Lawrence Block - Hit Man

“You’ve got a fax?”

“The candy store around the corner’s got one. All the guy in Muscatine could tell from the number I gave him was it was in New York.”

“Nice.”

“After the fax came in, the stuff he sent gave me some ideas for other calls to make. I could sit on the phone for another hour and find out more, but I figure that’s enough.”

“More than enough,” she said. “Keller, the little shit foxed us. And then she stiffed us in the bargain.”

“That’s what I don’t get,” he said. “Why stiff us? All he had to do was send the money and I’d never have thought of Iowa again unless I was flying over it. He was home free. All he had to do was pay what he owed.”

“Cheap son of a bitch,” Dot said.

“But where’s the sense? He paid out half the money without even knowing who he was sending it to. If he could afford to do that on the come, you can imagine what kind of money was at stake here.”

“It paid off.”

“It paid off but he didn’t. Stupid.”

“Very stupid.”

“I’ll tell you what I think,” he said. “I think the money was the least of it. I think he wanted to feel superior to us. I mean, why go through all this Cressida Wallace crap in the first place? Does he figure I’m a Boy Scout, doing my good deed for the day?”

“He figured we were amateurs, Keller. And needed to be motivated.”

“Yeah, well, he figured wrong,” he said. “I have to pack, I’ve got a flight in an hour and a half and I have to call Andria. We’re getting paid, Dot. Don’t worry.”

“I wasn’t worried,” she said.

Which one, he wondered, was Cleary? The plump one who’d gone to lunch with Lauderheim? Or the nerd in the lab coat who’d walked out to the parking lot with him?

Or someone else, someone he hadn’t even seen. Cleary might well have been out of town that day, providing himself with an alibi.

Didn’t matter. You didn’t need to know what a man looked like to get him on the phone.

Cleary, like his late partner, had an unlisted home phone number. But the firm, Loud amp; Clear, had a listing. Keller called from his motel room-this time he was staying at the one with HBO. He used the electronic novelty item he’d picked up at Abercrombie amp; Fitch, and when a woman answered he said he wanted to speak to Randall Cleary.

“Whom shall I say is calling?”

Whom, he noted. Not bad for Muscatine, Iowa.

“Cressida Wallace,” he said.

She put him on hold, but he did not languish there for long. Moments later he heard a male voice, one he could not recognize. “Cleary,” the man said. “Who is this?”

“Ah, Mr. Cleary,” he said. “This is Miss Cressida Wallace.”

“No, it’s not.”

“It is,” Keller said, “and I understand you’ve been using my name, and I’m frightfully upset.”

Silence from Cleary. Keller unhooked the device that had altered the pitch of his voice. “Toxic Shock,” he said in his own voice. “You stupid son of a bitch.”

“There was a problem,” Cleary said. “I’m going to send you the money.”

“Why didn’t you get in touch?”

“I was going to. You can’t believe how busy we’ve been around here.”

“Why’d you disconnect your phone?”

“I thought, you know, security reasons.”

“Right,” Keller said.

“I’m going to pay.”

“No question about it,” Keller said. “Today. You’re going to FedEx the money today. Overnight delivery, Mary Jones gets it tomorrow. Are we clear on that?”

“Absolutely.”

“And the price went up. Remember what you were supposed to send?”

“Yes.”

“Well, double it.”

There was a silence. “That’s impossible. It’s extortion, for God’s sake.”

“Look,” Keller said, “do yourself a favor. Think it through.”

Another silence, but shorter. “All right,” Cleary said.

“In cash, and it gets there tomorrow. Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

He called Dot from a pay phone, had dinner, and went back to his room. This motel had HBO, so of course there was nothing on that he wanted to watch. It figured.

In the morning he skipped the diner and had a big breakfast at a Denny’s on the highway. He drove up to Davenport and made two stops, at a sporting goods store and a hardware store. He went back to his motel, and around two in the afternoon he called White Plains.

“This is Cressida Wallace,” he said. “Have there been any calls for me?”

“Damned if it doesn’t work,” Dot said. “You sound just like a woman.”

“But I break just like a little girl,” Keller said.

“Very funny. Quit using that thing, will you? It sounds like a woman, but it’s your way of talking, your inflections underneath it all. Let me hear the Keller I know so well.”

He unhooked the gadget. “Better?”

“Much better. Your pal came through.”

“Got the numbers right and everything?”

“Indeed he did.”

“I think the voice-change gizmo helped,” he said. “It made him see we knew everything.”

“Oh, he’d have paid anyway,” she said. “All you had to do was yank his chain a little. You just liked using your new toy, that’s all. When are you coming home, Keller?”

“Not right away.”

“Well, I know that.”

“No, I think I’ll wait a few days,” he said. “Right now he’s edgy, looking over his shoulder. Beginning of next week he’ll have his guard down.”

“Makes sense.”

“Besides,” he said, “it’s not a bad town.”

“Oh, God, Keller.”

“What’s the matter?”

“ ‘It’s not a bad town.’ I bet you’re the first person to say that, including the head of the chamber of commerce.”

“It’s not,” he insisted. “The motel set gets HBO. There’s a Pizza Hut down the street.”

“Keep it to yourself, Keller, or everybody’s going to want to move there.”

“And I’ve got things to do.”

“Like what?”

“A little metalwork project, for starters. And I want to buy something for Andria.”

“Not earrings again.”

“You can’t have too many earrings,” he said.

“Well, that’s true,” she agreed. “I can’t argue with you there.”

He hung up and used the carbide-bladed hacksaw from the hardware store to remove most of both barrels of the shotgun from the sporting goods store, then switched blades and cut away most of the stock as well. He loaded both chambers and left the gun tucked under the mattress. Then he drove along the river road until he found a good spot, and he tossed the sawed-off gun barrels, the hacksaw, and the box of shotgun shells into the Mississippi. Toxic waste, he thought, and shook his head, just imagining all the junk that wound up in the river.

He drove around for a while, just enjoying the day, and returned to the motel. Right now Randall Cleary was telling himself he was safe, he was in the clear, he had nothing to worry about. But he wasn’t sure yet.

In a few days he’d be sure. He’d even think to himself that maybe he should have called Keller’s bluff, or at least not agreed to pay double. But what the hell, it was only money, and money was something he had a ton of.

Stupid amateur.

Which one was he, anyway? The nerd with the wispy mustache? The plump one, the dumpling? Or someone yet unseen?

Well, he’d find out.

Keller, feeling professional, feeling mature, sat back and put his feet up. Postponing gratification was turning out to be more fun than he would have guessed.

K eller, behind thewheel of a rented Plymouth, kept an eye on the fat man’s house. It was very grand, with columns, for heaven’s sake, and a circular driveway, and one hell of a lot of lawn. Keller, who had done his share of lawn mowing as a teenager, wondered what a kid would get for mowing a lawn like that.