Kim Oh 3: Real Dangerous People (The Kim Oh Thrillers) (9 page)

“Left it in the car.”

“Go get it.”

When I came back into the barn with it, Curt slid the door shut behind me.

“What’re you carrying these days?”

I zipped open the backpack, dug out the .357, and showed it to him.

“Nice piece.” He nodded appreciatively. “Cole?”

I nodded. I could remember when Cole had first given it to me. It’d seemed to weigh a ton then – I’d barely been able to lift it in both hands.

Now I’ve gotten used to it.

“You had that with you up in Albany?”

“Yep. It’s my main piece.”

“Any problem with it?”

“None whatsoever.” I gave him a thin smile. “Didn’t Moretti tell you I could handle it all right?”

“Moretti doesn’t have the same standards that I do.”

“Yeah, well – it gets the job done.”

“In Albany it didn’t.”

I didn’t like the way this conversation was going.

“If you’re just going to get on my case about what happened to Andriessen . . .”

Curt didn’t say anything. He went over to the flickering oil lamp and turned the little brass knob at its side, shutting off the flame.

I couldn’t see; it would take a few seconds for my night vision to start kicking in.

“You know the drill.”

His voice came from some other spot, different from where I had last seen him.

“Aw, come on,” I said. “Not this crap again –”

I’d been through this particular game before. Cole had run me through it, back when he had been getting me ready to take care of our old boss McIntyre. Then, it’d been in that funky warehouse where Cole had operated from. Before we’d finished, and Cole had switched the lights back on, I’d managed to blow away the saucepan on the little one-ring hot plate and wing a corner of the fridge.

I was better at it now. For one thing, I knew what to expect.

The red dot of a laser pointer hit one of the sagging wooden beams above my head. There it was –

One-handed, I swung the .357 up and squeezed the trigger. The little red dot showed the inside of the bullet hole I’d just drilled, then switched off.

From the corner of my eye, I saw the red dot blink on the wall behind me. I swung around and nailed that one as well.

“This was easy
before
.” I still couldn’t see where Curt was hiding. “And I’ve had a lot of practice since then.”

The red dot picked out a rat, eyes glittering, crouching on top of one of the rotting hay bales. I blew it away just as quickly.

“Is this really necessary?” I turned slowly, scanning for Curt. “Why don’t we just stop screwing around –”

Another shot sounded, but not from my gun this time. The bullet pinged off a piece of rusted metal next to my shoulder.

“Damn –” I dropped to my stomach. The red dot appeared again, over on the opposite barn wall. I rolled onto one side and fired. It pissed me off when the dot moved over a couple inches to show the bullet hole, then snapped off again.

This was something new. Even when Cole had run me through the drill, I hadn’t had to dodge shots from his gun.

“That’s real cute.” I raised my head and shouted into the dark. “You want to play games? All right – go ahead –”

 I heard the next shot go right over my head. I grabbed the strap of my backpack and ran, hunched over, farther into the barn . . .

* * *

Back in town, Elton was still drinking at the White Hawk.

After his little business meeting with the guys who owed him money, nobody felt like coming over and talking to him. When guys do stuff like that, as a general rule it’s a good idea to leave a few bar stools between you and them.

The two-piece band was slaughtering one of their numbers on the little stage. They had both come back so red-eyed and stumbling from their between-sets break, out in the alley behind, that they didn’t care if anybody was dancing or not. The empty beer pitcher they were using for a tip jar had two folded dollar bills in it – from Elton, actually. Maybe he’d just wanted to signal to everybody that he wasn’t in a bad mood, now that the conference was over.

He listened to one of the drunker patrons saying something to whoever had just come in from the street.

“Hey, buddy –” The drunk swayed on his perch at the other end of the bar. “Sure you’re in the right place?”

“I’ll let you know if I’m not.”

Elton looked over his shoulder and saw Foley heading his way.

“Aren’t you supposed to be on duty tonight?”

Foley sat down next to him and signaled to the bartender.

“Whoa.” Foley caught sight of Elton’s scraped-raw knuckles. “You really should find a nicer place to hang out.”

“I like it here,” said Elton. “They don’t put little paper umbrellas in the drinks.”

The bartender set a beer in front of Foley.

“You never order those kinds of drinks.”

“It’s just the idea. Creeps me out.”

Foley took a long pull from his beer. “We gotta talk,” he said as he set it back down.

Elton shrugged. “So talk.”

“It’s important,” said Foley. “Maybe we should go someplace private.”

“I’ve already taken care of enough business today. This is my happy hour.”

“It can’t wait.”

“Yeah?” It dawned on Elton, about how serious Foley was. “So what is it, already?”

“It’s Curt.”

“I was afraid you were going to say that.” Elton turned back to his beer. “What about the man?”

“He’s screwing up,” said Foley. “Big time. You know it, I know it, everybody knows it.”

“Seems like everybody knows it – except Mr. Falcon. Otherwise, he’d have fired Curt’s ass by now.”

“Falcon doesn’t see him up close. The way we do. He doesn’t see things.”

“Like what?”

“Like the little problem Curt’s got with his gun hand. He can barely fire a piece anymore.”

“I don’t know.” Another shrug. “It’s not so bad.”

“Think so?”

“Yeah, actually. I do.”

“Then think about this.” Foley leaned closer to him. “When we were at that restaurant, and everything came down on us – when all that stuff was happening – why didn’t you see Curt taking a shot?”

“He was busy,” said Elton. “Thinking what to do next. That’s his job. He runs the crew, remember?”

“Well, he isn’t thinking so hot these days.” A slow nod. “Or maybe he is . . .”

“Meaning exactly what?”

“Maybe Curt knows he’s losing it.” Foley’s brow practically touched the other man’s. “Maybe he figures Falcon’s gonna see it. Then Falcon’s gonna want a new leader for the crew.” He sat back a little. “And that’s why Curt brought his old girlfriend back on board.”

“Girlfriend? What’re you talking about?”

“What, are you blind? That Kim broad. Who the hell do you think she is?”

“Didn’t hear about her being Curt’s girlfriend.”

“Before your time, pal. She and Curt were hot and heavy in the sack. Like minks. That’s why Curt talked Falcon into hiring her before . . .”

When I found out that this was the load that Foley told Elton, I just about hit the roof. Can you believe this guy? What kind of story is that to make up? I didn’t know if I was more pissed that Foley came up with this crap, or that Elton didn’t fall off his bar stool, laughing.

I mean, really. Not only was I not putting it out for anybody – following Cole’s advice on that score – I certainly wasn’t putting it out for Curt. The guy could’ve been my
grandfather!
Look, I realize I’m not exactly some Kardashian in terms of hotness, but I’m not
that
desperate. Like I said before, I’ve pulled my act together at least a little bit, from back when I’d been Little Nerd Accountant Girl. And if I were going to put my ass on the line – literally – for a job, it sure wouldn’t be
this
one.

Plus – what is it with guys nowadays? When did they all become girls? Even an old guy like this Foley putz. I would’ve thought he’d be more old-school than this. Instead, he dished out this back-stabbing crap like he’s on some junior varsity cheerleader squad, instead of a crew of hit men bodyguards.

I blame it on that whole bit about men getting in touch with their feminine sides. Even hit men. Instead of getting in touch with something inside them that was like, say, Mother Theresa or Amelia Earhart or Eleanor Roosevelt, no, they gotta channel that bitchy girl you remember from high school, who always gave you that sweetie smile and then went around telling everybody what a tramp you were.

“Is that right? Her and Curt, huh?” Like I said, Elton fell for it. “I would never have figured that.”

Right, Einstein.

“Then when she screwed up in Albany,” Foley went on, “and Falcon fired her cute little butt, there wasn’t squat that Curt could do about it. Unless he wanted to get bounced, too.”

“Huh.” Elton frowned. “Well, I’ll be damned. So how come nobody told me all this ancient history before now?”

“Come on. Curt’s personal business – you don’t talk about another man’s shit like that.”

Spare me.

“But you’re talking about it now.”

Thank
you.

“Well, yeah,” said Foley. “Because I don’t feel like getting killed, just ’cause Curt wants to make his girlfriend the next crew leader.”

“You think he’s trying to do that?”

“Figure it out. Why else would he talk Falcon into bringing her back?

“Maybe he thinks she can do the job?”

“Gimme a break.” Foley looked away in disgust, then came back to Elton. “This isn’t some desk job we’re talking about. Where she files something wrong, no biggie. If she’s running the crew and she screws up like she screwed up before, we’re all dead.”

“If you say so.”

“Buddy, I
know
so.”

“Okay,” said Elton. “So what’re you going to do about it?”

Foley looked around the place to make sure nobody was listening in, then came in forehead-to-forehead with Elton again.

“We need a new crew leader. Now. And not that Kim broad.”

“Really?” Elton leaned back and regarded Foley. “And who’d that new leader be?”

Now they were getting down to it.

“Who do you think? Earl can’t do it. He’s not the leader type. Plus, he’s tight with Curt. He’d never feel right about taking over. So it has to be me.”

“You?”

Foley nodded. “That’s what I said.”

“Yeah, I heard you.”

Gazing off in front of himself, Elton sipped his beer and slowly nodded his head, as if mulling it all over. He turned back to Foley.

“And why not me?”

Foley stared back at him. “What?”

“You heard me. Why shouldn’t I run the crew?”

“Are you joking?”

Elton shook his head. “No.”

“For Christ’s sake! Elton, you can’t run the crew.”

“Why not?”

“You’re crazy. Frickin’ miracle you’re on the crew to begin with. Now you want Curt’s job? Get real.”

“I am,” said Elton. “If anybody’s going to take over this crew, it should be me.”

“Look, man, I know how you feel –”

“Do you?”

“Seriously.” Foley spread his hands wide. “If it were up to me, I’d say sure, give you a shot. But you gotta think of the organization. What would everyone else who works for Falcon say if you got the top job?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I deserved it?”

“Believe me – that’s not what they’d say. They’d go nuts.”

“Yeah, well, maybe you and all the rest of those old guys working for Falcon better get over it.”

“What?”

Some of the others in the bar turned and looked as the men’s voices rose.

“You know that stuff that Falcon’s always talking about?” Elton’s hand tightened around his beer. “About listening to the president, like when he’s giving a speech and stuff. About how everything’s going to be different? And JFK, for Christ’s sake. I wasn’t even born. But there was supposed to be some New Frontier and all. What happened to that? When Falcon started going on about that stuff, I thought it was funny at first. I had to bite my tongue not to laugh. But you know what?” Elton leaned closer to the other man. “Maybe it’s not so funny. Not so funny at all. Maybe it’s true.”

“Take it easy –”

“You take it, pal.” Elton jabbed a finger into Foley’s chest. “All this time, I’ve heard all this good shit from you. About how the crew’s like a bunch of blood brothers, been through the wars together, I’ve saved your life, you’ve saved mine, one for all and all for one, blah blah blah. But as soon as there’s talk of a new leader for the crew, then it’s different.”