"You Paul Frederick?" shouted Hansen. "Pruno? Paul Frederick?"
The wino blinked repeatedly and then nodded dubiously. Hansen felt physically sick. Nothing repulsed him more than one of these useless derelicts.
"Mr. Frederick," said Hansen, "have you seen John Wellington Frears? Has Frears been in touch with you?" The thought of this old heroin addict being a friend of the urbane Frears, much less the idea of Frears visiting him in this shack, was absurd. But Hansen waited for an answer.
The wino licked his cracked lips and tried to concentrate. He was looking at the.38. Hansen lowered the muzzle slightly.
As if seeing his chance, the old man's right hand shot into his raincoat, reaching for something.
Without thinking, Hansen lifted his aim and fired twice, hitting the wino once in the chest and once in the neck. The old man flopped backward like an empty bundle of rags. For a minute he continued to breathe, the laborious rasp sounding high and cracked and obscene in the cold dark of the shack, but then the breathing stopped and Hansen lowered the hammer on the.38. Then he stuck his head out the door of the shack and took a quick look aroundthere was no one to hear the shot, and trains were crashing and roaring in the yards just out of sightand Hansen crouched by the body. He needed to search the corpse, but he wasn't going to touch those filthy, lice-ridden rags.
Hansen found a stick the old man had used for lifting his cooking pot and stirring soup, and pushing open the filthy raincoat, Hansen saw that the wino's hands had been reaching not for a weapon, but for a stobby pencil. The dead fingers were just touching it. A small yellow padempty of writinghad also tumbled out of the wino's vest pocket.
"Damn," whispered Hansen, saying a fast prayer asking forgiveness for his use of the obscenity. He'd not planned on killing the old man, and the fact that he'd asked the patrolman about him might raise suspicions.
Not at all , thought Hansen. When Frears ends up dead, this will be just another killing connected to Joe Kurtz. We won't know why Kurtz killed both of them, but the.38 found in Kurtz's apartment will provide the connection .
Hansen slid the revolver into his coat pocket. He had never kept a murder weapon with him after the actit was amateurishbut in this case, he would have to, at least until he found and killed Frears. Then he could plant the weapon in Kurtz's hotel room or on Kurtz's body if the perp tried to resist arrest, which James B. Hansen fully anticipated.
Sitting in the little room thirty feet from Emilio Gonzaga's dining room, feeling the stares from Mickey Kee, Marco, and the two Gonzaga bodyguards, Joe Kurtz felt himself beginning to prepare for what was to come.
He would be leaving a lot of loose ends behindthe thing with Frears and Hansen, for instance, but that wasn't Kurtz's business. Arlene would take care of Frears, perhaps try to get the Conway-connection information to the police. It wasn't Kurtz's problem. Then there was Donald Rafferty and Rachelthat was Kurtz's businessbut there was nothing for Kurtz to do there. Right now, Kurtz's business was Emilio Gonzaga, Samantha's real killer, and Emilio Gonzaga was only thirty feet away, down a short hallway and through an unlocked door.
When it happened, it would have to happen fast. And soon. Kurtz guessed that Gonzaga and the Farino woman were on their main course now, the three bodyguard-servants in there, standing by the wall.
Mickey Kee was very vigilant, butlike all bodyguardshe was also bored. Familiarity bred laxness. Even the past twenty minutes, when Marco did nothing but read a racing form and Kurtz did nothing but sit with his eyes half-closed, had lowered Mickey Kee's guard. The other two bodyguards were chimpssloppytheir attention had already wandered to the small TV set on a buffet near the wall. Some soap opera rattled away and both of the guards were fascinated with it. They probably watched every day.
Mickey Kee was obviously troubled by Kurtz's presence. Like all good bodyguards, he was suspicious of anything out of the ordinary. But Kee was also thirsty and kept crossing to the inlaid-mahogany bar near Kurtzwalking within three feet of Kurtzto refill his glass of club soda. And while he held the glass in his left handKurtz had noticed that he was right-handedit still occupied too much of his attention. It was almost time for Kee to refill his glass.
When it happens, it will have to happen fast . Kurtz had also noticed that Kee carried his primary weapon, a 9mm Beretta, in a quick-draw shoulder holster. All the better for Kurtz, who would use his left forearm to slam into Kee's windpipe, his right hand pulling the Beretta and firing into the two armed bodyguards at a distance of only six feet.
It would have to happen fast, but there was no way to do this without warning Gonzaga and his goons inside. Kurtz would need more weapons, more bullets, so he'd have to take another ten seconds to retrieve the bodyguards' guns after he shot them. Marco would have to be neutralized, although if he fled, Kurtz was prepared to let him go. He would not be a factor.