by Jon F. Merz
"Yes."
"Why didn't you just get a job slinging burgers or selling books? You could have gotten insurance that way and your son would be fine."
"Your English has certainly acclimated to all these idioms, hasn't it?"
"Slinging burgers you mean? Yeah, I like that one."
"I couldn't do a job like that and you know it. You know what kind of man I am. I'm too proud, I guess, to take a job I consider beneath me."
"And this job you're on nowÉit's not beneath you?"
Stahl smiled. "It might even be above me."
"And what about your son?"
"I do the job, the old man will see to it that he gets the operation he needs and we both get enough money to live on comfortably for the rest of our lives."
"You trust them?"
"No reason not to." But the old man had never really given him a reason to trust him, either.
"There's always a reason not to trust someone," said Karen. "The task is finding a good reason to trust someone in the first place."
"You think I'm foolish?"
"I think you might have been a little eager to enter into a job arrangement with the old man because you saw him as the solution to your son's health problems. That's all."
"Maybe you're right." Stahl shrugged. "Who knows? It's too late for hindsight now."
"Is it really?"
"He knows," said Stahl. "He knows that if he tries to stiff me on the job, that I'll come back and wreak vengeance on him."
"Oh sure, he would know. Your reputation - alive or dead - is reason enough not to try. But suppose the old man has his own contingency plans in place. Set up specifically to deal with your attempt to put him away if he does try anything funny?"Stahl frowned. "What do you mean?"
"What if he's well-prepared to take you out so your vengeance isn't even an issue?"
"You're suggesting he set me up?"
"Not on the mission, per se. Perhaps that is truly a job he wants accomplished. But what about after the mission? I'm presuming, of course, that your assignment is demanding."
"It is."
"And the nature of your quest would no doubt grant the old man a lot of power, either materially or psychologically?"
"It would, yes."
"So, then he'd want what you're after. You complete that job and he'll be only too willing to let you run free while you do it." Karen's eyes narrowed. "But afterwards."
"What?"
"Afterwards, anything goes."
"You mean an ambush?"
"I mean someone waiting for you to get off the plane in Germany. Something under your car. A letter in the mail. Even a new laptop computer. Could be anyone or anything or anywhere." She took a sip of coffee. "That's the nature of our business, isn't it? Wasn't it? That unknowing quotient that simultaneously enables us to live such exhilaration and yet flirt with an ever-present hell."
"You've become quite the poet."
"That's not poetry, Ernst. That's reality."
"And you think this reality extends to my current employment?"
"Why wouldn't it? After all, you once told me that we were all expendable. We set out to accomplish aims for certain people in power. Beyond that, we were a liability. It never struck you as odd that we'd hear about other cells getting rolled up by the police just after a mission. They'd been compromised, you used to say. Compromised by the people who employed them."
Stahl sipped his hot chocolate. He didn't like the way this conversation was heading. Could it be true, though, that's what concerned him. Had he been so willing to take the job for Alois' sake that he'd totally gone against everything he'd been taught? Had he neglected his every instinct?
"You need someone you can trust," said Karen. "That someone is me."
"And how do I know I can trust you?"
"We've got years behind us. Years of working and living and sleeping together you can't deny."
"That doesn't mean you're trustworthy."
She eyed him. "I got you the latex didn't I?"
"Yes."
"I could have gone to the cops. The FBI even."
"And tell them what? That you're buying makeup for a friend?"
"I could tell them that the Panther isn't really dead after all."
"And you think they'd believe you? You would have compromised yourself in the process. Besides my papers are good enough to back up my new identity."
"See, then, you can trust me."
"No, that doesn't mean I can trust you, Karen. It just means you weren't dumb enough to go running to the authorities. If I clue you in on what the assignment is about, well, then you would have something valuable that might make the police sit up and take notice."
"You won't tell me?"
"No."
"You're incorrigible, you know that?"
"I am a man of principle. You know that as well as I do."
"Your principles are no fun," said Karen. "They get in the way of you living your life."
"Time was you thought they were great."
"Time was I took everything you said to be some kind of weird gospel. I was young and na•ve and didn't know a damned thing. Now that I've actually lived, I see your principles for what they really are."
"And what's that?"
She looked at him and finished her coffee. "They are the excuses you built in your life to keep you from ever feeling anything remotely human."
"That's ridiculous. You're saying I don't have emotions?"
"'Stahl'? What kind of name is that? Whatever reason you chose it, it certainly fits you. Steel, indeed."
"I love my son. The fact that I'm on this assignment proves that if nothing else."
"The fact that you're here doesn't prove you love your son, Ernst. It only proves you wanted to take the job instead of one that you thought was Ôbeneath you,' as you called it. And I almost think there was a strong part of you that wanted to escape Germany so you wouldn't have to be close to your son and see him suffering while you stood around helpless."
"I don't like this conversation, Karen."
"I mean, it must have been awful for someone like you, the big bad powerful ghost that you are to suddenly be confronted with something you could do nothing about. After all, diseases don't know about your reputation, does it? Disease doesn't give a damn if you were some sort of world-renowned assassin. Disease picks its victims with an impunity you could never hope to attain."
Stahl slid his cup across the table and stood. "Well, this has been such a refreshing conversation, but I'm afraid our time is now up. If you'll excuse me, I have some errands I need to run."
"Sure leave. Whatever. I don't care. You tell yourself everything I've said is nothing but bullshit and you'll feel better. At least for a short while."
"You think so, huh?"
"Yes I do. And then my words will start to creep inside that thick skull of yours. You'll hear me at night. And part of you will begin wondering if maybe I'm right. If maybe the things I've said to you today here in this dumb Java house actually make a shred of sense."
"I have too many other things to think about than the validity of your words, Karen. Which, by the way, strike me as the angered mutterings of someone who's pissed off because I didn't divulge any mission information to her."
"Oh, I'm pissed off about that, all right. But you see? I can admit the things that affect me. I'm not afraid of my emotions."
"I'm not afraid of my emotions either."
"Maybe not afraid. Maybe that wasn't the right choice of words. Maybe you'd just rather have the ability to zap all those feelings dead so you didn't have to think about them anymore."
Stahl leaned over her. "Tell me something: why is it that every time we get together, you end up making me want to kill you with every ounce of my soul?"
"Because you love me."
"Nothing could be further from the truth."
"More denial."
"I doubt that."
"Doubt is a common thing. Certainty is the rarity. Th
e key difference between you and I is that I happen to know which is which."
"So do I."
"So tell me about a certainty you have in your life right now."
"I am certain I will be successful in my mission. I am certain I will be able to help my son. And I am certain that if anyone - anyone, Karen - stands in my way, I will kill them."
Karen looked at him and smiled. "No doubts at all?"
"None."
She nodded. "Well, I wish you luck with your certainties. But just remember that history is full of examples of people who spent too much time trying to make their certainties a reality and not enough time listening to those quiet persistent doubts."
Chapter Twenty
What the hell was he doing?
Frank wheeled the Explorer down onto Beacon Street. Gia was right to think he was being a fool. What did Frank actually think he'd be able to do about this whole thing?
And where the hell was he going?
He'd left Gia and driven out of his place over on Sleeper Street not knowing where he was going. Maybe he just needed some air. Maybe he just needed to clear his head.
Psychic visions? He smiled almost. Who would have thought such a bizarre thing would have happened to him?
He was still thinking about what he'd seen in his vision and not been paying attention to where he was headed when he found himself over by Boston Common.
I should park, he thought. Get out and take a walk. Circulate a little.
But instantly, he stopped. What about Patrisi's boys? They'd be combing the city looking for him. There'd even be out-of-towners probably enroute coming to punch his ticket.
Frank smiled this time. I hope Mrs. Morello doesn't open her door today, he thought.
He patted his side. His pistol always made him feel a lot better about his safety. Now, where could he blend into a crowd and not be so visible?
Newbury Street?
The crowds would make it tough to spot him. Frank was dressed in understated clothes. Jeans, a black jacket, gray shirt, and sneakers. Nothing about his outfit stood out. And, besides, all he wanted was a few minutes of clean air.
Maybe Patrisi's guys wouldn't think he'd be stupid enough to walk among the public.
Guess I'll be stupid enough, then, he thought.
He slowed near the Exeter Street intersection and found a space. That in itself was a miracle. He slid five quarters into the meter and turned up the collar on his coat. He'd moved the pistol into his coat pocket. He didn't even have to draw it. If need be, he'd shoot right through the coat itself.
He could after all, buy a new coat.
Bodies were a little tougher to come by.
He slid into the crowds and walked up the right side of the street. It was more crowded on this side. He kept his eyes open. Scanning every few seconds. Stopping every few minutes and checking out what the scene looked behind him.
He breathed deep. The cold air felt good on his face and his skin. His lungs had seemed parched before. Now he felt almost giddy on the fresh oxygen. He actually felt a little light-headed.
He turned and kept walking.
And then -
A wave of vague pain washed over him.
Christ, not again, he thought.
Not here.
But no other waves followed. And Frank tried to relax himself. Open himself up to whatever was coming next.
He never would have expected it.
The face.
There he was.
But not in his mind's eye.
No.
Right out here.
On the street!
Frank would never have believed it, but the man he'd been imagining the past few days was walking down the left side of the street toward him. Did he see Frank? Did he know Frank was across the street staring at him?
Would he try to kill him?
Should Frank kill him?
His head swam and he stopped short, making the woman behind him who had no idea about proper distancing, slam into him and drop her bag. Frank stooped and picked her bag up and handed it back to her.
When he looked across the street, the man had stopped, too.
And was smiling.
Oh shit.
Frank braced himself. He relaxed his right shoulder so he'd be able to draw and fire if he needed to. The Beretta wasn't really all that good at distance. Even across the street like this. It was a close-quarters killing weapon.
But if he had to.
The man across the street smiled.
And waved Frank over.
You have got to be kidding me, thought Frank.
But part of him wanted to go over there. Part of him wanted to ask the man questions. Part of him wanted to know what the fuck was going on.
We're on a crowded street, after all. And even if he does shoot me, I'll be able to shoot him, too.
Frank crossed the street.
He could almost hear Moe's gravelly voice in his head. "You'd better not fuck this up, kid."
No shit, Moe. No shit.
He noticed the man had his own right hand in his pocket. He wasn't taking any chances with Frank. Cool, he thought. A stand-off or sorts.
Frank kept his eyes on the man the entire time, using his peripheral vision to dodge a mail truck.
He stepped on to the sidewalk.
The man smiled. "Hello."
Frank nodded. "How ya doing?"
The man looked down and kept smiling. "I'd suggest we shake hands, but I see we're both otherwise occupied, eh?"
"Yeah." Frank shrugged. "Precautions. You know."
"Indeed," said the man. "I know all too well. My name is Ernst."
"Like Ernie?"
"I prefer Ernst."
Frank nodded. "Frank."
"No last names then?"
"Just following your lead, friend."
"All right then, maybe last names will come later, eh?"
"Maybe they will."
"Then again, maybe neither one of us will be alive to hear them."
"Well, if we're dead, we'll know them anyway, right?"
"If you believe in an afterlife."
"Right." Frank didn't want to be outside much longer. Standing still on a busy street drew attention.
Stahl looked around. "How about some coffee?"
"Are you kidding?"
"Not at all. We can't really stand here on the sidewalk babbling like a couple of fools. You choose the place. I'd like to ask you some questions."
"I've got a few of my own," said Frank. "What about the ice cream shop over there? They serve a good cup I'm told."
"Fine."
They walked shoulder to shoulder down the street. Frank knew they must have looked like quite the couple strolling down the street, but it was the only way he knew how to keep Ernst under watch. He was surprised Ernst had allowed him to keep his left side against his right. If Ernst drew with his right, Frank's contact would make that tough initially.
He'd have to spin away from me to draw and shoot. I can shoot him faster.
But as soon as he thought that, Frank knew there was no way such a professional would allow that to happen to himself. He wants me to think I've got him under control.
The stopped at the ice cream store.
Stahl smiled. "You first."
Frank shook his head. "You wanted the coffee, pal. You go in first."
Stahl looked at him. "I don't think you'd shoot me anyway, would you? You've got too many questions for me. You think I've got answers you need to hear, hmm? All right then, I'll give you my back." He walked in.
Frank watched him sit at a table with his back to the brick wall. Frank frowned. He'd have to keep his back to the front of the store now.
Stahl grinned. "Sorry we can't both have this chair. The two of us sitting watching the door might look a little odd, don't you think?"
Frank nodded. "Yeah."
The waitress came and took their order. Frank looked at Stahl. "You're not from around here."
/> "No."
"The accent is very slight. I'd guess Flemish if I had to. But I'd think I was being misled. So I'd put you as either a German or a Swiss."
Stahl inclined his head slightly. "Very good. And you're Italian."
"Born and raised American, though. Italian heritage."
"I see."
"Am I right in assuming you've been having some nasty headaches lately?"
"I had a few," said Stahl. "Then they stopped."
"Me too."
"Although a few minutes ago, right before I noticed the woman bumping into you, I had what I thought was another one."
"But it subsided, didn't it?"
"Yes. It did."
"Weird stuff."
"Abnormal, yes."
"When did it start for you?"
"Earlier this week."
"Me too."
"What were you doing at the time?"
Frank leaned back as the waitress put his coffee down in front of him. She slid a cup of tea in front of Stahl.
"You don't like coffee?"
"I loathe the stuff," said Stahl. "Would you believe this is the first time since I've been here that I've had a cup of tea?"
"Appearances are deceiving," said Frank. "Maybe you needed to drink the coffee."
"Exactly." Stahl stirred some sugar into his cup. "So?"
"I was on assignment."
"Ah. Assignment. Is that what you call it?"
"Better than the obvious choice."
Stahl sipped his tea. "True. Was it something local?"
"Yeah."
"It wouldn't have been that event up in, where was it, Revere? I saw it on the television right after I arrived."
Frank smiled. "Actually, yes, it was."
"I thought so."
"What about you?"
"I was similarly engaged in a small part of town outside of Munich."
"The wholeÉthingÉit changed, didn't it?"
Stahl took a sip of tea with his free hand. "Who was that dreadful screaming woman with the blonde hair?"
"Paid talent near as I can figure."
"You didn't kill her though."
"She wasn't part of the equation."
"You weren't concerned she'd identify you to the police?"
"She knows I'd come back for her. Better to live and fuck another day than try to put me away."
Stahl chuckled. "Colorful. Almost poetic."