Stuart Woods - Short Straw

"Colt Government.380," the man said. "Small, aluminum frame, made for a woman's hand and purse."

She hefted it. "I like it," she said. "How much?"

"Since you're not a cop or a federal agent, let me ask you an illegal question," the man said.

"All right."

"Could you use a silencer?"

"Maybe."

He reached into the safe, brought out a black tube about four inches long and showed her how it screwed into the barrel. "All you'll hear is pffft! Made it myself."

"How much for the two pieces?"

"Twelve hundred, and I'll throw in some ammo."

"Done," she said. She counted out the money from her purse. "What do you recommend for bullets?"

"Well, since it's a light caliber, you'd want something that will still do some damage, wouldn't you?"

"I would."

He took a small Ziploc bag containing a dozen or so cartridges from the safe, then removed one and held it up for her to see. "This looks like a regular bullet, but it contains pellets, sort of like a shotgun. It's powerful, and it makes a hole all out of proportion to the caliber. Very good for close work, and it won't go through a wall and hit somebody next door."

"Excellent," she said.

He took two magazines from the safe, loaded them, inserted one into the pistol and handed her the other.

"You know how this works?"

"Perfectly," she said.

"Just pump one into the chamber, and you're loaded for bear. We never met; have a nice day."

She popped the gun, the silencer and the spare magazine into a side pocket of her bag, gave him a little wave and left the shop.

"Back to where you picked me up," she said to the cabbie.

VITTORIO SLEPT UNTIL NEARLY NOON, THEN ROLLED OUT of bed and made himself scrambled eggs, bacon and a tortilla from the supplies left by the Apache woman who kept house for him. He was stiff and sore, and he needed exercise.

He changed into shorts and a T-shirt, buckled on a knife and scabbard underneath and put on sweat socks and running shoes. He stepped out of the house, a small adobe in the desert east of Santa Fe, pausing in his front yard to do some stretching exercises, then he began to run slowly through the widely spaced pinon trees, feeling the noonday sun on his head. After a mile or so, he stepped up the pace, circling back toward his property. By the time he reached the house he had run a good four miles.

He did a hundred push-ups and a hundred crunches, then chinned himself fifty times on a bar installed on his front porch. When he was finished and had showered and dressed, he felt better.

He reflected that he was going to have to find somebody to teach him to swim.

He went to his safe and took out the ten thousand dollars in traveler's checks Barbara had paid him, got into his car and drove into Santa Fe. He went to two banks where he did business, cashing half of the traveler's checks in each bank, to avoid filing the federal form for a transaction of more than five thousand dollars. After that he drove to Ed Eagle's office building where he had another ten thousand to collect.

He had to wait nearly an hour before Eagle was free, then he was shown in. Eagle shook his hand and sat him down.

"Are you all right?" Eagle asked. "I heard from Cupie you had some problems."

"I'm all right," Vittorio replied. "Did you receive the FedEx package I sent you?"

Eagle opened a desk drawer, removed a FedEx envelope and tossed it to him. "Look inside," he said.

Vittorio inspected the contents of the envelope and looked at Eagle, speechless.

"That's the way I received it," Eagle said.

"I can only apologize," Vittorio replied. "I had the signed sheets, and I thought they were what I sent you. There will be no further charge for my services."

"Thank you," Eagle said.

"I lost her after crossing the border last night. I thought she would go to the San Diego airport, and I went there, but she never showed up. Do you want me to continue looking for her?" He intended to continue looking for her, no matter what Eagle replied, but he'd rather be paid for it.

"Where would you look?"

Vittorio shook his head. "I don't know."

"I expect I'll hear from her or about her, one way or another," Eagle said. "When I do, I'll call you."

"Next time I find her, you won't be troubled by her again."

"I didn't hear that, Vittorio," Eagle said. "I do not want her killed, and I won't pay you to do it; is that perfectly clear?"

"Perfectly," Vittorio said. "You have my cell phone number." He remembered he had to buy another cell phone.

"Yes. I'll be in touch."

Vittorio shook the man's hand and left the building. He found a cell phone shop on Cerrillos Road and bought a new one, had his old number programmed into it, then he went home.

He switched on his computer and logged onto a website maintained by an organization of private detectives and bounty hunters. He went to a page called "Wanted," uploaded a photograph of Barbara that Eagle had given him and typed in a complete description, offering a one-thousand-dollar reward for her location. It was a long shot, but the website had paid off before. Now there would be a thousand sets of eyes on the lookout for her all over the country.

BARBARA WOODFIELD APPEARED at the La Reserve spa, on time for her massage. Birgit was a six-foot-tall Swede of striking good looks and strong hands. She had been a nurse in Sweden, then a model in New York, until her weight had increased to that of a normal person, then she had turned to massage therapy, learned in her youth, for her living. And she knew all sorts of therapy.

AFTER PERFUNCTORY GREETINGS, Birgit went to work on Barbara's body, working slowly and carefully. For an hour and a half she eased tension, worked away soreness and soothed every muscle. Then she dribbled a little oil into the crevice between Barbara's buttocks and lightly ran a finger up and down the area, caressing the anus and spreading the lubrication.

She turned Barbara over on her back and continued her ministrations, lightly massaging her nipples with one hand and her clitoris with the other. When she was wet, Birgit bent and spread the labia with her tongue, inducing a sharp intake of breath from her client.

For twenty minutes she did her work, bringing Barbara to orgasm a dozen times, with tongue, teeth and fingers. Finally she went lightly over her body once again, then stepped back. "Will there be anything else, Ms. Woodfield?" she asked.

"I cannot imagine what else there could possibly be," Barbara sighed.

"I have toys, if you would enjoy penetration," Birgit replied.

"Thank you, but I'm fine," Barbara said. With Birgit's help she sat up, and Birgit helped her into a light robe.

"Your lunch is waiting," she said.

AFTER LUNCH, Barbara had her manicure and pedicure, then presented herself to Eugene, who ran the beauty salon.

"So good to see you again, Ms. Woodfield," Eugene said smoothly, standing behind her and running his fingers through her long, dark hair.

"And you, Eugene."

"And what can we do for you today?"

"I want it shorter-to the shoulders would be good-and a new cut. Then I want to be a streaked blond again."

"You will be a beautiful blonde," Eugene said. "First we will have you shampooed, then we will go to work."

Barbara relaxed and submitted herself to the process.

FOUR HOURS LATER, she looked with approval at the new woman in the mirror, with her new hair color and her newly created makeup.

"It is astonishing how different you look," Eugene said, using his comb to perfect the hair, "and even more beautiful."

Barbara looked deeply into her own eyes, and she could not but agree. She tipped everyone lavishly, then left the spa and went to Mrs. Creighton's office.