Taggert had an arm raised to ward off a blow. Keller feinted with the pry bar, then swung it in an easy arc that caught the man high on the left temple. Taggerts eyes rolled up in his head and he pitched over onto his side.
Dot said, Oh, hell.
What? Had he struck too hard a blow after all? He looked up and saw the old dog waddling across the carpet toward them. Keller walked toward it, still holding the pry bar, and with a visible effort the dog raised its head to look up at him.
Keller put down the bar, took hold of the dogs collar, put it in another room, and closed the door.
For a second there, Dot said, I thought it was about to attack. But it was just waiting for Queen Elizabeth to take it for a walk.
He checked Taggert, found him unconscious but breathing. He rolled him over, secured his hands behind his back with a few loops of the wire hed bought, and used some more of the wire to bind his ankles together.
He straightened up, handed the pry bar to Dot. Watch him, he said, and went looking for the kitchen.
A door from the kitchen led into the attached garage. Keller found a button to raise the garage door, parked his car alongside the Cadillac, and lowered the door. He wasnt gone long, and Taggert was still out when he returned to the living room. The lamp was back on its table, he noticed, and so was the glass ashtray.
Dot shrugged. What can I say, Keller? Im neat. And this mopes still out. What do we do, throw water on him?
We can give him a minute or two.
You know, I thought you were exaggerating about the hair in his ears. If he doesnt come to on his own, Ill find a tweezers and start ripping out ear hair. That should bring him around.
This is simpler, he said, and poked his toe gently into Taggerts shin. He found the spot where hed struck with the pry bar, and the pain cut right through. Taggert yelped and opened his eyes.
He said, Jesus, my leg. I think you broke it.
So?
So? So you broke my fucking leg. Who the hell are you people? If this is some religious cult, you got a hell of a way of recruiting, is all I can say. If its a robbery, youre out of luck. I dont keep any money in the house.
Thats a good policy.
Huh? Look, wiseass, howd you pick my house? You got any idea who I am?
Marlin Taggert, Keller said. Now its your turn.
Huh?
To tell me who I am, Keller said.
How the hell do I know who you are? Wait a minute. Do I know you?
That was my question.
Jesus, he said. Youre the guy.
I guess you remember.
You look different.
Well, Ive been through a lot.
Look, Taggert said, Im sorry that didnt go the way it was supposed to.
Oh, I think it went exactly the way it was supposed to.
Youre probably upset that you didnt get paid, and thats something that can be taken care of. All you had to do was get in touch. I mean, theres no need for violence.
This was taking too long. Keller kicked him hard in the leg, and Taggert screamed.
Cut the crap, Keller said. You set me up and left me hanging.
All I ever did, Taggert said, was what I got paid to do. Pick up this guy, take him here, take him there, show him this, tell him that. I was doing my job.
I realize that.
There was nothing personal to it. Jesus, you ought to be able to understand that. What the hell were you doing in Iowa? You werent there on a relief mission for the Red Fucking Cross. You went there to do a job, and if I didnt keep telling you Not today, not today, youd have iced that poor schmuck we saw pruning his roses.
Watering his lawn.
Who gives a shit? One word from me and youd have killed him without even knowing his name.
Gregory Dowling.
So you know his name. I guess that changes everything. Youd have killed him without it being personal, is what Im saying here, and I did what I did, and that wasnt personal, either.
I understand that.
So what do you want from me? Money? I got twenty thousand dollars in my safe. You want it, you can take it.
I thought you didnt keep any money in the house.
And I thought you were the strong-arm division
of the Little Sisters of the Poor. You want money?
Keller shook his head. Were both professionals, he said, and Ive got nothing against you. Like you said, you were just doing a job.
So what do you want from me?
Information.
Information?
I want to know who you did the job for.
Jesus, Taggert said. Why dont you ask me something easy, like wheres Jimmy Hoffa? You want to know who put the hit on Longford, youre pissing on the wrong tree. Nobodys gonna tell me shit like that.
I dont care who ordered the hit.
You dont? Who are you after, the shooter?
No, Keller said. He was just doing his job.
Like you and me.
Just like us. Except were alive, and I have the feeling the shooters not.
I wouldnt know.
Oh, youd know , Keller thought. But since he didnt care either way, he didnt bother to push the point. He said, I dont care about the shooter, or about the person who commissioned the job. And Ill stop caring about you as soon as you give me somebody else to care about.