Dead and Gone (8 page)

A short, squat man with dense black hair covering the backs of his hands came from behind a small counter to the right. He stared expectantly, but said nothing.

The driver, who looked like Central Casting for Aryan—tall, well built, blond-and-blue—said, “Dmitri?”

“Over there,” the squat man said, pointing at a table to the left, where a thick-bodied man in a dark suit sat alone, his back to the wall.

The driver pushed the cripple over to Dmitri. The Russian didn’t offer his hand. Just watched, taking a long, deep drag of his cigarette. The red Dunhills package was on the table to his left.

The cripple waved his hand vaguely at the attendant, who immediately turned smartly and walked out of the restaurant. The attendant paused on the sidewalk for maybe five seconds. Then he re-entered the ambulette, climbing behind the wheel.

I was alone with Dmitri.

“So?” is all he said.

“You don’t recognize me, old friend?” I asked him.

“No. How would I—?”

“Listen to my voice, Dmitri. Listen close. You’ve heard it before. On the phone. In person. When we were packing that satchel together a few months ago. Remember?”

“You’re …”

“In my hand, under the tablecloth, there’s a .357 Magnum. Six heavy hollowpoints in the chamber. Listen.…”

The sound of the hammer clicking back was a thunderclap in the silence between us, as distinctive to Dmitri as a cancerous cell to an oncologist.

“We are not alone here,” he said, calmly.

“Every one of your men’s behind me. They couldn’t get between you and the bullets.”

“Perhaps not. But you would never—”

“I don’t care,” I said softly. Giving him time to read my face, see that I meant it.

He nodded slowly. “What do you want?”

“Good,” I said, acknowledging his understanding. “You thought I was dead, right?”

“Everybody thought you were dead,” he said, shrugging.

“Sure. There’s only two ways it could have gone down. Either you set me up, or someone set you up.”

“There is another way.”

“And what’s that?”

“Burke, this was business. You understand? Just business. These people come to me. They say their child is kidnapped. And the man who has him will return him for money. They want me to deliver the money. And they will pay for that service. I tell them, of course we will do that. I would have sent one of my people. But then they say there is a condition. It must be
you
who delivers the money.”

“Me by name, right? So they knew …?”

“That we had done business together? Yes, I think. Otherwise, why would they think I could …?”

“All right. So you knew it was me they wanted. And that it was no kidnapping.”

“That I did
not
know. It is all over the street, how you feel about kids. And about those who … use them. I thought perhaps they wanted someone who might do more than just pick up the child.”

Dmitri was good. That last bit was a slick stroke. “But they didn’t approach me themselves,” I pointed out, nice and calm.

“If they had, would you have done it?”

“Not without references.” I took a slow breath. “So you’re saying
that’s
what they paid you for, huh?”

“It is all how you look at it. I did not think it was a plan to murder you. Otherwise, why put all that money into your hands?”

“Because if we hadn’t counted it—together, remember?—I wouldn’t have gone out that night.”

“I did not know, I tell you.”

“Which means the hit squad wasn’t yours.”

“If it had been mine, you would not be here.”

“They were pros, Dmitri. They just got a little unlucky. And a couple of them got dead.”

“Ah. This I have not heard.”

“Okay, who was it who hired you?”

“That I could not say.”

“You mean,
won’t
say, right?”

“It would be bad business. They were clients. They paid for a service. I delivered that service. I have a reputation.”

“Me, too.”

“Yes. You are a professional, as I am. I don’t believe you would attempt to kill me in my own place. And, anyway, what would you kill me
for?
I am not going to tell you their names. And you’re alive.…”

“They killed my dog.”

“Your … 
dog?”

“My dog,” I said, willing the trembling out of my voice. I wouldn’t say her name in front of this … professional. “So that’s enough. For me, anyway. Enough for me to blast you right here. Either you give up the names, or I pull the trigger.”

“That is a child’s bluff,” Dmitri said gently, spreading his hands wide. “I am sorry, Burke. But you—”

The explosion sucked all the sound out of the room in its wake. Dmitri slammed back into the wall, gut-shot. I stepped out of the wheelchair, hit the switch on the armrest, took a deep breath, and walked around to where Dmitri lay on the floor. He looked dead. I put three rounds into his face. His head bounced on the floor. When it came to rest, his brains were outside his skull.

The compartment under the wheelchair was spewing thick yellow smoke. I stepped through it and saw two men with Uzis standing in the entranceway to the restaurant. As soon as I emerged, they started blasting away—shooting high, the spray keeping everyone on the ground. I walked toward them, then between them, and jumped into the passenger seat of the van. The engine was running, the van was already in gear, the driver holding his foot on the brake … and a semi-auto in his hand. The spray-team piled in behind me, and the van took off.

We never even heard a siren.

I
carefully removed the clear plastic shrouding from my fingernails, one by one. Then I started soaking my right hand in a jar of kerosene—revolvers really spread their powder residue around. The dismembered pistol was already on its way to an acid bath.

I felt like a man who’d just worked a long shift at a lousy job. The same job that would be waiting on me tomorrow.

I
went back to being dead. Stayed deep underground. Spent every day working out, harder and harder. It was nearing Christmas by the time I heard from the Mossad man.

“His name is Anton.”

“The new boss?”

“Yes. But not easily, not without bloodshed. Some of Dmitri’s old crew have moved on. The new organization is smaller.”

“And this Anton, he’s not ex-military?”

“No,” the Mossad man replied. “He’s an ex-convict. A career criminal.”

Like me
, flickered in my thoughts before it blinked out. “Thank you,” is all I said.

“W
ho is this?” The voice on the phone was hard and weaselish at the same time.

“My name doesn’t matter,” I told him. “I’m the one who sent you that present … the one wrapped in green paper with a red ribbon.”

“Ah!” he grunted. “What is it that you want?”

“You got the present. The ten grand was in exchange for a piece of information.”

“What information?” he asked, suspicion dominating. “Nothing about you. Or your crew. Dmitri dealt with some people a few months ago. I know he kept records. I know you have those records. All I want is their name and address.”

“How would I know which—?”

“They were a married couple. Russians. Not in the business. She was a doctor, he was a scientist. Their child had been kidnapped.”

“How much is this information worth to you?”

“Ten thousand dollars, Anton. And I already paid you.”

“I think it is maybe worth more.”

So he already knew. “Maybe it is worth twice that,” I came back, surprising him.

He paused, then responded, “Agreed.”

“Okay. You already have half in front from me. A good-faith payment. To show my respect. I will get the other half to you when you give me the information.”

“How could I be sure of this?”

“Remember the rest of the present I sent you?”

“The piece of chalk?”

“Yes.”

“What is the purpose of that?”

“For your people to draw the outline around your body. You know, like the cops did around Dmitri. When he was on the floor, dead. I gave him the same choice I’m giving you. He picked wrong. So now I deal with you. If you pick wrong, I deal with whoever follows
you
, understand?”

“You threaten me?”

“Threaten? I am making you the same offer I made Dmitri, that’s all.”

“Dmitri was a fool. He thought that the most important thing was to be some … soldier,” he said, spitting on the last word.

“You and me, we’re alike,” I told him. “We’re not soldiers, we’re businessmen. A soldier’s mistake is different from a businessman’s mistake. Greed, that is a businessman’s mistake. Not one you want to make. Twenty thousand dollars for the information, that’s enough.”

“Call back here in twenty-four hours,” he said. And hung up.

I pushed the “off” button on the cell phone. Then I used a hammer and a blowtorch to turn it into a puddle of untraceable plastic.

“A
soldier is nothing but an armed bureaucrat,” he said the next night. “And Dmitri proves it. Everything, he wrote down. Everything. An idiot.”

“Government is government,” I agreed.

He grunted in self-satisfaction. Then he slowly gave me a name, address, and phone number as if he was reading the info off an index card.

“Chicago?”

“Everything that is here, I just tell you.”

“All right. I believe you.”

“The rest of the money …?”

“Is yours as soon as I check out the information.”

“You said that you—”

“I said I believed
you
. Dmitri, that remains to be seen.”

“What are you saying?”

“I offered you two choices. If the information is true, then you have earned the money.”

“If it is not? If Dmitri …?”

“Then that’s it,” I lied. “You keep what you have, and we’ll be square.”

I hung up on whatever he was in the middle of saying.

“C
hi-Town?” the Prof asked me, puzzled.

“That part is legit,” I told him. “Dmitri
said
the snatch took place in Chicago. What happened was, it made the Chicago
papers
, but they lived in Winnetka—it’s like a suburb. A rich suburb. Anyway, that’s where they lived
then
. And I figured they’d moved here after it happened. But maybe not …”

“Never change phone,” Mama said.

I looked across the table at her. The first time I’d been in the restaurant since before … since before it happened. Mama hadn’t reacted to my new face, just snapped her fingers for the tureen of hot-and-sour soup as if nothing had changed.

“Right,” is all I said, acknowledging the truth. Your child gets kidnapped, the one thing you never change is your phone number. Just in case. Even after years and years. But phone calls could be forwarded. Maybe they carried a cellular everywhere they went, never used it for anything else, waiting—an amulet against the unthinkable.

“That chance can’t dance,” the Prof snapped. “Remember what that Dmitri motherfucker said, Schoolboy—they said it
had
to be you. You got the street-brand here, no question.
Too
much of it, you ask me. But Chicago? Son, your star don’t shine that far.”

“So they were living here, then? And the Chicago address is a dud?”

“Maybe Cossacks all lie,” Mama said darkly, the memory of some obscure Sino-Soviet conflict igniting behind the emotionless mask of her face.

“Let’s just go with what we know,” the Prof said. “Click it off.”

“All right,” I told them. “It was a hit. I was the target. There were at least four of them. It was a good plan. I’d done that kind of work before—middlemanned a handover—so it made sense they’d pick me. And they knew I’d go for it, the kind of money they were paying. They picked a spot that should have been perfect. Even the kid—that was a sweet touch. I was
expecting
a kid. Gave them an extra split-second to get off first, before I snapped wise. They might have figured I’d have backup, but they didn’t think anyone could get close enough without tipping them off. They didn’t figure on the Kevlar, though. Or on …”

My throat stopped up. I couldn’t say any more.

“She went out the way I want to, son,” the Prof said, reading me like I was forty-point type.

“Yeah.” I ignored the pain-flash, got back to my summary. “They were cool under fire. At least their leader was. Took the extra time to make sure I was gone, picked up their dead, didn’t leave a trace.”

“They thought they left
you
, mahn,” Clarence said.

“Wouldn’t have mattered,” I told him. “That wasn’t unprofessional of them; it was smart. With my track record, being found dead in Hunts Point—what would it tell the cops? Nothing. Nothing to connect to them, and a ton of possible suspects out there, too.”

“That’s where
we
got to look,” the Prof said.

“I don’t get it.”

“Listen up, then.
We
got to be the detectives now. Whoever tried to ice you, it cost
someone
serious money. Took a lot of time, involved a lot of people. That’s got to be personal. The people who tried to do the job, I figure them for mercs. Hired hands. But the rest, that was about blood. Someone who hates you enough to do all that planning and spending. And someone who knows you enough to figure you’d go for that kid-exchange thing, too.”

“That’s not a short list,” I said.

“Might be a
real
short list, we can get alone with those Russians for a few minutes.”

“I don’t think Anton—the guy who took over from Dmitri—I don’t think he was lying.”

“These people must be registered,” Clarence said, suddenly.

“What?”

“Immigration, mahn. I know about this. I do not know how much truth there is in what you were told, but, if they were from another country, they would not be citizens so easily. They could move, but they would have to notify …”

I exchanged a look with Mama. She nodded.

I
thought about it later, watching alone as the gray dawn drove off the black night. I knew the best info-trafficker in the City. And what I had to do.