"Sure, but Jack thought this might be faster. A lot faster, considering you're a high-volume customer." When Gallagher hesitated, I went on. "How about this? I tell you what we need and you decide if it's worth it?"
Another hesitation, then he waved for me to continue.
"Twenty years ago you bought a hit on a man under the protection of the Nikolaev family. The man's name was Sasha Fomin. We'd like to know who you hired for the hit."
Gallagher waited. When I didn't go on, his lips pursed. "And that's it? Jack wants to know who I hired on a twenty-year-old contract?"
"If you remember..."
"Of course, I remember, my dear girl. I don't forget anything. Including an insult. You make sure you tell Jack that."
"Jack insulted you by refusing to take your jobs? Well, he's lining up a whole battalion of enemies then. Between you and me, sir, I think the guy has a serious attention deficit problem. Does a job here, a job there, gets antsy and moves on. He doesn't mean any disrespect...he just can't seem to keep at one thing for very long. I think it's his age. Been in the business too long. I'm already counting the hours until he tosses me aside."
Gallagher said nothing but I could see he was digesting this. I had no idea how loyal Jack was to his regular employers, but Gallagher wouldn't know, either--Jack didn't go around bragging about his clientele. If Gallagher thought he wasn't the only one Jack had abandoned, that should lessen the insult. After a minute, Gallagher relaxed into his chair.
"And that is all Jack wishes to know? The name of the man I hired?"
"That's right."
"I can hardly imagine what use he'd have for such information. The man is no longer even in the business. Retired a year or two ago." He met my gaze. "And he had the civility to inform me of his retirement, and apologize for any inconvenience it might cause."
A mini-tornado whipped up in my gut. Retired a year or two ago? That fit our profile. But if Gallagher respected this man, felt some allegiance to a loyal former employee--
"Wilkes."
I remembered that name. It was the first one Jack had thought...and the one Evelyn had dismissed.
"Wilkes?" I repeated, to be sure.
Gallagher waved his hand. "After John Wilkes Booth, I suppose. These men are hardly creative geniuses. Still, it's better than 'Jack.' Anything is better than Jack. Anyway, Jack knows him. They were...comrades of a sort, back when Jack was more...approachable."
No question then. This was the same Wilkes--Evelyn's former lover.
I related what Jack had told me about Gallagher's traitor. Gallagher accepted the information without any reaction, then called the security room and told them to release Jack. Once Jack was out, Gallagher called him and passed the phone to me, so I'd know he was safe before I left.
"Mind if I use the front door this time?" I said.
"Be my guest. A last word before you go..."
"Hmmm?"
He met my gaze. "You appear to be a bright young lady and I have no doubt you are quite capable at your chosen occupation. Choosing Jack as a mentor speaks well to your intelligence. However, a continued...alliance with him would not. There are three kinds of people in this business, my dear. Those who play the game, those who cannot and those who will not. Only a fool aligns herself with the last. You'd do well to remember that."
"I will. Thank you."
"Should you ever be in need of employment, you know where to find me."
Success. I hadn't realized how much I'd needed that after the opera house. I walked out of that casino with such a spring in my step I attracted the notice of a prostitute standing outside, waiting for winners. She gave me a once-over, as if thinking maybe my gender wasn't a complete deal breaker. I flashed her a wide smile, and she sighed before resuming her vigil.
I stepped into the side alley where I'd agreed to meet Jack. He was there, smoking one of his hated American cigarettes, his free hand drumming against the wall. When he saw me, he exhaled a long stream of smoke, then ground out the cigarette and dropped the butt into his pocket.
"You okay?" he said, squinting through the darkness.
"You're the one I should be asking that. Lose any fingers?"
"None I needed." His gaze slipped to my hand. "Where's your gun?"
"I didn't need it."
"Nadia..."
"What?"
"You do have the gun, right?"
"Sure."
"I mean now. On your body. Not back in the hotel room."
"Would you have taken a gun?"
"Couldn't. Guards found a gun on me--"
"You know what I mean. If it had been you going to see Gallagher, would you have taken a gun?"
He lifted his hand to his lips, as if forgetting he wasn't still holding his cigarette. A scowl, then a sharp shake of his head.
"You get anything?" he asked.
"Gallagher went for the deal. He remembered the Fomin hit and he said it was done by a regular of his, someone who just recently retired. A hitman who goes by the name Wilkes."
For a second, Jack said nothing, then he breathed a long, low, "Fuck."
"That's the guy you thought of first when I started rhyming off a profile of the killer. The guy that Evelyn said couldn't be responsible."
"Yeah."
"Do you think it could be him?"
Jack paused, gaze emptying as he thought it over. It took about a minute, then he gave a slow nod. "Yeah. Age is right. Haven't heard much from him lately. Could have retired. He's good. What'd Evelyn say? Technically adept. So...Gallagher still pissed?"
"At you? Yes. But I told him it was an attention deficit problem, and that helped."
"Attention...?" A twitch of his lips. "I don't want to know, do I?"
"Probably not, but it eased you a step out of his bad books." We started for the sidewalk at the front of the casino. "Though he did warn me about you. Said you're a bad influence."
"Am I?"
"Apparently, you're not a player."
"There's a game?"
"Yes, and you're not playing it."
"Never was good at games. Too many rules."
"You seemed darned good at one game, at least. A little card-sharking in your past, I'm guessing?"
"Better a casino than a bank."
"What's that I hear? An ethical choice?"
"A safety choice."
"Bullshit. You get caught robbing a bank and no one's going to put a bullet in your brain. Is that the sort of thing Gallagher hired--?" I shook my head. "None of my business. Sorry."
"Yeah, it is your business. Especially if Gallagher's gonna offer you employment." He glanced my way. "He did offer, didn't he?"
"Yes, but the answer would be no, regardless of what kind of work it was. It's like I've been telling Evelyn--with the Tomassinis I know what I'm getting and I'm getting enough of it. No need to go elsewhere."
We hit the sidewalk beside the casino and Jack nudged me toward the parking lot, keeping quiet until we'd turned into the empty lane.
"With Gallagher? Never know what you're getting," he said. "Doesn't matter. Not to him. He gives you a name--"
"Sir!"
A young man in a casino uniform was hurrying toward us.
"Sir," he said, lowering his voice as he drew nearer. "I have a message from Mr. Gallagher."
Jack nodded.
"He says he has more information on the man you were asking about. There's someone he wants you to talk to. He's arranged for a meeting tonight."
"Where?"
"At a condo on H.G. Wells Boulevard." He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. "Here's the address."
Jack took the paper, unfolded it, read it and frowned. "Where the hell is this?"
"In one of those new master-planned subdivisions. Adventura, they call it. In the north."
"Near Centennial Hills?"
"Closer to Aliante."
Jack studied the paper for a moment, frowning as if he was having trouble reading it. The lighting, while not great, was
decent enough so I knew eyesight wasn't the problem. I peered down the alley. Too long and empty for someone to be lurking down there. As I moved to the mouth, Jack stalled, asking the kid for better directions. I peeked, then moved out, standing watch and hoping no one mistook me for a hooker. A quick survey of the street showed people coming and going, but no one hanging about suspiciously. I glanced back at Jack and nodded.
After a few seconds, his voice floated along the alley, so soft I had to strain to hear him. "You said Mr. Gallagher gave you this message?"
"Not Mr. Gallagher personally, sir. I've never seen Mr. Gallagher. No one does."
"So it was an employee?"
"I don't know. I was on the door, and some guy came by with the message, and gave me a hundred bucks to deliver it."
"Huh." The crinkle of paper. "That hundred bucks? Look something like this?"
"Yes, sir."
"You take that then. Matching pair. Now describe the guy."
"Uh...I didn't really get a good look at the guy. He was a guy. I know that. Or...well, I'm pretty sure..."
That's all the kid could recall--that it had looked like a man. Size? Not noticeably big or small. Age? Maybe forty...or younger...could have been older, too. Distinguishing features? He thought the guy might have been wearing glasses. Short of hypnosis, that's all we were going to get out of him. Listening in, I could tell he was worried about losing that hundred, and scrambling to come up with enough to keep it.
"I'm sorry, sir. I just wasn't--I wasn't paying attention."
"Busy looking at Benjamin Franklin's face instead?"
A sheepish laugh. "Yeah. You, uh, want your money back, I guess..."
"Keep it. Guy comes around? Asks how it went? You delivered the message. Seemed like I was going. Never asked any questions."
"Yes, sir."
* * *
THIRTY-EIGHT
"You handled that well," I said as we got into the car.
"Do what works. Drop a few bills? Play it cool? Sometimes good enough."
"Safer and easier than throwing people to the ground and pointing guns at their head."
A shrug as he started the engine. "Depends on the circumstances. At Little Joe's? Didn't see me offering the guy cash. Depends on the person, too. Sometimes, though..." He shrugged. "Might feel better to toss them around but...
"It won't always get me the results I want, and I'll have a lot harder time going back if I want more. With that kid, making nice and tossing him some cash was definitely the way to go. That's someone I wouldn't have wanted to rough up...even if it might teach him a lesson about taking money from strangers."
I looked out the window. "I take it we're going to that meeting?"
"Not much choice. You want to stay out--"
"No. If you go, I go. You're right. We need to know what this is about and the only way to do that is to play along." I glanced his way. "I'm assuming you don't think we're really going to meet a contact who can give us more information on Wilkes."
Jack snorted. "Meeting a stranger? In a condo? Might as well ask me to meet him in the desert. And bring my own shovel."
On the way to the condo subdivision, Jack explained what he thought we'd find there. He was sure the welcoming party would come bearing guns, baseball bats or tire irons. What he wasn't certain of was who'd issued the invitation. He laid sixty-forty odds on it being Gallagher. The other possibility was Boris Nikolaev.
Apparently Jack wasn't as confident as he'd seemed about how his message to the Nikolaevs would be received. Issue a simple, respectful message of professional courtesy, assuring them that he wasn't interested in their business, so they shouldn't be interested in his, and they should back off. But he'd heard Boris could be a hothead, quick to see insult where none was intended.
As for how the Nikolaevs could have dispatched someone here so fast--well, telephones work pretty quickly. If Gallagher knew the Nikolaevs were looking for Jack, it would take one phone call from his end, and one phone call bounced back to a Nikolaev associate in Vegas, and they could have someone at the casino before I'd even made it outside.
"Is it just me, or is this getting really annoying?" I said.
"Fucking annoying."
"I think we should just call up all the nice mobsters in the country and tell them, 'Look, we're trying to catch a rampaging killer here. Do you think you could stop putting contracts on our heads? Just for a day or two? Please?'"
"It'll stop. Tonight."
I glanced over at him, but he was looking straight ahead, face hard. I nodded and leaned back in my seat.
After a moment he said. "Earlier. About Gallagher. Kind of jobs he wants. You should know."
"I don't plan to ever call on him for employment."
"Still, you should know. Gallagher wants someone dead? You don't ask why. Sometimes it's card sharks. Sometimes it's unpaid debt. Sometimes..." He shrugged. "Sometimes, you don't wanna know. For a while, that was okay. Didn't give a shit. Figured someone's gonna take the contract. Might as well be me."
He turned left, heading toward the highway. "Eventually? Decided it didn't need to be me. Didn't need the money. Didn't need the grief. Things change. Ten, fifteen years ago? Didn't matter. Now...?" He shrugged. "My jobs these days? Some you wouldn't touch. I'm not like you and Quinn. Don't come from the same place. Don't see things the same way."
So how did he see things? I longed to ask, but when I opened my mouth, I couldn't think of any way to word it that wouldn't sound like prying.
Jack slanted an expectant look my way. "You gonna ask? Or you don't want to know?"
"Uh, sure, I'd love to know. I just didn't want to--Well, it didn't seem right to just come right out and ask, but I'm certainly interested if you want to tell me."
A slight downturn of his lips. A frown? Didn't he just offer--?
"Better not," he said after a moment. "Not my place. Ask him. He wants you to know. Tried to tell you. Shouldn't have interrupted."
Huh? What was he talking--?
I replayed his first comments, about him not being like Quinn or me. That's what he thought I'd want to know, more about Quinn, how he was like me. I'd assumed he just meant because we'd both been cops.
When I said I was interested, he thought I meant in Quinn's story, the one he'd interrupted at the motel. Was there a way to clear up the confusion? To say "Oh, I thought you were talking about yourself"? Ask him about himself. But if that wasn't what he'd been offering...
Before I could figure out a way to continue, Jack passed me the map and put me in charge of finding our destination.
We found the new condo complex--so new it wasn't even finished. A security van was parked at the far end, the lone occupant's head down, reading or dozing. Jack pulled in, headlights off, and slid the car into the equipment lot between a crane and a bulldozer.
Across the road a billboard exhorted home buyers to "Experience the adventure. Live life in the heart of the game." As I cracked open my window, I was hard-pressed to feel the adventure...or the life. The stale stink of dust filled the air. Empty window frames stared out like dead eyes. Sheets of plastic covered the board studded walls, the eerie slap-slap of the plastic the only sound.
I closed my window.
"Not quite the scenario we expected," I said. "Too open. Too...empty."
He nodded, gaze scanning the complex.
"Do you have a plan?"
"Working on it."
"May I make a suggestion?"
"Always."
I proposed we handle this as a two-man police raid, using a variation on standard procedures for infiltrating un-occupied buildings. Unlike an occupied area, here there was a good likelihood that our welcoming party wasn't at 510 H.G. Wells Boulevard at all, but in an adjoining town-house, or even across the road, watching for us through a sniper's sight.
The condos were row houses, with two basic styles--carport to the left and carport to the right. That meant we could investigate the one beside it, and expect to find the s
ame floor plan reversed at 510.
Jack removed his gold; I put away the blond wig and jewelry--things that could catch the light. Then I scooped up dirt from the unfinished roadway, added bottled water, and we daubed it on our faces. I would have loved a Kevlar vest, but apparently the wire in my push-up bra was all the body armor I was getting. So I donned my gloves, took a deep breath and opened the door.
"Forgetting something?" he said.
I looked at him.
"Gun." He reached under his jacket. "Here. Take my backup."
"That's okay--"
"Take it."
As he thrust the gun at me, I opened my jacket and showed him the Glock. "See? I didn't leave it back at the hotel."
"Yeah. Just in the car."
He got out. I followed.
Desolate. Some words evoke images; others, emotions. Desolate is a shivers-up-the-spine word, full of loneliness and emptiness. And, as we approached unit 510, the word sprang to mind and lodged there.
Empty houses stood stark against the darkness, looking not half finished, but half ruined. Tarps over the windows and roofs billowed like spirits chained to the houses, flapping and slapping in the wind as they struggled to fly free. Behind us lay the desert, sand blowing in to reclaim the subdivision.
I shivered. Jack glanced over at me.
"Cold?" he whispered.
"A little," I lied.
"It's the wind. Better inside."
The modern condos loomed around me, scarier than any moldering Victorian mansion. I knew they weren't haunted--stuff like that doesn't bother me. You have to believe in the supernatural to be frightened by it. What spooked me was the desolation, as if it were a force that could reach up and swallow me.
We started at the last house in the row, secreting ourselves in its rear shadows, and creeping toward unit 510. We stopped at the unit to the left, and slipped behind the tarp to the largest window. Like most of the others, the glass hadn't been installed yet and the frame stood open.
Jack laced his fingers to help me through.
* * *
THIRTY-NINE
Inside, I paused to let my vision adjust and give me time to focus, pushing past the frustration. My heart was thumping.
We had work to do, a solid lead to follow--a name even--but we were stuck here chasing down another would-be attacker. Somewhere out there, Wilkes was stalking his next mark and I would fail, again, to stop him. Fail to save another victim, not through my inexperience or ineptitude, but because some two-bit thug was holding me back. Well, this thug wouldn't walk away.
Exit Strategy Page 27