In for the Kill

72

It was late the next afternoon when they found themselves driving back to the office in Quinn's Lincoln. The sun was still hot, and traffic was beginning to build, but Quinn knew the rhythm of movement and alternate routes in the maze that was his city, so they were making good time.

There was still plenty of work to do. It would take them a few days to clear everything out and officially close the file. And of course they'd have to handle the media, though they could put that off for a while, maybe avoid some of it altogether. Just maybe. The media had tumbled to where the office was and would be lying in wait for them there.

"What next?" Quinn asked.

"Goddamned paparazzi," Pearl said.

"I mean after all of that?"

Fedderman, in the backseat, said, "I'm going back to Florida. Maybe take up fishing again."

"What about golf?"

"Screw golf."

Quinn avoided a pothole and smiled. "I hope it works out this time."

"If it doesn't, there's always hunting."

"You've already done that," Pearl said.

Quinn glanced over at her. "You, Pearl?"

"I don't golf or fish." When no one commented, she said, "I think I can get my job back at the bank."

She thought Quinn might try talking her out of it, maybe even hoped he'd try, but he remained silent, staring straight ahead out the windshield. Mister Mt. Rushmore. She understood his silence and it made her angry.

He doesn't think he needs to talk me out of it. Doesn't think I can do it. That I can live a quiet life and stay away. The bastard doesn't understand.

"What about you, Quinn?" Fedderman asked from the backseat.

"Me? I'm a retired cop."

But Quinn knew better. His retirement wouldn't last. And neither would Pearl's job as a bank guard. And Fedderman would be more than relieved to give up fishing.

Pretenders, all of them.

That evening at his hotel, Fedderman told the desk clerk he wanted an early wake-up call and would be checking out in the morning.

While that was happening, Quinn was seated in his leather armchair with his feet propped up on a matching ottoman. He was smoking a Cuban cigar and feeling pretty good.

When Pearl finally got back to her apartment that evening, she downed half a bottle of Pellegrino, then removed her shoes and padded in her stocking feet to the phone.

She pecked out her mother's number at the assisted living home.

Blood calling to blood.

Lauri and Wormy resumed their relationship, with Quinn's grudging approval.

Wormy's sudden fame garnered The Defendants a record company contract, and their CD of Lost in Bonkers debuted on the charts as number 473 with a bullet. Wormy remained afraid of Quinn. Quinn never told him he sometimes found himself humming Lost in Bonkers when he was in the shower.

Maybe Lauri really would someday be a cop, Quinn thought, while he waited patiently for another phone call from Renz.

He was sure there would be one.