Scandalous Behavior

54

Billy sat on the steps of the hermitage, huddled inside his coat against the chill of the English dawn. It was time to greet his stalker.

He picked up the deer rifle, worked the bolt to pump a round into the chamber, set the safety, tucked it under an arm, and began walking, watching his footsteps carefully to avoid the crunch of a twig or some other noise that might announce his presence sooner than he wished it to be known. He had timed it better than he had thought.

As he reached the edge of the wood, just short of the stone wall along the road, he heard from a distance the crunch of tire on gravel as the bicycle rounded the bend in the road. It was, perhaps, fifty yards away. He melted back into the trees and concealed himself, maintaining a view of the wall, remembering the spot of green paint on the stones. Billy pulled up his muffler to cover his mouth and nose, as his breath turned to mist as it was exhaled. The bicyclist was making mist as he approached.

Billy’s first impression had been right. He was big, over six feet, thickset, especially at the shoulders and neck. He might have been a linebacker in his youth. The man lifted his bicycle over the wall, then put both his hands on top of the stone and vaulted over it, landing well.

Billy stepped out of the trees, the rifle at the ready. “Good morning,” he said.

The man froze in his tracks, his arms at his sides. Whatever weapon he carried was not instantly available to him, as he was wearing a buttoned-up tweed coat. “What?” he said.

“I’m going to offer you two choices,” Billy said.

The man said nothing, simply stared at him.

Billy knew his mind was racing, looking for survival.

“Relax,” he said. “There is no way out. Get used to that.”

“Out of what?”

“Out of here alive, except by the means I propose.”

“What are you proposing?”

“First, I’m going to ask you some questions, which you must answer truthfully. I already know the answers to some of them, enough so that if you lie, I’ll know. Lying will be fatal. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” he replied without hesitation.

“Is the rifle in a case in your saddlebags?”

“Yes.”

“With one hand, remove the case and throw it a few feet in my direction. Do it carefully.”

The man complied. The aluminum case landed with a soft thud near Billy’s feet.

“Good. Now lean against the wall and try to relax. Keep your hands away from your pockets.”

He leaned against the wall and folded his hands in front of him.

“Now the questions: What is your name?”

“Al.”

“Surname?”

“Greenberg.”

“Where do you live, Al?”

“Los Angeles.”

“Do you have a front?”

“I have a pawnshop and gun business. This work is a sideline.”

“Who hired you? I warn you, this is one of the questions I know the answer to.”

“A man named Calhoun.”

“Correct answer. Now, here’s your first choice: you may return to your hotel, pack your bags, then get out of Beaulieu and the country. Lots of flights to the States around midday — be on one of them. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Here’s the alternative.”

“I know the alternative.”

“Let me spell it out for you, so there’s no room for misunderstanding: the alternative is for you to die before you hit the ground.”

“I understand that.”

“How much is Calhoun paying you?”

“Fifty grand.”

“How much up front?”

“All of it.”

“Good. That makes your next choice easier.”

“My next choice?”

“That happens when you return to L.A.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Calhoun is going to want his money’s worth or want it back.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Eventually, he’ll send somebody to get it.”

“I suppose.”

“You can keep the money, if you’re still willing to kill someone.”

Al frowned. “Who?”

“Why, Calhoun, of course.”

Al smiled a little. “Of course.”

“Now I’ll make you a promise: if Calhoun isn’t dead, say, a month from today, I’ll find you and kill you. Do you believe me?”

Al gulped. “Yes.”

“All right, now you can get back on your bicycle and start your journey. But first, leave the handgun.”

Al unbuttoned his coat and pulled it back to reveal the pistol in a shoulder holster. He extracted it with his thumb and forefinger and tossed it next to the rifle case.

“Goodbye,” Billy said. “Until we meet again — or not.”

Al nodded, picked up the bicycle, and set it down on the other side of the stone wall. Then he vaulted the wall, turned the bicycle around, hopped on it, and pedaled away. Just before he turned the first bend, he lifted a hand and gave a little wave. He didn’t look back.

Billy marked a month from today in his mental calendar, then picked up the weapons and walked back to Windward Hall, looking forward to a full English breakfast.