by K. W. Jeter
“I’m not so sure about that.” Michael tilted the beer to his mouth again, then set it down. “Maybe when your boyfriend bought his new toys from them, he figured they’d still be so scared of him that they wouldn’t talk to anyone else about it. Like me. But you know . . . maybe they weren’t afraid to talk. Or at least one of them wasn’t. Because your boyfriend’s not quite as scary as he used to be. Is he?”
Monica didn’t say anything.
“So . . .” Michael prodded the beer with his stubby forefinger. “What’s Cole up to?”
“Nothing he can’t handle.”
“Maybe.” Michael nodded. “But maybe he’s in over his head already. Way over his head. Maybe he’s about to drown. And maybe when that happens, I’ll come around and see you again. And I won’t have to leave a tip.”
Monica gazed at him for a long moment before replying.
“You don’t have to worry about Cole,” she said quietly. “I’ll take care of it.”
“Good. Good for you. And him.”
Michael grabbed her arm and pushed her from the booth, so he could get out and stand up.
“See you around.”
She watched him push open the club door, the glare of the sunlight outside spilling around his bulky frame.
* * *
With our firing range practice over for the day, I drove the cargo van back into the city.
“Now you can help me,” said Cole when I pulled up to the warehouse. “With what I need to work on.”
I found out what that was soon enough. Once Cole was motoring again, he led me to another section of the warehouse, one that I hadn’t gone into before.
“The wheelchair wasn’t the only thing I got yesterday. Monica had this stuff delivered, too.”
“She set all this up?” I looked around at the weight-lifting equipment. There was an overhead pull-down bar, racks of shiny chromed free weights, other heavy goodies. “Must’ve been a lot of work for her.”
“Nah.” He shook his head. “She paid the delivery guy to do it. They’re always looking to make an extra buck.”
“Guess it’s a good thing they didn’t spot some of that other stuff you’ve got, over on the other side.”
“Not a problem,” said Cole. “You can pay people not to see things, too. So don’t worry about it – just come over here and spot me.”
I watched as he transferred himself from the wheelchair to a padded bench, just about as wide as his shoulders. Lying on his back, he reached up and behind himself, lifting a barbell from its stand.
“You don’t need me for this.” I stood behind his head, watching him bench press the weight straight up from his chest, back down, then up again.
“I will when I work up to some serious iron.” He kept on going through his reps. “I’m just going to be concentrating on getting stretched out for the next few days. After that, I’ll start adding the pounds.” He stopped talking, letting the bar rest on his chest for a moment, then pushed it up again. “I lost a lot of muscle strength – that’s what going into the hospital will do for you. Pisses me off. But I’ll get it back. I have to.”
I had a pretty good idea what he was talking about. He’d already told me a couple of his war stories, some of the jobs he’d pulled off for McIntyre. The shape he’d had to be in, to do some of those things, was pretty intense.
The barbell clanged on its stand as Cole set it back in place. He picked up the towel lying on the floor beside the bench and mopped his face with it.
“That sucks.” He stared grimly up at the warehouse’s ceiling. “That was nothing, and I’m already sweating.” A shake of his head. “It’s gonna be a while before I’m where I should be.”
“I’m okay with that.” I had already started to feel that things were going kind of fast. Considering that not too long ago, I had been Little Nerd Accountant Girl grinding away in her cubbyhole office, head deep into the ledgers, and now I already had one kill under my belt – things were clipping along, all right. “We can take our time.”
“No, we can’t.” Cole began wrestling himself back into his wheelchair. “The longer we take, the less chance we have of pulling it off. This is something you gotta learn. Speed is of the essence in this business.” Sitting in the chair, he pulled back on the joystick control to roll himself away from the bench. “Once you’ve decided to kill somebody, you need to do it as quick as possible. Every minute you screw around, that’s another minute something can go wrong.”
“I thought you were into that whole careful planning thing.”
“There’s planning, then there’s doing. The sooner you go from one to the other, the safer . . . you’ll be . . .”
He leaned back in the wheelchair, eyes closed, mouth slightly parted.
That worried me. He seemed old and tired, as though even that abbreviated workout had exhausted him.
“You okay?”
A moment passed before his eyelids slowly raised. He looked over at me, then nodded.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” He dug out a lighter and a pack of cigarettes from the carryall pouch hanging on the side of the wheelchair. “If you don’t push it, you don’t get anywhere.” He lit up and filled his lungs. “Tell you what. Why don’t we call it a day? You come around tomorrow, we’ll start talking strategy.”
“Strategy?” I stared at him. “What do you mean, strategy?”
“For Christ’s sake, Kim. I thought you were so smart. And then you ask a question like that.”
“I am smart. About some things, at least. Is it my fault they didn’t offer advanced assassination techniques where I went to school?”
“You should be able to figure this one out on your own. This kind of job, it’s not just about squeezing the trigger. You need to get to the right spot, so your target’s standing in front of you when you do it. And that takes strategy.”
“Okay,” I said. “I got it now.”
“I’m beginning to wonder. This is the real work, Kim. That other’s just the fun stuff.”
“Fine. We’ll work.”
“Great.” He swiveled the wheelchair away from me. “Get here early tomorrow.”
I regarded his back for a few seconds, then nodded. “All right,” I said. I turned around and headed for the door.
SIX
Somebody was waiting for me when I got home. Who I wasn’t expecting.
The apartment front door was unlocked. That was the first wrong thing I noticed. I pushed the door open all the way and peered inside. I didn’t see anything – or at least nothing that wasn’t supposed to be there.
Here’s how you can tell my head was in Cole’s world. The next thing I did was to pull my backpack from my shoulder, unzip it, and pull out the shiny .357 he’d given me. It was already loaded and ready to go.
I stepped into the front room and carefully closed the door behind me –
But not so carefully that there wasn’t somebody who heard it.
“Kimmie!” My younger brother’s voice called from the bedroom. “Your friend’s here!”
I didn’t like that. Another part of Cole’s world – surprises were generally not a good thing.
I kept the gun hidden behind my back as I looked in. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Monica turned a thin smile toward me.
“Donnie’s been showing me what the deal is with two-car drafting.” She pointed to the laptop sitting on the bed between them. On its screen was some YouTube video of numbered racecars hurtling nose-to-tail around some track – from the banking, it looked like Daytona. “I gotta tell you, I had no idea this stuff was so technical. There’s a lot to it.”
“Oh, yeah.” Standing in the doorway, I gave a nod. “My kid brother’s the one to talk to about that. Someday he’s going to be a crew chief.”
“That’ll never happen,” said Donnie.
“Why not?” Monica turned and looked at him. “I thought you said NASCAR had some kind of diversity program. Doesn’t Chinese count?”
“I told you once alrea
dy – Korean.” I still had the gun hidden behind my back, though I was tempted to bring it out now. And use it. “And yeah, soon as they run through all the other ethnic groups, including Latvian, I’m signing my kid brother up. Until then . . .”
“Your sister’s a little on the cynical side,” Monica informed my brother.
“I’m also tired,” I said. “I’ve been working all day.”
“Me, too.”
I suppose it could’ve been a bonding moment for the two of us. We both had physically demanding jobs now.
“So let’s talk.” I stepped back from the doorway. “In private.” I caught Donnie’s eye. “You try listening in, and I’ll kick your butt.”
I pulled the bedroom door shut behind Monica and used the .357 in my other hand to point toward the table in the kitchenette. “Have a seat.”
She regarded the gun with a raised eyebrow, but didn’t comment on it. In the world that she lived in with Cole, things like that didn’t rate as unusual. So she had an advantage over me. Nothing surprised her.
“Okay –” I took the chair across from her and set the gun down on the table. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Came to see you,” said Monica. “And have a little chat.”
“How did you get in? I’ve told Donnie not to open that door unless the place is burning down, and the firemen have just shown up.”
“Are you kidding?” She smiled and shook her head. “In dumps like this, you can get through the door locks with a nail file.”
“Great. Thanks for the security tip. I’ll have a locksmith out here tomorrow and get new ones put on.”
“Don’t bother,” said Monica. “I won’t be dropping by again – this is a one-off. And the other people who might be coming around, they won’t bother picking the lock. They’ll just kick the door down.”
“Who’re you talking about?” Instinctively, I laid my hand on top of the gun. “The police?”
“You should be so lucky.”
I didn’t like the way that our conversation was turning out.
“All right,” I said. “You came here to talk to me – I just don’t get why you did that. Why not just talk to me over at the warehouse? I’m over at your place all the time these days.”
“With Cole there? He’s the problem.”
“I didn’t even know there was a problem.”
“Well, honey, you better know. You’ve got problems, all right – we both do.”
“Like what?”
I listened to her as she told me all about what had happened at the club, while Cole and I had been out having target practice at the rock quarry. About her conversation with McIntyre’s head security guy Michael. And what it meant.
“Somebody’s rolled over on Cole.” She made it a simple statement of fact. “Somebody he trusted. So now Michael knows there’s something going on.”
“Somebody he bought some equipment from.” Inside my head, I sorted through the bits and pieces. “Do you know who it is?”
“Yeah –” Monica nodded. “I’ve got a good idea. There’s a kid named Braemer – he’s always had a line going with expensive electronics. Surveillance gear that civilians aren’t supposed to get their hands on. Stuff you need a license from the feds to even think about. Braemer doesn’t even have a driver’s license.”
“Sounds like somebody you know a lot about.”
“I should. He and I had kind of a thing going on for a while.”
“Right.” My turn to nod. “This was before Cole?”
“During.”
“You’re kidding.” I stared at her. “How smart is that? Cole’s a psychopath. With guns.”
“I didn’t say it was smart. I said it happened. You gotta understand – he can really piss you off.”
She didn’t need to tell me that. I already knew.
“And besides,” continued Monica. “It wasn’t the first time I’ve cheated on him. Braemer’s just the first one he let live, that’s all.”
“Why?”
“I told you. He pissed me off.”
“No, I mean why did Cole let him go on living?”
“Because he’s useful. Some of the equipment Braemer can supply – Cole doesn’t have any other source for it.” Monica smiled. “That’s how you know he’s a professional. He doesn’t let the pleasure of killing somebody get in the way of business.”
I looked over to make sure that the bedroom door was still closed, then turned back to Monica.
“So let me see if I’ve got this. What you’re telling me is that this Braemer guy – he’s still hung up on you?”
“Last I heard, yeah.” She looked a little disgusted. “Annoying, huh? I can’t stand clingy guys.”
I could see where that would make Cole perfect for her.
“And that’s why he’d be the one who told Michael about Cole buying new equipment?”
“Sure,” said Monica. “Braemer doesn’t have what it would take to eliminate Cole himself – he’s a weedy little guy. Don’t know what I ever saw in him, except as a way to ring Cole’s chimes. But if he can get Michael to take care of Cole – then his problem’s solved. And he could take another run at me, without worrying about Cole blowing his head off. Not that he’d have much of a chance with me. That’s just the way guys think, though.”
I’d have to take Monica’s word for that. I didn’t have a lot of experience along those lines. Or any.
“And that’s why we’ve got problems, honey. You and me.”
I pulled myself from my own grim thoughts and back to what Monica was saying.
“What do you mean? Exactly?”
“Don’t you get it?” Her patience was visibly fraying as she looked at me. “Now Michael knows something is going on. His job is to make sure it doesn’t happen. The best way of making sure of that is to eliminate Cole – the way he’s wanted to for a long time, except his boss McIntyre wouldn’t let him. And if you or I are in the way when Michael does whatever he’s thinking of doing – then that’s just too bad for us, isn’t it?”
She had a point. It would be.
“Okay,” I said. “Is this the part where you tell me again that I’ve got options? That I can still just pick up and leave? Strap my little brother to my motorcycle and just hit the road?”
“Oh, no.” Monica looked at me with genuine sympathy. “That was days ago. When I was talking to you before. Things change, honey. You don’t have those options now. You got rid of them. I mean . . . just look at you.”
“What’s wrong with me?”
“Nothing,” she said. “Everything. What were you before? Before all of this happened?”
“A mouse. That’s all.” I could taste the bitterness of the words on my tongue. “Just scurrying from one corner to another, trying not to get stepped on. A mouse who dreamed about not being a mouse.”
“I know. Cole told me all about you. He’d come home after a job – those jobs that he did then – and we’d lie there and he’d say something about you. Because you would’ve just cut a check for him. Services rendered, for Mr. McIntyre. And he’d laugh – but not really. Because he liked you. And he felt sorry for you. Can you believe that? Somebody like him, feeling sorry for anybody? But he did.”
I wasn’t sure whether she was telling the truth about that. It didn’t seem to fit into my mental picture of him. But who knew? Unlike Monica, I was still capable of being surprised.
“That doesn’t do me any good now,” I said. “Or him.”
“Yeah, well,” said Monica, “it might not have done you any good – but it did something. Like I said, look at you. You’re not a mouse now. You’re not scurrying around.” She reached over and brushed her fingertips along my hair. “You’re actually looking pretty good. Where I work, there are a lot of customers who have a thing for the petites. Like you. When this is all over, I could give you some tips. Help you work up a routine. And help you get in – maybe not at the club I’m at, but somewhere nice. You could do pretty well.�
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Great, I thought. Another fabulous career opportunity. I knew I should’ve gone to college.
“I’ll think about it,” I said. “But you have to be nice to the customers, don’t you? Right now, I’m kind of on the shelf.”
“Yeah, you’re not going to be getting any for a while – at least not if you want to get this job done – but you could. That’s how much you’ve changed. You even talk different now. All lippy and stuff. Before, you wouldn’t have said boo to a goose.”
“I’ve never understood that expression.” I talked, even though I was thinking about other things. “It’s just stupid. Are there people who go around saying boo to geese? And how smart is that? There are geese that can kick the crap out of you. Believe me – I’ve lived on a farm. I know.”
“Forget the geese. We’ve got to deal with our own problems. And we don’t have a lot of time.”
“People are always saying that to me now.” I shook my head. “And I thought I was overworked before.”
“Part of what we don’t have time for now, is you feeling sorry for yourself.”
“All right, all right.” I picked up the .357 from the table. “Tell me who I’m supposed to kill, I’ll go do it. You’ll have to excuse me, but I’ve kind of lost track.”
“You don’t have to kill anybody.”
“Really?” I felt a little deflated. “I was already getting my head wrapped around the idea.”
“Well, get it unwrapped.” Monica pulled the gun out of my hand and set it back down on the table. “This Braemer kid – we don’t have to kill him, in order to take care of him. We just need him to shut up. Whatever information he’s been passing on to Michael, about the equipment that Cole’s been buying, plus whatever else he’s been able to snoop – that’s gotta come to an end.”
“How do we do that?”
“Braemer’s a smartass,” said Monica. “But he’s also a chickenshit. The only reason he’s talking to Michael is because he doesn’t think anybody knows he’s doing it. If he found out that people were on to him, he’d fold.”
“Huh. You slept with a guy like that?” I’d thought she had higher standards.