Billy Summers

CHAPTER 22

1

They stay with Bucky at his mountain retreat long enough to get snowed in (for a day) by an early season blizzard. The ferocity of the storm amazes, delights, and terrifies Alice all at the same time. Yes, she says, she’s seen snow in Rhode Island, plenty of it, but never snow like this with drifts higher than her head. When it stops, she and Bucky go out and make snow angels in the backyard. After extended pleading, the hired assassin joins them. Two days later the temperatures are back in the sixties and the snow is melting. The woods are full of birdsong and the sound of meltwater.

Billy never meant to stay so long. It’s Alice’s doing. She tells him that he needs to finish his story. Her words are one thing. The quiet tone of conviction in which they are spoken is another, and more convincing. It’s too late to turn back now, she says, and after some consideration, Billy decides she’s right.

There’s no electricity in the little log cabin where he wrote about the Funhouse and what happened there, so he lugs in a battery-powered space heater that warms the place up enough so he can write. If he leaves his jacket on, at least. Someone has hung up that picture of the hedge animals again, and Billy could swear that the lions are closer now, their eyes redder. The hedge bull is between them instead of behind them.

It was that way before, Billy insists. It must have been, because pictures don’t change.

This is true, in a rational world it must be true, but he still doesn’t like the picture. He takes it down (again) and turns it face to the wall (again). He opens his story document and scrolls down to where he left off. At first the work is slow and he keeps glancing into the far corner, as if expecting that picture to be magically hanging there again. It’s not, and after half an hour or so it’s only the words on the screen he’s looking at. The door of memory opens and he goes through. For most of October he spends his days on the far side of that door, even trudging up to the cabin in a pair of boots borrowed from Bucky on the day of the big snowstorm.

He writes about the rest of his tour in the desert, and how he decided – almost literally at the last moment – not to re-up. He writes about the culture shock of returning to America, where nobody worried about snipers and IEDs and nobody jerked and put his hands to his head if a car backfired. It was like the war in Iraq didn’t exist and the things his friends died for didn’t matter. He writes about that first job, assassinating the Jersey guy who liked to beat up women. He writes about how he met Bucky and he writes about all the jobs that followed. He doesn’t make himself sound better than he was and writes it all too fast to come out clean, but it mostly does anyway. It comes out like the water running downhill through the woods when the snow melts.

He’s vaguely aware that Bucky and Alice have formed a firm bond. He thinks that for Alice it’s like finding a fine replacement for the father she lost early. For Bucky it’s like she’s the daughter he never had at all. Billy doesn’t detect the slightest sexual vibe between them, and he’s not surprised. He’s never seen Bucky with a woman, and while – granted – he never saw Bucky face to face that often, the man rarely talked about women when they were together. Billy thinks Bucky Hanson might be gay, his two marriages notwithstanding. All he knows, all he cares about, is that Alice is happy.

But Alice’s happiness isn’t his priority during that October. The story is, and the story is now a book. No doubt about it. That no one will ever see it (except maybe for Alice Maxwell) doesn’t faze Billy in the slightest. It’s the doing that’s important, she was right about that.

A week or so before Halloween, on a day of brilliant sunshine and strong upcountry winds, Billy writes about how he and Alice (he has changed her name to Katherine) arrived at Bucky’s cabin (name changed to Hal) and how Bucky held out his arms – Hey, Cookie! – and she ran into them. It’s as good a place to stop as any, he thinks.

He saves his copy to a thumb drive, closes up his laptop, goes to turn off the space heater, and stops. The picture of the hedge animals is back on the wall in that far corner of the cabin, and the hedge lions are closer still. He’d swear to it. That night, over dinner, he asks Bucky if he put it back up. Bucky says he didn’t.

Billy looks at Alice, who says, ‘I don’t even know what you’re talking about.’

Billy asks where the picture came from. Bucky shrugs. ‘No idea, but I think those hedge animals used to be in front of the old Overlook. The hotel that burned. I’m pretty sure the picture was in the cabin when I bought this place. I don’t go up there much when I’m here. I call it the summerhouse, but it always seems cold, even in summer.’

Billy has noticed the same thing, although he chalked it up to the late season. Still, he has done amazing work there, almost a hundred pages. Creepy picture and all. Maybe a chilly story needs a chilly writing room, he thinks. It’s as good an explanation as any, since the whole process is a mystery to him, anyway.

Alice has made peach cobbler for dessert. As she brings it to the table, she says, ‘Are you finished, Billy?’

He opens his mouth to say he is, then changes his mind. ‘Almost. I have a few loose ends to tie up.’

2

The next day is cold, but when Billy gets to the log cabin he doesn’t turn on the space heater and he doesn’t take the picture down, either. He has decided that Bucky’s so-called summerhouse is haunted. He’s never believed in such things before, but he does now. It’s not the picture, or not just the picture. It’s been a haunted year.

He sits down in the room’s only chair and thinks. He doesn’t want to use Alice in what’s ahead – the end of his business – but in this cold room with its strange atmosphere, he sees that he must. He sees something else, as well. She will want to, because Roger Klerke is not only a bad man, he’s almost certainly the worst one Billy has ever been hired to take out. The fact that this time he’s hired himself is beside the point.

I keep thinking about that horrible man with a child, Alice said. He deserves to die.

She didn’t want Tripp Donovan dead, and she might not have wanted Klerke dead either if he’d stuck to girls who were seventeen or sixteen, maybe even fifteen. She would have wanted him to pay a price, yes, but not the ultimate one. Only Klerke didn’t stick to those. Klerke had wanted to see what it was like.

Billy sits with his hands on his knees and growing numb at the fingertips, his breath frosting the air with each exhale. He thinks of a girl not much older than Shanice Ackerman brought to that little house in Tijuana. He thinks of her holding a stuffed animal for comfort, probably a teddy bear instead of a pink flamingo. He thinks of her hearing heavy footsteps coming down the hall. He doesn’t want to think about those things, but he does. Maybe he needs to. And maybe this haunted room with its haunted picture on the wall helps him do it.

He takes out his wallet and finds the slip of paper he wrote Giorgio’s phone number on. He makes the call knowing the chances of actually reaching the man are small. He may be in the gym of his fat farm prison, or in the pool, or dead of a heart attack. But Giorgio answers on the second ring.

‘Hello?’

‘Hello, Mr New York Agent. It’s Dave Lockridge. Guess what? I finished my book.’

‘Billy, Jesus Christ! You might not believe this but I’m glad you’re alive.’

Damned if he doesn’t sound younger, Billy thinks. And stronger, too.

‘I’m also glad I’m alive,’ Billy says.

‘I didn’t want to screw you over that way. You have to believe that. But I—’

‘You had to make a choice and you made it,’ Billy says. ‘Did I like being fucked over by someone I trusted? Do I now? No. But I told Nick it was water under the bridge and I meant it. Only you owe me something and I’m hoping you’re man enough to pay up. I need some information.’

There’s a brief pause. Then, ‘My phone’s secure. How about yours?’

‘It’s okay.’

‘I’ll trust you on that. We’re talking about Klerke, right?’

‘Yes. Do you know where he is?’

‘He doesn’t come to Vegas anymore, so it’ll be either Los Angeles or New York. I could find out. He’s not hard to keep track of.’

‘Do you know who supplies him with girls in LA and NYC?’

‘I used to do it with Judy before I retired.’ He says it with no discomfort that Billy can detect.

‘Judy Blatner? Nick says she doesn’t touch jailbait.’

‘She doesn’t. Nothing under eighteen. And that used to be good enough for Klerke. Then he wanted younger. He’d call. Say he wanted dumplings. That was the code word.’

Dumplings, Billy thinks. Jesus.

‘Judy knows guys that are willing to find girls like that. Sometimes I’d deal with Klerke. Sometimes she would do it herself.’

‘Does Judy also know guys in Tijuana?’

Giorgio lowers his voice even though his phone is secure. ‘You’re thinking of the little girl. That didn’t have anything to do with Judy, or Nick, or me. That was something the cartel arranged. At Klerke’s request.’

‘Let me be sure I have it straight. If he’s in LA and got the itch for a dumpling, he’d call you or Judy and one of you would put him in touch with someone there. Except what we’re really talking about is a pimp.’ Billy hunts for the phrase he wants. It goes with dumplings, which isn’t surprising. ‘A chicken-rancher.’

‘Right. And if he’s on the east coast at his place in Montauk Point, he’d get the guy from New York. How many dates Klerke’s arranged since I left I don’t know.’

Dates, Billy thinks. ‘He actually gets concierge service?’

‘You could call it that. It’s what he pays for. Much money changes hands, Billy.’

Now comes the big question. ‘Does Judy ever call him? Like if she’s heard about someone who’d be in his sweet spot?’

‘It happens from time to time, sure. More often now that he’s reached an age when getting his noodle to stand up is a little more difficult.’

‘If you called Judy and said you had a girl he’d like, someone really special, would she pass it on?’

There’s silence while Giorgio thinks it over. Then he says, ‘She would. She’d smell a rat – her nose is what you’d call exquisite – but she’d do it. She hates that guy because of what he did in TJ and if she thought someone was trying to fuck him up, maybe even arrange a hit on him, she’d shout hooray. I feel about the same.’

Although it never stopped you doing biz with him, Billy thinks. Or her. ‘Okay. I’m going to call you back.’

‘I’ll be here. I have no place to go and don’t want to. I hated it at first but now I love it. Like alcoholics love sobriety once they get a hold on it, I guess.’

‘How much weight have you lost?’

‘A hundred and ten pounds,’ Giorgio says with perhaps justifiable pride. ‘I got another ninety to go.’

‘You sound good. Not so wheezy. Maybe if you lose the weight you can skip the operation.’

‘Nope. My liver’s shot and it’s not coming back. They’ve scheduled the op for two days after feliz navidad, so you better finish whatever business you have with me before then. The doc down here is so honest it’s brutal. He’s saying my odds are sixty-forty against coming through.’

‘I’ll get back to you.’ But I won’t bother praying for you, Billy thinks.

‘I hope you get that child-molesting perv.’

Who you worked for, Billy thinks again.

He doesn’t have to say it because Giorgio says it for him. ‘Sure, I carried his water. It was a lot of money, and I wanted to live.’

‘Understood.’ Billy thinks, But hell will still be waiting for you, Georgie. And if there is such a place, I’ll probably meet you there. We’ll have a drink. Brimstone on the rocks.

‘I always had an idea that stupid act of yours was a shuck.’

Billy says, ‘We’ll talk soon.’

‘Just don’t wait too long,’ Giorgio says.

3

It’s time to fill Alice in on what he has in mind, and Bucky deserves to be a part of the conversation. He tells them at the kitchen table, over coffee. When he finishes, he advises her to think about it. Alice says she doesn’t need to, she’s in.

Bucky gives Billy a reproachful look that says you turned her to the dark side after all, but he doesn’t say anything.

‘You said you got carded in bars, didn’t you?’ Billy asks her.

‘Yes, but I’ve only been in a couple. I only turned twenty-one the month before you … you know, met me.’

‘Never had a fake ID?’

‘Wouldn’t have worked,’ Bucky says. ‘I mean, look at her.’

They both look at her. Alice blushes and casts her eyes down.

‘How old would you say?’ Billy asks Bucky. ‘I mean, if you didn’t know?’

Bucky considers. ‘Eighteen. Nineteen at a stretch. Probably not twenty.’

Billy says to her, ‘How young could you make yourself look? If you really tried?’

The question interests her enough to forget she’s being studied – face and body – by two men. Of course the question interests her. At twenty-one she has undoubtedly considered how she might make herself look older and more sophisticated, but younger? Why would she?

‘I could get an elastic binder to make my boobs smaller, I guess. The kind that trans men wear.’ The flush returns. ‘I know they’re not that big anyway, but a binder would make me look, you know, almost flat. Isn’t that what Klerke likes? And my hair …’ She clasps it in one hand. ‘I could cut it. Not pixie short, but enough to put it in a little ponytail. Like a high school girl.’

‘Clothes?’

‘I don’t know. I’d have to think about it. No makeup, or not much. Maybe some pink bubblegummy lipstick …’

Billy says, ‘Do you think you could get down to fifteen?’

‘No way,’ Bucky says. ‘Seventeen, maybe.’

‘I might be able to do better than seventeen,’ Alice says, getting up. ‘Excuse me, I need a mirror.’

When she’s gone, Bucky leans across the table and speaks very quietly. ‘Don’t get her killed.’

‘I’m not planning on it.’

‘Plans go wrong.’

4

The next day Billy calls Giorgio again from the chilly summerhouse. It has occurred to him that he might not have to use Alice at all. He’s a sniper, after all, long-distance delivery his specialty. He keeps his eyes on the picture as they talk, half-expecting the hedge animals to move. They don’t.

He begins by asking Giorgio if he could put his sniper skills to work in the matter of Roger Klerke.

‘Not a chance. His place on Montauk Point is a forty-acre estate. Makes Nick’s place in Nevada look like a tenement.’

Billy is disappointed but not surprised. ‘That’s where he is now?’

‘That’s where he is. Calls the place Eos, after some Greek goddess. According to Page Six in the Post, he’ll stay there until just before Thanksgiving, then whistle up his Gulfstream and head back to LaLa Land for the holidays with his remaining son and heir.’

Lalafallujah, Billy thinks.

‘Will he have an entourage with him?’

Giorgio laughs and the laugh turns into a wheeze, so maybe he isn’t an entirely new man after all. ‘You mean like Nick does? No way. Klerke’s got a TV in every room, I hear, all on mute and all tuned to different channels. That’s his entourage.’

‘No security?’ Billy can’t believe it. Klerke is one of the richest men in America.

‘Guys on the estate, you mean? Not if he thinks you’re dead. And as far as he knows, you had no idea who paid for the Allen job anyway.’

‘He’d think I went to Nick’s place just to collect my payday.’

‘Right. I’m sure he has a security company on call if he needs them, and he’s probably got a panic button, but the only full-time guy is his assistant. William Petersen. You know, like the CSI guy?’

Billy has heard of the show but never watched it. ‘Is Petersen a bodyguard as well as an assistant?’

‘Don’t know if he’s got judo and krav maga skills, stuff like that, but he’s young and in shape and you can assume he’s good with firearms. Although he might not be actually packing on his hip or in a shoulder rig on the estate.’

Billy files the information away. ‘Here’s what I need from you. One thing you’ll have to send. Do it and we’re square.’

‘Hold on a sec … okay.’ All business now. ‘I’ll do what you want if I can. If I can’t, I’ll tell you. Give it to me.’

Billy gives it to him. Giorgio listens and asks a couple of questions, but he doesn’t raise any problems that Billy hasn’t already foreseen.

‘It might actually work, assuming you’ve got a girl that can pass muster. I’ll need you to email me some photos. Better send a couple dozen, actually. Mostly face, a few full body but dressed modest. I’ll pick the ones where she looks the youngest.’ He pauses. ‘We’re not talking about a real teenager, are we?’

‘No,’ Billy says. Just almost a teenager, one whose only sexual experience was a nightmare muffled (most likely mercifully) by Rohypnol or some similar drug.

‘Good. Judy’s man in New York is Darren Byrne. Klerke’s done business with him before so obviously you can’t be him, but you could be his brother. Or cousin.’

‘Yes. I could.’ Although he supposes he’ll need something pimp-appropriate. ‘Will Klerke expect her to spend the night?’

‘God, no. You park and wait. He does his thing – assuming the Viagra works – and then she’s out and back in the car. An hour, two at most.’

Not going to be that long, Billy thinks. Not nearly, and any Viagra he takes will go to waste. ‘Okay. We are going to roll east from where we are now—’

‘You and Bucky?’

‘Me and the girl. When we get placed somewhere close to Montauk—’

‘Try Riverhead. Hyatt or Hilton Garden Inn.’

You haven’t lost a step, Billy thinks. He almost expects Giorgio to say he’ll make them a reservation.

‘When we get placed, I’ll call you.’

‘Okay, but start by sending me some stills of your swing.’

‘Swing?’

‘The girl, Billy. And she’s got to be the right kind of girl. Young, yeah, but also wholesome. If she looks trampy, forget it.’

‘Understood.’ Something else occurs to him. ‘Do you know anything about Frank Macintosh? He was alive when I left, but I hit him pretty hard.’

‘Doc Rivers got him stabilized but after that there was nothing he could do. He had a brain bleed, and Nick said he might have had a heart attack to go with it. His ma took him to Reno. He’s in a long-term facility. Palliative care, they call it.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ Billy says, and he really is.

‘Margie took an apartment nearby. Nick’s paying for the whole deal.’

‘He’s in a coma?’

‘It might be better if he was. Nick says Marge told him he sleeps a lot, but when he comes around he talks nothing but gibberish. Has seizures and screams a lot.’

Billy says nothing. He can think of nothing to say.

Giorgio says, and not without admiration, ‘You must have hit him really hard. Elvis has left the building.’

5

Billy, Bucky, and Alice go to Boulder, where Alice trawls through three different malls, shopping at stores with names like Deb, Forever 21, and Teen Beat. She discusses every choice with Bucky, who will be taking the pictures Giorgio (or Judy Blatner) will send to Klerke. Billy mostly follows them around, garnering suspicious looks from some of the sales staff. Alice buys a lightweight quilted parka, four skirts, two shirts, a blouse, and three dresses. One of the dresses has a boatneck top, but that’s as close to sexy as any of the clothes get. Bucky vetoes a pair of low heels in favor of sneakers.

He also vetoes some low-rise jeans she likes, at least for the pictures. ‘Buy the jeans for yourself if you want, but he’ll want to see you in a dress.’

Once the shopping is done, four hundred dollars’ worth, she gets her hair cut at Great Clips. While she’s occupied with that, Billy buys shoes, slacks, and a bomber jacket with inside pockets. He shows Bucky a lime green silk shirt and Bucky clutches his head. ‘You’re not going for the streetcorner pimp-daddy look. Concierge service, remember?’

Billy puts the green shirt back on the rack and selects a gray one instead. Bucky looks it over and nods. ‘Collar’s a little Rick James for my taste, but never mind.’

‘Rick who?’

‘Never mind.’

As they walk back toward Great Clips, both of them carrying bags, Alice comes bouncing out. Her hair is shorter and styled. She’s wearing a Colorado Rockies hat with a ponytail threaded through the back. She breaks into a run, the ponytail swishing, and Billy thinks, Holy God, I think this really might work.

‘The stylist tried to argue me out of cutting it. She asked me why I wanted to lose such beautiful hair that must have taken me years to grow. But the best part? She asked me if I liked high school so much I wanted to look like I was still there!’

She laughs and raises a hand, palm out. Bucky gives her a high five. Billy does the same, but his enthusiasm is fake. In the excitement of the shopping expedition, Alice has forgotten why they’re shopping. He thinks Bucky has too, because he’s drafting off her happiness. But Billy remembers. He’s thinking of that little girl in TJ, clutching a toy and listening to the sound of approaching footsteps.

6

Alice wants to take the pictures as soon as they get back, but Bucky tells her to wait until the next morning, when she’s looking her youngest and freshest. He calls it the September morn look.

‘Neil Diamond, right?’ Alice asks. ‘My mom’s a big fan.’ And to Billy: ‘Don’t even ask, I called her last night.’

Maybe Bucky is thinking of Neil Diamond, but Billy is thinking of Paul Chabas, and the girl in the house on the outskirts of TJ, and Shanice Ackerman. In his mind the two girls have become a pair.

7

Bucky sets up their little photo shoot the next morning. He wants to use the east-facing window for natural light. The sofa is there, but he says they should move it and put a chair there instead. When Billy asks why, Bucky says it’s because sofas say sex, and that’s not the look they’re going for. Innocent young girl is the look they’re going for. Maybe selling herself just this once to help her poor old broke-ass mother.

When Alice comes out in one of her new skirts and tops, Bucky tells her to go back into the bathroom and scrub off most of the makeup. ‘You want just a little blush on your cheeks and enough mascara to make your eyelashes look good. Tiny touch of lipstick. Got it?’

‘Got it.’ Alice is excited, a kid playing dress-up.

When she’s gone, Billy asks Bucky how he knows about this stuff. ‘Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad because I couldn’t do half as good a job, just the clothes go a long way toward selling it—’

‘No,’ Bucky says. ‘The clothes are good, but it’s mostly the hair. The ponytail.’

‘How did you learn that stuff? You didn’t ever …’ Billy trails off. What does he know about Bucky Hanson, really? That he brokered stickup guys, that he’s good at getting fugitives out of the country, that he has contacts in the legal profession and maybe even some top echelons of the New York judiciary. If so, Billy doesn’t know who any of those guys are. Bucky is discreet. Which is probably one reason why he’s still alive.

‘Did I ever take pictures of young women dressed up to look like jailbait? No, but it was a thing for awhile in the porno mags like Penthouse and Hustler. Back in the 80s, when there were porno mags. As for taking pictures, I learned at my father’s knee.’

‘I thought you told me once that your father was a mortician. Somewhere in Pennsylvania.’

‘He was, so I also learned a lot about makeup at my daddy’s knee. Photography was his sideline – yearbook photos and weddings, mostly. Sometimes I was his assistant. In both jobs.’

‘I came to the right place,’ Billy says, smiling.

‘You did.’ But Bucky isn’t smiling back. ‘Don’t you get that young woman hurt, Billy. And if you do, don’t come back here because the door will be closed to you.’

Before Billy can answer, Alice comes back. In her white blouse, blue skirt, and knee-socks she looks very young indeed. Bucky seats her in the chair and tilts her head this way and that until the muted morning light is shining on her face to his liking. He’s using Billy’s phone to take the pix. He says he has a Leica and would love to use it, but that would be a little too pro. Klerke might not register that and be suspicious, but then again he might. TV and movies are a big part of his business, after all.

‘Okay, let’s get this party started. No big grin, Alice, but a little smile’s okay. Remember what we’re going for. Sweet and demure.’

Alice tries for sweet and demure, then dissolves in a fit of giggles.

‘Okay,’ Bucky says, ‘that’s fine. Get it out of your system, then remember that the man who’s going to be looking at these is a fucking pedophile.’

That sobers her up and he goes to work. For all his pre-shoot fussing, the actual photography doesn’t take long. He shoots sixteen or eighteen of Ponytail Alice in various outfits (but always, even in the boatneck dress, with the lowtop sneakers). He shoots a dozen more of Barrette Alice and finishes with a dozen of Alice Band Alice. He makes three sets of eight-by-tens on his color printer so they can each look at a stack. Bucky tells Billy and Alice to pick half a dozen they think are the best and says he’ll do the same. At one point Alice cries out in a mixture of glee and dismay, ‘Jesus Christ, I look about fourteen in this one!’

‘Mark it,’ Bucky says.

When they’re done, they have all agreed on three of the shots. Bucky adds two more and tells Billy to email those five to Giorgio. ‘He’s pimped for the nasty old lizard before, so he’ll probably know whether or not Klerke will bite.’

‘Not yet,’ Billy says. ‘I’ll do it once we’re on the road and headed to New York.’

‘What if Klerke tells Giorgio he’s not interested?’

‘We’ll go anyway and I’ll find a way in.’

‘We will,’ Alice says. ‘You’re not leaving me behind in a motel this time.’

Billy doesn’t reply. He thinks it’s a decision he’ll make when and if the time comes. Then he thinks of what Alice has been through, and what Klerke has done to girls even younger than this one, and realizes it might not be his decision to make.

8

That night he calls Nick for the last time. ‘You still owe a million-two.’

‘I know and you’ll get it. Our friend paid off. As far as he knows, you’re dead.’

‘Add another two hundred thousand. Call it a bonus for the shit you put me through. And send it to Marge.’

‘Frank’s mother? Are you serious?’

‘Yes. Tell her it’s from me. Tell her to put it toward Frank’s care. Tell her I did what I had to, but I’m sorry.’

‘I don’t think your apology will cut much ice. Marge is …’ He sighs. ‘Marge is Marge.’

‘You could also tell her that what happened to him ultimately comes back to you, not me, but I don’t really expect that.’

There’s silence for a few seconds and then Nick asks about the rest of what Billy’s owed. Billy tells him exactly how he wants it handled. After some discussion Nick agrees. Does that mean he’ll actually do it if Billy isn’t around to make sure? Billy has his doubts, because he has no idea how long Nick’s gratitude at being spared will last. But he intends to make sure his wishes are carried out, because he has no intention of dying in New York. It’s Roger Klerke who’s going to do the dying.

‘Good luck,’ Nick says. ‘I mean that.’

‘Uh-huh. Just see that Frank is taken care of. And the other thing.’

‘Billy, I just want to tell you—’

Billy ends the call. He has no interest in what Nick wants to tell him. The books are balanced. He and Nick are done.

9

Billy is ready to go early the next morning, but Bucky asks him to wait until ten o’clock because he has an errand to run. While he does it, Billy visits the summerhouse one final time. He takes the picture of the hedge animals off the wall and carries it to the end of the path. He looks out over the gorge for a minute or two, across to the place where the reputedly haunted hotel once stood. Alice thought she saw it, but Billy sees only a few charred remnants. Maybe, he thinks, the site is still haunted. Maybe that’s why no one’s rebuilt on it, although the location looks prime.

He throws the picture over the edge. He peers over the lip of the drop and sees it caught in the top of a pine tree about a hundred feet down. Let it rot there, he thinks, and goes back to the house. Alice has put their little bits of luggage in the Mitsubishi. There’s no reason not to drive it east. It’s a good vehicle, it can’t be tracked, and Reggie won’t miss it.

‘Where did you go?’ Alice asks.

‘Just for a walk. Wanted to stretch my legs.’

They are sitting in the rockers on the porch when Bucky comes back. ‘I saw a friend and bought you a little going-away present,’ he says, and hands Alice a pistol. ‘Sig Sauer P320 Subcompact. Ten in the mag plus one in the pipe. Small enough to carry in your purse. It’s loaded, so be careful how you grab it if you have to take it out.’

Alice looks at it, fascinated. ‘I’ve never fired a gun before.’

‘It’s simple enough, just point and shoot. Unless you’re standing close, you’ll probably miss your target anyway, but you might scare someone off.’ He looks at Billy. ‘If you have a problem with her carrying, speak up.’

Billy shakes his head.

‘One thing, Alice. If you need to use it, use it. Promise me.’

Alice promises.

‘Okay, now give me a hug.’

She hugs him and starts to cry. Billy thinks that’s good, actually. She’s feeling her feelings, as they say in the self-help groups.

It’s a long, strong hug. Bucky lets loose after thirty seconds or so and turns to Billy. ‘Now you.’

Little as he cares for man-hugs, he does it. For years Bucky has just been a business associate, but over the last month or so he’s become a friend. He gave them shelter when they needed it, and he’s on board with what lies ahead. More important than those things, he’s been good to Alice.

Billy gets behind the wheel of the Mitsubishi. Bucky walks around to the passenger side, looking very Colorado in his jeans and flannel shirt. He makes a cranking gesture and Alice powers down the window. Bucky leans in and kisses her on the temple. ‘I want to see you again. Make sure I do.’

‘I will,’ Alice says. She’s crying again. ‘I sure will.’

‘Okay.’ Bucky straightens and stands back. ‘Now go get that son of a bitch.’

10

Billy stops at the Walmart Supercenter in Longmont, getting as close to the building as possible to improve the WiFi connection. Using his personal laptop, which is VPN-equipped, he sends the pictures of Alice to Giorgio and asks him to post them on to Klerke ASAP.

Tell him the girl’s name is Rosalie. She has a window. It opens three days from now and will close four days after that. Price is negotiable but floor is $8,000 for one hour. Tell him Rosalie is ‘prime stuff.’ Tell him to check with Judy Blatner if he doubts that. If you want, tell him that you will make the arrangements free of charge to compensate for the unavoidable complications on the Allen job. Tell him the delivery rep will be Darren Byrne’s cousin, Steven Byrne. Let me know as soon as you hear.

He signs it B.

They stay that night at a Holiday Inn Express in Lincoln, Nebraska. Billy is bringing in their luggage on a courtesy trolley when his phone dings with a text. He observes, with zero nostalgia, that it’s from his old literary agent.

‘Giorgio?’ Alice asks.

‘Yes.’

‘What does it say?’

Billy hands her his phone.

GRusso: He wants her. November 4, 8 PM 775 Montauk Highway. Text me thumbs up or down.

‘Are you sure you want to do this? Your call, Alice.’

She finds and sends it.