Michael Connelly - Void Moon

He killed the engine and looked at Paltz. The blood seemed to have drained from his passenger's face.

"Look, man, now I've told you everything I fucking know about the bitch and what happened. There's no need for – "

"Get out."

"What, here?"

"Yeah, out."

He held the Sig up as a reminder and Paltz tried to open the door. It was still locked. Karch looked on with amusement as his passenger's hands scrabbled over the door, looking for the unlock button. He finally found it and opened the door. He got out of the car and Karch followed him out from his side.

Karch came around the front of the car toward Paltz. He held the Sig at his side.

"What are you going to do?" Paltz asked, holding his hands up in surrender.

Karch ignored the question and looked about their surroundings.

"This place… I've been coming out here for years. Since I was a kid. My father used to drive out here at night so we could see the stars. In the winter we'd sit on the hood of the Dodge and the heat from the engine would keep us warm."

He turned and looked back in the direction of the city.

"Man, at night he could look back at the Strip and pick out the casinos just based on the color and glow of the neon. The Sands, the DI, the Stardust… I loved this place then. Now it's just… bullshit. Amusement parks and bullshit. No class anymore. Sure, the bent nose bunch ran the place back then but it had class. Now it's just…"

He didn't finish. He looked at Paltz as though he had just noticed him for the first time.

"How much did she pay you?"

"Nothing."

Karch started to advance on him and Paltz blurted out a new response.

"Eight grand. That's it. But that was for the equipment. She didn't cut me in on anything. She just gave me the eight and cut me loose."

It occurred to Karch that it was odd that Cassie Black had let Paltz go – and had even paid him – after she had not let Hidalgo live. It was a pattern conflict that he would have to think about. Something had happened in that hotel room and there was probably only one person who could tell him what it was.

"Where's the eight grand?"

"In a strongbox in my house. Let's go. I'll show you. I'll give it to you."

Karch smiled without humor.

"She tell you about the job when she cut you loose?"

"She didn't say jack to me. She just cut me loose and got out of the van. I found the eight grand on the front seat with the keys."

"What about the briefcase?"

"What briefcase?"

Karch paused for a moment and decided to let it go. He doubted she would have shared knowledge of the briefcase with Paltz. She had probably recognized the case as being electronically trapped and hadn't even opened it at that point anyway.

Karch concluded he had all he was going to get from Paltz – except maybe the eight thousand in his house.

"Come over here," he said, pointing to the hood of the Lincoln. "Put your wallet down on the hood. And your keys."

Paltz did as instructed, standing at the front of the car while Karch stood to the side by the left fender.

"You people stole from the wrong people. And she shot the wrong man."

Paltz dropped his mouth open but then quickly recovered.

"I don't know what the fuck you're – I didn't steal anything. I – "

"You helped and that makes you just as guilty. You understand that?"

Paltz closed his eyes and when he spoke his voice was a desperate whine.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know. Please, I need a break here."

Karch looked past him at the surrounding scrub land. His eyes lingered again on the Joshua tree and then moved on. The desert was truly beautiful in its desolation.

"You know why I come out here?"

"Yes."

Karch almost laughed.

"No, I mean to this place. This specific spot."

"No."

"Because thirty years ago when they charted this place and started selling lots to the suckers they had the whole place graded so it would look like it was ready to go, that they'd start building your house as soon as they got your money. It was part of the scam and it worked real well."

Paltz nodded as though he found the story interesting.

"My old man bought a lot…"

"That's why you come out, huh?"

Paltz's conversational tone was forced and desperate. Karch ignored the question.

"Thirty years is a long time. The ground's pretty hard again but you go anywhere else out here and start digging and you got about a foot of top sand and then after that it's like digging through solid rock. People think it's like digging at the beach. But it isn't close. The earth below the top sand hasn't been touched in a couple million years. The fucking shovel bounces off it."

He looked at Paltz.

"So I like it here. I mean, don't get me wrong, it's still hard work but you got about three feet of earth you can deal with. That's all you really need."

Karch offered a knowing smile. Paltz suddenly took off as Karch knew he probably would. He ran around the sales office and then past the Joshua tree, attempting to use them as a blind. This also was not new to Karch. He stepped away from the Lincoln and calmly walked out to the left of the office to improve his angle. As he moved he unsnapped the silencer from the Sig because it was no longer needed and would affect his accuracy. He trained on the range with the gun without the silencer.

Paltz was about thirty yards away, moving right to left, his feet kicking up little clouds of sand and dust as he desperately ran in a zigzag pattern. Karch dropped the silencer into his coat pocket and stopped. He spread his feet, raised the Sig in a standard two-handed range grip and traced Paltz's movement. He aimed carefully and fired once, leading the target by about two feet. He lowered the weapon and watched as Paltz's arms started to windmill and he went down face first into the sand. Karch knew he had hit him in the back, maybe even the spine. He waited for movement and after a few moments he saw Paltz kicking in the sand and rolling over. But it was clear he wasn't getting up.

Karch looked around for the ejected shell and found it in the sand. It was still hot to the touch when he picked it up and put it in his pocket. He went back to the Lincoln and used the key remote to pop the trunk. He took his jacket off and folded it over the bumper, then reached in for his jumpsuit. He stepped into the legs and worked his arms into the sleeves and then pulled the zipper up to his neck. The jumpsuit was baggy and black, chosen for night work.

He then reached in for his shovel and headed over to the spot where Paltz had fallen. There was a bloom of maroon blood at the center of Paltz's back. His face was caked with sand and dirt. Blood was on his lips and teeth. It meant the bullet had ripped through a lung. He was breathing quickly and hoarsely. He wasn't trying to speak.

"All right, that's enough," Karch said.

He leaned down and tucked the muzzle of the Sig under Paltz's left ear. With his other hand he held the shovel by its neck and positioned the blade so that it would block the blow-back of blood. He fired one shot into Paltz's brain and watched him go still. The shell ejected from the Sig clanked off the shovel and fell into the sand. Karch picked it up and put it in his pocket.

Karch opened the front of the jumpsuit, put the Sig back into his holster and looked up at the sky. He didn't like doing this during the day. It wasn't just being in a black jumpsuit under the desert sun. Sometimes when things backed up at McCarran the airliners were put into low holding patterns out this way.

He started digging anyway, hoping that wouldn't happen and wondering if this would be the time of coincidence, when his spade would strike bone already in the ground.

KARCH stood in front of the practice mirror adjusting the tie on his fresh suit. It was a Hollyvogue that had belonged to his father, with Art Deco spirals on it. He was wearing it with the two-tone gabardine Hollywood jacket and pleated pants he had picked up at Valentino's in downtown.