Killing Ways

55

Duke Rawlins sat at the bar of the Maker Hotel, in the final flat and yellowing stages of a pint of Guinness. He rubbed his jaw — the side without the scar, which he had covered with hair sprayed from a can of tiny fake hairs. They wouldn’t last long, but from a reasonable distance you could never tell. He still had the shaved head — that was a good look, that wasn’t in the picture that was released to the public. He had walked by his face on newsstands everywhere. It was an old face. No one had done a double take yet.

Duke watched as Joe Lucchesi walked into the lobby, loose-limbed, unsteady on his feet, searching his pockets for his key card. There was a woman behind him, dressed in black, slim, laughing. She turned toward the darkness of the bar. Duke felt his heart pound wildly — it was like the first time he saw her run down the steps to her Jeep outside Safe Streets, how it was like seeing a ghost. Or close enough. She was a little taller than Anna Lucchesi, but if he got her on all fours that wouldn’t matter. And if it was from behind, with her dark hair yanked back, balled into his fist, she could easily pass for Anna Lucchesi. Anna Lucchesi had had a powerful effect on him.

Ren Bryce! Bipolar support drinking buddy!

Right now, this special agent was leaning in to Joe Lucchesi, he was leaning into her. Two birds, one stone!

Joe was guiding her to the elevators, his hand on her lower back. Something was going on with these two. They were close. And this one was wild. He’d seen her drink. He’d seen her run into that burning barn. He’d seen her discharge her weapon, over and over. She was something different.

He laughed. There were so many ways to hurt Joe Lucchesi.

This time, he would make him watch.