The Ethical Assassin: A Novel (19 page)

And there I was thinking I couldn’t get more nervous. “Not really. I mean, no. No girls. I was just talking to Melford, and he has all these arguments. They’re very convincing.”

“So is Melford,” Chitra observed. “I didn’t talk to him long, but I could tell he’s very charismatic. You get to talking to him, and you feel like you’ve known him a long time, and it’s easy to open up. I said some things to him, and maybe I should have kept quiet.”

Like finding me cute, I thought. In fact, I almost said it, but I caught myself in time. I wanted her to like me, not to see how clever I could be at her expense. “Yeah, he’s charismatic.”

“How long have you known him?”

“Not that long,” I said.

“Longer than you’ve been a vegetarian, I hope.”

“A bit longer,” I said, trying to sound playfully casual but hating the half lie.

“He’s very likable,” she said. “But, to be honest, I sort of didn’t like him anyway. I mean I did, but I didn’t trust him. I don’t know, I don’t want to be down on your friends or anything, but if you don’t know him that well, I thought maybe you might want to be careful, because the truth is, as far as feelings about people go, I had one about Melford.”

“Oh?” My casual oh.

“I had a feeling that he’s bad news himself. But in a real way. Not like with Todd, who could end up in jail as easily as community college. Or with you, in your interesting kind of messed-up way. I mean real bad news.”

There was so much to say, really, that I hardly knew where to begin. Her sort-of-ex-boyfriend who might end up in jail. Did I ask why? How, precisely, was I interesting and messed up? Beyond all that, she had pegged Melford. Did she have these vibes like, oh, maybe he might have just killed some people?

“What does that mean, exactly? Real bad news?”

She held up her hands. “I’m sorry I said anything. It’s not my business. I worry, is all.”

I couldn’t help but smile. She was worried about me.

I picked up a packet of sugar and began to tug lightly on the opposing corners. “Since we’re talking about trust,” I said, “there’s something I’ve been meaning to bring up.”

“Oh?” She leaned forward, and her large eyes grew larger.

She liked me. She had to like me. She was flirting with me. Wasn’t she?

“The thing is . . . ,” I began. I tugged on the sugar packet again, this time almost hard enough to rip it and send sugar sprawling over the table. That would be bad. “The thing is, I kind of get the feeling that Ronny Neil is interested in you.”

“Ronny Neil Cramer,” she said wistfully. She put a hand to her chin and let her eyes roll upward in delight. “Chitra Cramer. Mrs. Ronny Neil Cramer. What colors do you think for my bridesmaids?”

“You’re teasing me,” I observed.

“Can you seriously think that I would need to be warned off a fellow like that?”

“I don’t know. I figured, you know, you’re not American, and he’s such an American type. He might not be as obvious to you as he is to me.”

“Mmm,” she said.

“Have I offended you?”

She said nothing for a moment. Then, a massive, dazzling smile, white against the vibrant red of her lips. “No. Not at all. I only wanted to make you squirm a bit.”

On the way back to the motel, Chitra kept glancing over at me and grinning in a way that felt absolutely wicked. It was driving me crazy in virtually every way.

“What exactly is so funny?” I finally said.

“I grew up in a family of lapsed Hindus,” she said. “My parents aren’t religious, and we ate fish and chicken, but never red meat—out of habit, I suppose. I’ve never had a hamburger.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No, I’ve never had one. Do you think I should?”

“Well, they taste good, but as a new vegetarian, I can’t really endorse a move like that.”

“You know what?” She was now twirling a little strand of hair above her right ear. Her ears were unusually small. “I think we should go out for hamburgers.”

“Except that I’m a vegetarian. You’re forgetting that part.”

“I’ve never had one, and you’re not supposed to have them. That’s what will make it fun. Don’t you find the forbidden exciting?”

I could think of no way to tell her that I’d had enough of the forbidden in the last twenty-four hours to last me some time. “Hamburgers aren’t forbidden to me. I’ve given them up.”

“Well, now you’re challenging me, aren’t you? I’m going to make it my mission to cause you to lapse.”

“I have pretty good willpower.”

“We’ll see.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that everyone has a breaking point.”

“Not me,” I told her. “Once I decide to do something, that’s it.”

“Oh? Suppose I offered to sleep with you if you eat a hamburger?”

I stopped in my tracks.

She let out a laugh, playful and strangely innocent. “I’m not actually offering to sleep with you,” she said, not stopping so that I had to dart to catch up. “I’m just making a point. You think you have an iron will, but we’ll see.”

“You’re assuming I want to sleep with you.” I had no idea why I would say such a thing, but I felt exposed.

“I suppose I am,” she said.

I had no response, and we walked for a moment in strained if amicable silence. I decided it was time to change the subject and raise the question I’d wanted to ask. It needed to seem casual, relaxed. “So, what’s it like being in the Gambler’s crew?”

She studied me as we walked. “Why?” Her voice was strangely flat.

“No reason. I’m just wondering. I work for a nice guy, but you work for the big boss. I was wondering what it was like.”

“Oh, I’m sure it’s pretty much the same as anyone else’s. Or maybe I haven’t been around long enough to know.”

“Is he always like he is in the meetings? You know? So vibrant?”

“Sometimes.”

“Does he ever talk about his own boss?”

There was a pause now. A long one. An unnaturally long one, as if she were trying to think about how best to answer. “Why are you asking me all of this?”

“I’m a curious guy.”

“Well, there are better things to be curious about.”

“Like what?”

“Like me,” she said.

And that pretty much killed my line of questioning.

Chapter 19

S
ETTING UP A PLACE TO MEET
was the tricky part, since the Gambler didn’t want to be seen with Jim Doe in public, and he figured the feeling was mutual. That meant that the police trailer and restaurant were out. So more often than not, they met in the Gambler’s motel room. Doe had complained about the arrangements, finding them too gay, but as he’d been unable to come up with an acceptable alternative, the arrangements had stuck.

Now he sat in the Gambler’s room, drinking a cup of Dunkin’ Donuts coffee, with a little Rebel Yell splashed in for good measure. It helped him to keep his head clear.

The Gambler gazed at him, looking in that high-and-mighty way that made Doe want to stick his fist through the Gambler’s face. Doe saw how this was shaping up. The dust had cleared, all of Doe’s hard work was getting lost in the haze of greed, and now that asshole was trying to figure out who was looking to rip him off and how.

“You’re still walking funny,” the Gambler said. “You should see a doctor about that.”

“I just pulled something moving the bodies.”

“You were walking funny before we got to the bodies. If you’re having leg pain or something, you shouldn’t ignore it. Have a doctor check it out.”

Doe didn’t need this bullshit. “It ain’t nothing. Jesus. I got enough problems without you trying to be my mother.”

“Okay, fine. I’m just saying to see a doctor, is all.” He paused for a minute to recover his momentum. “I talked to the kid.”

“Yeah?” Doe asked. “What he have to say?”

“Fuck-all. They were going to buy, but balked at the last minute. What I don’t get is, why would they invite him in, let him sit there for three hours, pretend they had kids?”

“Karen has kids,” Doe said. “Had them, anyways. From her first husband. Little smart-ass fucker named Fred George, if you can believe that. Two first names. Worked for the bank and seemed to think that was some sort of big deal, something everyone ought to just marvel at, like being a pro football player or something. He took off and grabbed the kids when Karen first started doing meth.”

“Why would she pretend she wanted to buy encyclopedias? She didn’t know about the arrangement with me, did she?”

Doe didn’t know the answer, but he knew that the Gambler
thought
he knew the answer,
thought
he was being clever, getting the best of the conversation. “I don’t fucking know, Gamb. I don’t think she did. And as for why, I can’t guess what went on in her head. I don’t know what she was doing there with Bastard. Maybe he was looking to rip us off, you know. Maybe he had a plan to stash the money there, maybe he was doing a deal with that money and it went bad. Could be a lot of things.”

“Kid said something else.”

“Yeah?” He took a sip of the coffee. It could have used more Yell.

“Said he saw you hanging around outside.”

“He don’t know me. How’s he gonna say he saw me?”

The Gambler clucked his lips impatiently. “He gave a description that matched you.”

“Handsome guy?”

The Gambler stared. “What?”

“That’s a description that would point you right to me. Handsome guy?”

“Fucking hell, Doe. Is this all a big joke to you? We got dead bodies piled up to our dicks, we’ve got missing money, and I’ve got B.B. on my case.”

“B.B. is always on your case.”

“Yeah, well, he isn’t always on my case so much that he’s even as we speak in a car on his way here to find out where the fuck his money is.”

Doe felt himself blanching. “Jesus, he isn’t bringing that freaky cunt, is he?”

“He brings Desiree everywhere, and since he’s coming here, I guess he’s bringing her. Makes sense, don’t you think?”

“That girl is weird. And that scar is nasty. But you ever think she’s also kind of, you know, sexy? Like you wouldn’t want to fuck her, but if she came up to you and was, like, Come on, let’s go, you’d probably end up fucking her. You know what I mean?”

“You’re going to get fucked, and not by Desiree, if you don’t start working with me.”

Doe stood up. “Wait a second there, Gamb. I don’t much like the way you’re talking. Are you
blaming
me for something?”

The Gambler kept his expression blank. “I’m just trying to find out why Bastard was acting so weird, letting one of my bookmen pitch him for three hours. And I’m trying to figure out why you were skulking outside the house the whole time.”

“I saw the kid on the street, gave him some lip. That’s all. I don’t fucking know why Bastard would invite him in. Maybe it was all a big joke to him.”

“You want to hear my theory?”

Doe didn’t especially want to hear his theory, but he figured he’d have to listen to it if he protested or not, so there was no point in griping. He sat back down.

“My theory,” the Gambler said, “is that Bastard invited the kid in because he was scared that something was going to happen to him, and he thought he needed a witness. Since you were slinking around outside, it’s going to look to some people like he was afraid of you. And since you and he seemed to be fucking the same crankhead, and he ends up dead with our money missing, it’s going to look to some people like you killed him and you took his money.”

Doe slapped his coffee cup down, spilling it on the particleboard table. “You want to tell me which people exactly are going to see it that way?”

“B.B.,” the Gambler said. “And if you don’t find that money, you are going to be in some deep shit, my friend.”

That took some of the anger out of Doe. It was true enough. The Gambler was a smug old fucker, but he knew how to call it. If B.B. was coming to check on the money, it meant he didn’t believe that Doe could handle the situation. If the money didn’t show up, the arrangement could be in trouble.

Still, it didn’t seem inevitable that B.B. would blame Doe. All this business about how people were going to see things was crap. The Gambler was going to make sure that B.B. saw it a certain way to cover his own ass.

The fact was, Doe could come up with the money himself if he had to. It would mean a trip over to the Caymans, and it would hurt, but he could do it. He had to admit the money
had
been lost on his watch. Still, he’d only consider that option when all others were exhausted.

“So what do you think happened to it?” he asked.

“I don’t fucking know,” the Gambler said. “It beats the shit out of me, but you’d better find out.”

“Yeah,” Doe said. He finished his coffee and set down the cup, leaving it in a film of spillage on top of the table. With all the weight the Gambler was putting on him, Doe was starting to think that maybe the Gambler had the money himself. Maybe he’d killed Bastard and Karen and taken the cash. Doe had never seen the Gambler kill anyone, but he’d seen him beat the shit out of some crankheads trying to rip them off. It might well be that he’d gone over to see Bastard on some ordinary business, things had gotten out of control, and the next thing you know, Bastard and Karen are dead. Now he was either trying to cover his tracks or find some way to take advantage of the situation.

It was possible that the Gambler was setting him up not just in case—but setting him up, period. And that meant Doe was going to have to do some clever thinking to get out of this.

Once Doe had left the room, B.B. came out of the bathroom, where he’d been hiding in the tub behind a tan shower curtain streaked with a Milky Way of mildew. Now he walked into the room and took a seat at the foot of the bed. He dusted off his linen suit and flattened out his pants as he walked.

B.B. sat in the armchair but shot up almost at once. “The chair is wet,” he said.

“It’s just water,” the Gambler said. “I spilled some ice last night.”

“You saw I was going to sit in a wet chair, and you didn’t say anything?”

“Jesus. I spilled the water last night. I forgot about it.”

B.B. went into the bathroom and got a hand towel, which he dabbed repeatedly against his ass.

He’d always been a little off, but this was how it had been going lately—fussing over his clothes, his hair, and his shoes like a woman, obsessing over the smallest and strangest details of the operation, having his crazy scarred bikini girl do all the important work. Lately he’d been distracted, as though the business were taking him away from something more important.

That morning, while they’d been waiting for Doe to show up, after agreeing that B.B. would hide in the bathroom, he’d wandered off without telling the Gambler where he was going and when he’d be back. Next thing you know, there’s no B.B. The Gambler had stuck his head out the door and seen him, on the balcony, staring at a couple of shirtless boys by the pool. If Doe had come by, the plan would have been shot to hell.

Not that the Gambler cared. If B.B. wanted to go around fucking boys or chickens or accident fatalities, that was his problem, but don’t forget you’re running a business. That was the thing. You took care of business first, and you kept your eye on the ball.

It was at that moment—when he saw B.B. leaning against the rail, leering at a couple of boys like a drunk in a strip club—that the Gambler knew he couldn’t let things go on this way. For everyone’s good. The only problem was that he had no idea
how
to take over. This wasn’t
The Godfather.
He couldn’t have his boys whack B.B.’s boys. There were no boys to speak of and no whacking. Their operation didn’t work that way. They kept it low-key, what with the encyclopedia front and the hog lot front.

Now B.B. was staring at him, slightly red in his smooth, babyish face, wiping at his ass as though he’d just taken a shit. “Next time be a little more mindful.”

“Sure. Fine. Whatever.” The Gambler held up his hands in surrender. “I’m sorry you sat in my wet chair. Let’s move on.”

B.B. tossed the towel on the Gambler’s bed. “I just don’t like to sit in wet things.”

“Let’s move
on.
”

Pressing a hand to the corner of the bed, testing for hidden wetness, B.B. considered for a moment and then sat very carefully, as though the bed might turn into a fountain if he weren’t careful. “Those two kids by the pool. You know them?”

“Why would I know anything about kids by the pool?”

“They looked, I don’t know, familiar or something. You seen them with their parents?”

“What does it matter?”

“You know I run a charity for neglected young men. I’m just wondering if they need help. You see them with their parents, you let me know what the parents are like, okay?”

“Fine, but can we get back to Doe? What did you think?”

B.B. shook his head. “I think the guy is full of shit, but that doesn’t mean he took the money.”

“Then what does it mean?”

“Mostly it means that he’s full of shit. But he knows he’d better come up with the money. I’m glad that Desiree wasn’t with me to hear what he had to say. She doesn’t like that kind of talk. He mouths off like that in front of her, I’ll kill him.”

“Somebody might have to kill him.” The Gambler didn’t know if it was true or not. Even if Doe had taken the money, he was still essential to keeping the Jacksonville operation alive. And the Gambler knew that he himself was necessary for keeping the book operation running smoothly. The only person who didn’t pull his weight, it seemed, was B.B.

B.B. glared at the Gambler. “You’re awful quick with the violence, aren’t you?”

“I’m just saying.”

“I’m the one who just says, okay? Remember that.”

“What? I’m not allowed to make suggestions?”

“Make good ones, and you’ll be allowed.”

“Christ, you’re touchy today. Let’s forget it.” He looked out the window. “You think having Desiree follow the kid is worthwhile?”

“No, it’s a waste of time. That’s why I’m having her do it.”

The Gambler shook his head. “Okay, B.B. Whatever you say.”

“That’s right. Whatever I say.”

The Gambler didn’t answer. There was no response that didn’t involve kicking the crap out of him.

Back in his room, B.B. sat on the side of the bed and picked up the phone. He dialed the number he had memorized but not yet called until now. For an instant he felt the hammering in his chest might be the sign of something serious. He might look like a young man, but he was in his fifties, and people his age, seemingly healthy people his age, dropped dead from heart problems all the time.

It was only nerves. Odd he should feel so nervous, like a kid asking a girl out on a date. He was just calling, that’s all.

He heard the click of an answer, and he prepared to hang up until a familiar voice spoke.

“Hello?”

“Chuck?” B.B. said.

“Yeah?”

“It’s B.B.”

“Oh,” he said with cheer, wonderful, heartening cheer. “Hi.”

“Hi,” B.B. said. He was silent for a minute while he gathered his thoughts. “Listen, I was just calling to tell you that I, you know, had a good time with you last night.” He hoped it didn’t sound stupid.

“Yeah, it was fun,” Chuck said. “The food was good.”

“And the wine?”

“Yeah. I didn’t tell my mom about that, but it was good, too.”

“Maybe you’d like to try some more,” B.B. said.

“That would be neat.”

“I have a nice collection at my house.”

“Okay.”

The boy sounded hesitant. Did he not like the idea of being invited over, or did he not know exactly what having a wine collection meant?

“Maybe you’d like to come over sometime next week. See the collection. Sample a few choice bottles.”

“That would be cool. Thanks, B.B.”

He felt himself suck in a breath. Chuck wanted to come over. He wanted to drink wine with him. Desiree wouldn’t like it. She would think he was up to something. B.B. would deal with that later, because Chuck was a special boy, maybe the most special boy he’d come across, and there was much to teach him and show him. That was what it meant to be a mentor.

In the distance, he heard Chuck’s mother call his name in her shrill, gnome voice.

“Listen,” B.B. said, “I have to go, but stop by the foundation early next week, and we’ll set up a time.” He’d have Desiree out on a wild goose chase that afternoon. Something.