Kelley Armstrong - Exit Strategy

“Lean in first and toss your gun on the floor.”

She glared over at me. “We don’t have time-”

“I’m not the one playing games. Now get your gun out and on the floor or I go after him by myself.”

She looked around, then dropped it onto the seat. I leaned over and laid it on the floor.

“Backup weapon, too,” I said.

A colorful oath, but she took out the second gun and put it into the car. I unlocked the doors, and was moving again before she had hers closed.

“Leave your guns on the floor,” I said. “You can reach them if you need to, but not without me seeing you.”

She fastened her seat belt. “Nicely played. I’m impressed.”

“Well, I’m not. I don’t like games, Evelyn. Maybe you were testing me. Maybe you didn’t think I was competent enough to come after this guy with you. Maybe you wanted to make sure I didn’t go after him. If that’s it, and you’re protecting him or you’re in on this-”

“Then I would have killed you in that alley.”

“Maybe. All I’m saying is that just because I picked you up doesn’t mean I trust you.”

She smiled. “Good girl.”

His car turned off at an exit ramp. I noted which way he turned at the top, then put on my signal.

“So who do you think this is?” she asked.

I told her. She pursed her lips, saying nothing.

“Doesn’t that make sense?”

“It would certainly make our lives easier, wouldn’t it?” Before I could reply, she pointed at the signs atop the exit ramp. “Well, either he’s hungry or he’s holing up for a while. There’s nothing else up here.”

We found his car in an Econo Lodge parking lot.

“Pull over behind that transport.”

“Shouldn’t I park in another lot?”

Evelyn shook her head. “You’re not parking, just stopping and getting out. I saw a mall at the last exit. I’m going back for supplies while you watch which room he takes and keep an eye on it. I doubt he’ll go any farther than one of these restaurants before I get back.”

“So we’re going to interrogate him, I assume.”

“I prefer ‘talk,’ but yes, that’s the general plan.”

“What are you picking up?”

“Basic supplies,” she said. “Gloves, duct tape, rope…” She met my gaze. “Is that a problem?”

“Better grab garbage bags, too.”

Evelyn knocked on the motel room door. She hadn’t altered her disguise from earlier-blue-rinse hair, pince-nez, polyester slacks, a flower-dotted cardigan and a purse big enough to defy airplane carry-on regulations.

When no one answered, she rapped again and called out in a querulous voice.

“Harold? Harold? I can’t find my key.”

The door cracked open, the chain jangling, then snapping taut with a click. Standing by the hinges, I could see nothing of the person inside, meaning he couldn’t see me, either.

“No Harold here, lady.”

“What?” Evelyn leaned forward, blinking nearsightedly. “Who are you? Where’s my Harold?”

“You’ve got the wrong room.”

The man started to close the door, but Evelyn’s foot darted into the gap, leaving him no choice but to keep it open or crush her. Even cold-blooded killers have their limits.

“Look, lady-”

“Stop whispering, young man. I can’t hear you. Where’s my Harold? Open this door right now.”

“You’ve got the wrong-”

Her voice rose to a screech. “Open this door!”

I tensed, listening for a certain sound…

“Lady-”

“If you don’t open-”

Click. He’d disengaged the chain. I kicked the door open.

As the door crashed open, the man flew back. I swung in, gun raised, Evelyn covering me.

“On your knees,” I said.

The man froze, but didn’t drop. His gaze flicked down, presumably to the gun holstered under his jacket.

“Hands up and get on your knees,” I said as Evelyn closed the door behind us.

Still he hesitated, and I knew what he was thinking. He wasn’t about to drop for a couple of women-and one a senior citizen. Better to take the risk, pull the gun and trust that he could get the drop on us.

I pretended to glance toward Evelyn, as if getting her opinion. The moment I moved, he went for his gun. I kicked his kneecap and he dropped down with a grunt. When he looked up and saw my gun pointed in his face-and Evelyn’s at the side of his head-he decided to raise his hands.

I ordered him onto his stomach, hands to his sides, palms up. Evelyn motioned that she’d stand cover while I bound him, but I shook my head. I wasn’t lowering my gun and my guard while she had a gun. Not after that stunt in the parking lot.

As she bound him with the duct tape, I took a closer look at the man. Did he bear any resemblance to Manson? It was hard to tell, since I presumed he was wearing makeup. He was certainly bigger than Manson, but that could come from his mother. The age seemed reasonable.

Evelyn patted him down, removing a 9mm, a hidden switchblade and a wallet. When she finished, I repeated the pat down. If she was offended at my double-checking her search-and her binding job-she gave no sign of it.

I took the wallet. Inside were a half-dozen twenties, some smaller bills and a Virginia driver’s license. The name and the license were fakes, but I had no idea how good a forgery it was. That’s the beauty of using out-of-state licenses. If you get pulled over, chances are the officer who writes up your ticket wouldn’t know a real license from a fake.

“Robert,” I said. “Would you prefer Rob or Bob?”

The man only glared up at me.

“Bert, then,” I continued. “You look like a Bert to me. So, Bert, not exactly a story you can barter for beer at the legion hall, is it?”

“You made me, didn’t you?” he said, eyes on mine, voice as calm as if we were indeed discussing this at the legion.

“A takedown in a prison parking lot? In front of witnesses?” Evelyn shook her head. “Amateur hour.”

“I could have done it,” he said.

“But you didn’t. You fucked up. Having a mark make you before you even get within firing distance? Unbelievable.” Evelyn stepped forward, eyes trained on his. “But you didn’t have all the facts, did you? You didn’t know she was a pro.”

“Pro?” Bert squinted at me. “She’s a hitwoman?”

“No,” Evelyn said. “You just got your ass kicked by the Avon lady.”

His squint narrowed to a slit. “He told me she was a con artist.” A sharp twist of the lips. “Paying me five grand to off a pro? Fuck, I deserve twenty for this.”

“For what?” Evelyn said. “You didn’t kill her.”

Bert shrugged his brows as if he hadn’t abandoned the hope of collecting.

“And for me?” Evelyn said.

“Two.”

“Two grand? Two -”

I stepped forward, cutting her off. “Who hired you?”

Evelyn waved me back. We stared each other down for a few seconds, then I rolled my shoulders and moved beside Bert, gun at the ready. I’d already taken the muscle role. Too late to change my mind now.

“Who hired you?” she asked.

“I want to make a deal,” he said.

“Do I look like Monty Hall? Here’s your deal: either you tell me or you never leave this motel room.”

His gaze shifted from Evelyn to me. “Look, if you’re a pro, you know the score. If I go blabbing on my employer, my life ain’t worth shit.”

“And if you don’t, it ain’t worth shit, either,” I said.

He turned his attention to Evelyn.

“You’ve got to understand,” he said. “This isn’t some nobody I’m dealing with-”

“Isn’t it?” she said, taking a seat on the bed. “Perhaps he was a somebody once, but now he’s a toothless old lion desperate not to cut his last years short. That’s why he called you, isn’t it?”