

B.B. tossed the towel on the Gambler’s bed. “I just don’t like to sit in wet things.”

“Let’s move on. ”

Pressing a hand to the corner of the bed, testing for hidden wetness, B.B. considered for a moment and then sat very carefully, as though the bed might turn into a fountain if he weren’t careful. “Those two kids by the pool. You know them?”

“Why would I know anything about kids by the pool?”

“They looked, I don’t know, familiar or something. You seen them with their parents?”

“What does it matter?”

“You know I run a charity for neglected young men. I’m just wondering if they need help. You see them with their parents, you let me know what the parents are like, okay?”

“Fine, but can we get back to Doe? What did you think?”

B.B. shook his head. “I think the guy is full of shit, but that doesn’t mean he took the money.”

“Then what does it mean?”

“Mostly it means that he’s full of shit. But he knows he’d better come up with the money. I’m glad that Desiree wasn’t with me to hear what he had to say. She doesn’t like that kind of talk. He mouths off like that in front of her, I’ll kill him.”

“Somebody might have to kill him.” The Gambler didn’t know if it was true or not. Even if Doe had taken the money, he was still essential to keeping the Jacksonville operation alive. And the Gambler knew that he himself was necessary for keeping the book operation running smoothly. The only person who didn’t pull his weight, it seemed, was B.B.