"You like Berettas?" asked Kurtz.
"They have never disappointed me," said the Dane.
Kurtz nodded. Probably the silliest and most sentimental thing he'd ever done had involved his old Beretta many years earlier.
They had passed the bodies of two guards in the foyer and anotherdressed in black tactical gearwas lying outside near the drive.
"Extra work for you?" asked Kurtz.
"I thought it wiser on my way in to see to any possible problems that might hinder our way out," said the Dane. They passed a bush from which two dark legs and a polished pair of loafers protruded.
"Three," Kurtz said.
"Seven counting the night maid and the butler."
"Paid for by someone?"
The Dane shook his head. "I count it as part of overhead. Although the Gonzaga contribution could be prorated toward them."
"I'm glad the Gonzagas came through," said Kurtz.
"I am sure you are." They came to the gate. It had been left open. The Dane put his hand in his topcoat pocket, and Kurtz tensed.
The Dane removed his gloved hand and shook his head. "You have nothing to worry about from me, Mr. Kurtz. Our arrangement was explicit. Despite rumors to the contrary, one million dollars is quite generous, even in this profession. And even this profession has its code of ethics."
"You know the money came from Little Skag," said Kurtz.
"Of course I do. It makes no difference. You were the one who contacted me on the telephone. The contract is between us ."
Kurtz looked around. "I was a little worried that one of the Farinos might have outbid me."
The Dane shook his head again. "They were notoriously cheap." He lifted his face to the evening air. It was quite dark now and raining very softly. "I know what you're thinking, Mr. Kurtz," said the Dane. "I've seen his face. You haven't. This face is no more mine than Nils is my name."
"Actually," said Kurtz, hefting the valise higher, "I was thinking about this money and what I was going to do with it."
The Dane smiled very slightly. "Fifty thousand dollars. Was it worth all of your aggravation, Mr. Kurtz?"
"Yeah," said Kurtz. "It was." They walked out through the gate and Kurtz hesitated by the Volvo, jingling the keys in his free hand. He would feel better when he had the H&K in his hand. "One question," he said. "Or maybe it isn't a question."
The Dane waited.
"Little Skag Stevie Farino he's going to get out and take over this mess."
"It was my understanding," said the Dane, "that this was what the one million dollars was all about."
"Yeah," said Kurtz. "Little Skag is as penny-pinching as the rest of the family, but this was his one shot at getting back in the driver's seat. But what I meant was that Skag will probably want to tidy up all the loose ends." The Dane nodded.
"Hell," said Kurtz. "Never mind. If we meet again, we meet again." He got into the Volvo. The Dane remained standing near the car. No bomb. Kurtz started the engine, backed into the empty road, and glanced into his rearview mirror. The Dane was gone.
Kurtz pulled his pistol out from under the seat and set it on his lap anyway. He put the car in gear and drove away with one hand touching the valise on the passenger seat. Kurtz drove at or under the speed limit. He had no driver's license, and this would be a bad time to be stopped by the Orchard Park sheriff.
He'd driven less than two miles when a cell phone rang in his backseat.
CHAPTER 41
and was out the door, rolling in the grass. He didn't own a cell phone.
The phone kept ringing.
Semtex , thought Kurtz. C4 . The Israelis and Palestinians had specialized in telephone bombs.
Fuck , thought Kurtz. The money . He went back to the car, removed the valise, and set it a safe distance from the vehicle.
The phone kept ringing. Kurtz realized that he was pointing his H&K.45 at a cell phone.
What the hell is wrong with me ? He retrieved the valise, slid the pistol into his suit pocket, picked up the phone, and hit the answer button.
"Kurtz?"
A man's voice. He didn't recognize it.
"Kurtz?"
He listened.
"Kurtz, I'm sitting outside a little house in Lockport. I can see the little girl through the window. In about ten seconds, I'm going to knock on the door, kill that fucker who's pretending to be her father, and take the teenaged bitch out and have a little fun with her. Goodbye, Kurtz." The man hung up.
Normally it would have been a thirty-minute drive from Orchard Park to Lockport. Kurtz made it in ten minutes, doing well over a hundred on I-90 and almost that speed on the Lockport streets.
He slid the Volvo to a screeching stop in front of Rachel's house.
The gate to the picket fence was open.
Kurtz jumped the fence, 45 raised and ready. The front door was closed. The lights were out on the first floor. Kurtz decided to go in the back way. He moved around the side of the housenot quite running, paying attention but still in a hurry, his heart pounding wildly.
One of the goddamned bushes rose up as he passed.
Kurtz swung the.45 to bear, but too latea man's arm from the bushes, some sort of camouflage suit, something black and stubby in the man's right hand.