“What if I don’t keep the list here? What if it’s in a safe deposit box, or buried in a friend’s back yard?”
He only smiled a little. “If the latter, we’ll find a shovel. If the former, we’ll go there together when the bank opens. A local bank, is it?”
“It’s not in a local bank. Not in any bank.” I pretended to mull it. “It’s here, Hank.”
He straightened a little. “Excellent. Why don’t you get up slowly and lead me to wherever it is you keep it.”
I gestured, a small one, at my nine mil in his hand. “Why don’t you put your gun away first?”
“Afraid I can’t do that. We haven’t built up that level of trust as yet.”
I wondered what level of trust he’d built with his old pal, the Envoy.
“I get that,” I said, “but I’m unarmed.”
“You may have a gun tucked away with the list, or lead me to where a gun is waiting with no list at all, hmm?”
I shook my head. “There’s no hidden gun, Hank. And we’re friends now, right? Business partners. I have the list, it’s right here nearby, and it isn’t under the floorboards in a box with a gun in it or a rattlesnake waiting or anything. But I don’t care to have an automatic in my face. Makes me nervous.”
He nodded and lowered the gun and I jumped him.
Took him off to the side of the couch section where he’d been sitting and tumbled onto the floor, about where Simmons had died. We rolled, ending up with him on top as I tried to wrest the gun from his grasp till he freed up one hand to yank my nine mil from his waistband and shoved the gun in me, right in my belly.
He got to his feet and pointed both guns down at me. “Stay there!” he said, looking flummoxed.
While I hadn’t accomplished much other than to surprise and rattle him, without any hidden snake’s help, he was glaring down with a grimace on that tight terrible mask of a face, likely wondering if he shouldn’t just go ahead and kill me and then rip the place apart till he found what he was after.
He stood there breathing hard, trying to decide, maybe thinking that shooting me in various non-lethal areas might make me talk. The scuffling put Lu, on her perch behind us, out of his view, and she got up, quick and quiet, and slipped over to a nearby section of the couch and dug her hand down between cushions.
Must have been a habit of hers—squirreling her little collection of firearms around a room, in case she might need one, as she had back at our room at the chalet. Then she disappeared from my sight as she slipped around in back of him.
He didn’t notice. He was too busy glowering down at me, saying, “You get me that fucking list now, or that slut of yours dies.”
So much for his fine, friendly talk.
“You have a bad attitude,” I advised him, “about women.”
That must have alerted him enough to look over at Lu by the fireplace, only she wasn’t there anymore, and he swung around and saw her in her new position, to the right near the draped sliding doors, and he was aiming both his ray-gun and my nine mil at her when, still prone, I kicked him in the ass with the flat of my right shoe, which had my right foot in it at the time, and he went stumbling toward her, till she greeted him with a bullet in the guts.
He stopped.
Sort of tottered and shimmied there for a few moments, his hands turning into fingers and the guns dropping, thankfully not firing when they hit, clunk clunk, and then she gave him two more in the belly to think about. He crawled on the floor, trying to get to those doors, leaving a snail-like trail, only not slimy silver but a brilliant red, then he just lay there on his side, legs up fetally, whimpering, his hands clutching his shredded skin over the punctured intestines within, blood oozing between fingers like water from a squeezed sponge.
Some of that blood had jumped out of him and onto her nice blue robe. She removed the garment, tossing it with a disgusted cringe. All she wore beneath were the orange bikini undies I’d seen before.
She gathered the guns and set her small one and Poole’s big clunky thing on the kitchenette counter, then brought along my nine mil as she headed back over to me. I was still down on the shag carpeting, on my ass, breathing hard.
“Thanks,” I said.
We could hear him whimpering.
I said, “No head shot?”
She half-smiled. “And risk you getting your boyish face splashed again? No, gut-shot will do the trick nicely. He’s an evil bastard and he deserves some suffering before the lights go out.”
“Agreed.” I was just starting to push up when she spoke.
“Now,” she said. She loomed over me and I thought she was going to hand me the automatic, but instead she pointed it at me and said, “About that list.…”
SIXTEEN
“Really?” I said.
Lu and my own gun looked down at me. Her tanned legs seemed endless. Her breasts threw a voluptuous shadow on my fallen self.
“I don’t want to kill you,” she said. “Please don’t make me kill you.”
“No intention of doing that,” I said, on my back but with my hands up in surrender.
Seemed to me she was having to try too hard to keep her tone businesslike; something emotional was trying to show through that she couldn’t quite beat back, and I would swear her eyes were moist.
“I just want the list,” she said. “I just want the Broker’s file of names, addresses and information. Means nothing to you. You can’t use it anymore. What you’ve been up to these past ten years has been exposed. And you have no desire to use it the way the Broker or Envoy did, right? So let’s make it easy. Just hand it over and I’ll get out of your life. No harm, no foul.”
I was sitting up now.
I shrugged. Said, “Okay. You’re right. I have no desire to be a goddamn booking agent for professional killers. But as far as being exposed? Everybody who knows about me is dead—Simmons, Vanhorn and friend Poole, over there…I think he’s dead now, anyway. Not making noise anymore.”
The wide mouth twisted in a small but distinct sneer. “I wish it had taken him longer.”
“Me, too. And the only other person who knows what I’ve been up to, Lu, is you.”
Her eyes bore in on me. “Would you kill me?”
I gazed right back at her. “Would you kill me?”
The gun lowered just a hair and she sighed and I hooked my foot under her ankle, and rolled to the left and took her down. She didn’t land very hard, but the surprise of it made her grip loosen and I was right there to snatch the nine mil out of her fingers.
Then it was me standing, looming, and she was looking up in a pile, the Asian eyes now as wide as they were beautiful, dark blue with gold flecks, like Swiss schnapps.
She swallowed, head lowered but eyes aimed up, and said, “I wouldn’t have killed you, Jack. I really wouldn’t have.”
“I’d like to think that.”
She was shaking her head, just a little. “But if you intend to keep using that list…can you really afford to have me out there somewhere, knowing what I know? Particularly if I go back to taking contracts?”
I frowned at her. “Do you want me to kill you?”
“Not particularly.” Her chin came up. “Let’s talk about it.
Like civilized people. See if we can come to some reasonable… understanding. Doesn’t have to be like this.”
“You started it,” I reminded her, one child to another.
The wide mouth worked up a smile. “Let’s call it our first lovers’ quarrel.…Why don’t you let me sit down somewhere that isn’t the floor?”
I shook my head. “I have no way to know how many little pop guns you’ve spirited around the room, under this pillow and between what cushions. No. I’ll sit down.”
I did so, on a sectional piece that was close enough to her down there to maintain control of her, but not so close as to risk her making a move on me.
She did sit up, though, and hugged her legs to herself. There was something youthful about it. Which was may
be calculated.
“So we talk,” I said.
“You first,” she said.
I took air in and let air out. “All right. I think I instinctively knew, despite my liking for you, never to allow myself to get close to you again. That’s why ten years passed before we reconnected…and it took you being the instigator.” I nodded back at the dead man. “You and Poole set this whole thing in motion, didn’t you?”
“What?”
“How you two got together, I don’t know. But he and your late Envoy were tight, so that’s probably part of it. You were the one who put the pieces together about what I’d been up to—you were there, ten years ago, on my first time using the list. Your partner on that job went down, and the client who took out the contract also met an unfortunate end. That got you thinking from the very start.”
“Did it?”
“You knew all along that I was the target on your latest job. You played me like a cheap kazoo, didn’t you? You would save me, killing your partner Simmons, and draw me into attending that seminar. When we went to Wilmette, to beard the Envoy in his den, you’d already killed him and his two security guards. You or Poole had. Meanwhile, you helped me. Fucked me, in several senses, and knew damn well that Poole would get rid of his rival brokers at the chalet and then I would be set up for the fall. But it didn’t quite work out that way, did it?”
She covered her face with a hand. Emotion finally breaking loose. Couldn’t blame her. I had some of that showing in my voice, too, with nothing I could do about it, because I had come to care for this woman. Or anyway for the woman she pretended to be.
“And finally, just now,” I said, “you get rid of Poole. Leaving you in a position to take over the Midwest as the most beautiful businesswoman who ever ran a Murder, Incorporated set-up. Maybe the first. Now all you have to do is get the list out of me, and then—of course—tie off the one last loose end that I’ve become.”
She lowered her hand from those striking features, which I’d figured would be streaked with tears. But she was smiling. Wide and big, and laughing too. Her eyes were tearing up. I had got that much right, sort of.
“Jack! Do you really believe that shit? If you weren’t dead-on-your-feet tired, would you even come up with such overcomplicated drivel?”
She stood.
Still seated, I trained the nine mil on her. “What are you doing? Sit the hell back down!”
But she didn’t listen. She came over, a beautiful woman, so tall and tanned in the bright orange bikini undies, and she put a hand on my shoulder like she was bestowing a blessing, as if oblivious to the Browning automatic I still pointed at her, its nose just inches from her supple flesh.
“Here is the one thing,” she said, gesturing with an upraised forefinger, “that I held back from you. I was suspicious of Simmons and Vanhorn—I could tell they were up to something. And when I got here, to your little pine-cone-covered corner of the world, and discovered you were the target? I wasn’t sure I wanted to be part of it. That first night, I was standing—” She bobbed her head toward the front of the room and the sliding doors. “—just out there, on your deck, listening. I heard everything Bruce told you, about how he and the Envoy had figured out what you’ve been up to these past ten years, and the business proposition he made to you, if you would just hand over the list. Then you two got into it, with it looking like he might cap you, and those sliding doors were open…and I made my choice. I saved your ass, lover, and killed my longtime partner for you. I didn’t like him much, anyway.”
I narrowed my eyes at her. “You expect me to buy that the rest of it…from the trip to Wilmette on through the seminar stay.…”
She shrugged. “Was all legit. I was just your trusty sidekick. Tonto and the Lone Ranger, only with bedroom privileges. No more, no less.”
She moved away from me, in her bare feet, and returned to that ottoman by the fire, which was still going, maybe not as strong, but snapping and crackling and popping, just like Rice Krispies when the milk hits. She perched there, on a piece of furniture where there’d been no way for her to conceal one of her little .25s or .22s, and I came over and sat opposite her.
Her hands were on her knees, rather primly, but part of that was to show she wasn’t playing any tricks.
“I apologize,” she said.
“What for?” I asked. Still training the automatic on her, but not so…intensely.
She made an embarrassed face. “Holding you at gunpoint. Wasn’t right. I should have had more faith in you.”
“Should you?”
She nodded. “Look. We shared some lovely pipe dreams about going off together, you maybe joining me in St. Paul, me maybe even staying here with you, or possibly something completely different, like the Pythons say. Something new. After all, who besides you and me could understand the life we’ve been leading for so long? We wouldn’t have to keep anything from each other. No apologies. It’s nice, to think of that.”
“Is it?”
“You know it is, Jack. But here’s the thing. Here’s why I thought it would take a gun to make you listen. To cooperate. I do want that list. I want out of the killing game, sure, but in a way it’s all I know. My antiques business, much as I love it, is just a front. A money laundry. I don’t have much put away, really. I live fairly high on the hog, you might say. I like nice things. Sue me.”
“Your point being?”
“My point being, I do want to be a new broker in this business. Getting older makes field work hard. And riskier—how many scrapes have I narrowly slipped out of, over the years? Recently, especially? But if I spend ten years or so booking such gigs, let’s call it, I could amass some real savings. Could retire to that life of leisure you hear so much about.”
“That’s your dream, Lu? Becoming regional murder sales manager?”
“No. My dream is actually smaller, Jack. I don’t have the contacts that Bruce did, through the Envoy, to put a team of pros together. So your list…the names that don’t belong to those you’ve dispatched, anyway…would be my assets starting out. And I’d gather more talent, likely through the Outfit, who if they see I’m doing a good job, would hand me some of the business those seminar attendees used to handle. Somebody would have to cover that, after all. So. I guess I’m no better than Bruce or Poole. I want the list to use it. To make money from it.”
I tossed the gun on the couch next to me. “You should have just asked.”
“Huh?”
“I don’t want or need the fucking thing. It’s all yours.”
She was goggling at me. “You’re serious.”
“I am too tired to be anything but. It is in a safe deposit box, though. We’ll have to go get it, later today. After we catch some sleep, okay?”
“You really are serious.”
“As a heart attack. I have one demand, though. Well, request.”
She frowned. “So there is a catch?”
“There’s a catch. You need to help me get rid of this latest body.”
She started to laugh and then we were hugging and smiling.
Don’t you just love a happy ending?
* * *
Dawn finally arrived, the horizon over the lake as orange as Lu’s undies, turning the few clouds in the deep blue sky the same near-fire color, which was also shimmering on the ebony water. The beauty of it only lasted a few moments, but so many good things are fleeting.
I headed out in the Jag with Lu following in the Camaro. We left the sports car along the side of a back road, with Poole jammed in its trunk, a bullet hole pocking the driver’s side door. Another mystery for the county sheriff not to unravel, or for the Chicago boys to cover up.
That was when I shoved Lu into the front seat and said, “Good riddance, bitch,” and shot her.
Of course I didn’t.
Jesus, I’m not a monster, either.
What she and I did was spend much of the day in bed, mostly sleeping but also forgiving each other for that sad awkward scene thi
s morning by frantically humping…but only after we’d caught some Z’s.
I had an arm around her, on my back with my head against a pillow, her snuggling close.
“I have three grand,” she said, “that was my share of the down payment for killing you, Quarry.”
“God, how much was the overall contract?”
“Twelve g’s.”
Dan Clark had said I rated.
She said, “I feel weird about that money.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know. How to spend it. Kind of blood money, isn’t it? I mean, we don’t kill friends, right?”
I shrugged. “Money doesn’t know where it comes from. Of course, I put a real effort in, these past few days, and all I got out of it was not getting killed.”
Her hand slipped under the covers and found what she was looking for. “That’s all you got out of it?”
“Maybe not all.”
“I have an idea.”
I was getting one myself, but I said, “Yeah?”
“Twenty-five hundred would go a long way toward a little getaway. Bunch of places in the Caribbean don’t require a passport. We can just hop a plane at O’Hare. Sun and fun and food and fucking and we can gamble a little. Some incredible casinos. You’d love it.”
I smiled and considered that. “Take a vacation on the money you got paid for killing Quarry? Yeah. That sounds about perfect. As long as it isn’t the Cayman Islands.”
So Lu got the list, and I got her sweet companionship in St. Croix, a fair trade if there ever was one. I could write it up for you, but there’s no violence at all. Just a bunch of sex.
And you’re better than that.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Despite its period setting, Killing Quarry is not exactly an historical novel, and does not intend to suggest actual people or events, other than passing references to newsmakers and celebrities.
While the Lake Geneva Playboy Club Hotel, which opened in 1968 and was hugely successful for years, did close down in the early 1980s, it was not re-opened by Chicago-based organized crime interests—my suggestion of that in this novel is, like the rest of it, wholly fictional. Also, the geography of the actual facility is not strictly as it is depicted here. Much remodeled and updated, the former Playboy Club Hotel re-opened in 1994 as the Grand Geneva Resort and Spa, a highly regarded AAA Four-Diamond resort.
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