Hard as Nails

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

The Artful Dodger lost the ambulance and the cop car in the rainslicked streets of Niagara Falls—all he had to do was get out of sight of them and then duck down an alley between Haeberle Plaza and Oakwood Cemetery—and then he headed back to the Rainbow Centre.

Once there, he parked near the mall doors, watching the street and the Niagara Street entrance for the returning police cruiser.

What the fuck was all that about? He was sure it had something to do with the Buick parked out there. It was gone now, of course. He'd known for half an hour that something had been wrong with that blue Buick—that someone was out there. He should have driven straight out there and shot the shit out of that car as soon as he'd arrived.

But what kind of tough guy drives a blue Buick? That's a granny-lady's car.

Now the Dodger waited fifteen minutes, watching over his shoulder the whole time, before deciding that the package had been dropped off and picked up already. He called the Boss and told him the situation.

"Did you get the tag number on the Buick?"

"Sure I did," said the Dodger, and recited it from memory.

There was a brief pause while the Boss fed it into whatever computer or data bank he had—the Boss had access to everything and anything—before the man on the phone said, "Mrs. Arlene DeMarco," and gave an address out in Cheektowaga.

The name meant nothing to the Dodger.

"The P.I.'s secretary," said the Boss. "Kurtz's secretary."

The Dodger had left the mall and was driving toward the expressway, but he had to blink away red in his vision when the Boss said Kurtz's name. That motherfucker has to die. "You want me to go out to Cheektowaga now?" said the Dodger. "Get the package back and settle things with Mrs. Arlene DeMarco?" Maybe Kurtz will be there and we'll get everything settled.

The Boss was silent for a minute, obviously weighing options.

"No, that's all right," said the Boss at last. "It's your birthday and you've got a long drive ahead of you. You go on and take the day off. We'll deal with all of this on Tuesday."

"You sure?" said the Dodger. The Beretta with its silencer was on his lap as he drove. It felt like a blue-steel erection. "Cheektowaga's on my way out of town," he added.

The Boss was silent another few seconds. "No, you go on," said the calm voice. "It might work out better all around if we wait a day."

"All right," said the Dodger, realizing how tired he was. And he did have a long drive ahead of him. And much to do when he arrived. "I'll call you Tuesday morning. Want me to go straight to Cheektowaga then?"

"Yes, that would be good," said the Boss. "Phone me when you get near the airport. No later than seven A.M., all right? We want to meet these ladies before Mrs. DeMarco goes in to work."

"Okay," said the Dodger. "Anything else?"

"Just have a good birthday, Sean," said the Boss.