Desperate Measures

8

In a rush, Pittman entered his bedroom, grabbed a brown sport coat, and pulled his suitcase from his closet. Instantly he put the suitcase back and took out the gym bag he had used when he had still been a runner. He had once interviewed a security specialist, who was an expert in blending with a crowd. One of the hard things, the expert had said, was to find something that would hold weapons or equipment but not be conspicuous. A suitcase was too bulky, and besides, anybody who carried a suitcase into any public building other than a transportation terminal attracted attention.

Conversely, while a briefcase looked more natural, especially if you were well dressed, it wasn’t big enough. But a reasonably attractive gym bag was ideal. Enough people went to exercise after work that a gym bag appeared natural, even if the person carrying it wore a suit, although casual clothes were obviously better.

And a gym bag held a lot.

Trembling, Pittman put a fresh pair of underwear and socks into the bag. He shoved in an extra shirt, a tie, his black sweat suit, his running shoes, his electric razor, a toothbrush, toothpaste, and shampoo.

What else?

This isn’t summer camp you’re going to. You have to get out of here fast. That phone call was probably from someone working with the gunman.

Pittman hurried into the living room, frowned down at the corpse, and almost took the four hundred dollars from the dead man’s wallet.

That would look great to the police. After you killed him, you thought why not steal from him, too?

What about his gun?

What about it?

Do I take it?

Who do you think you are? John Wayne? You know enough about guns to shoot yourself, not anybody else.