Robert B. Parker’s Buried Secrets

Thirty-Six

Elliott saw the whole thing from the front seat of his rental car. Damn, that cop was fast. He saw the shooter setting up the hit while he kept an eye on the station house — a little obvious, but sometimes the direct approach worked — and watched the cop walk up the street about twenty minutes later.

He worried, for a moment, that he might be forfeiting the money Mulvaney had promised. He was unsure if he was happy or sad about someone else doing his job for him.

Then the cop moved.

Shit, he covered the ground between him and the shooter like it was one step. He pinned the stupid guy against the car as if someone had phoned him the night before and told him what was coming.

Elliott didn’t like cops. At all. He’d never met one he wasn’t happy to kill if they got in his way. He sure as hell didn’t respect them. Most of them spent their whole careers hiding behind their badges, counting on their uniforms to do all the work.

But he’d run across a couple of cops who were solid, who were easily as good as he was. He’d learned that some people had the skills to go up against him.

This cop was definitely one of them.

He was going to have to rethink everything.

The more people in his line of work who showed up, the more paranoid and prepared the cop was going to get. None of these assholes Mulvaney had told about the money would soften this guy up. If anything, they were only going to make things harder.

That’s when Elliott felt another set of eyes on him. It was an instinct he’d developed over the years. People said you couldn’t really tell when someone was looking at you, but Elliott believed in it. He didn’t read his horoscope and he thought ghosts and UFOs were for idiots who’d seen too many movies, but that feeling on the back of his neck had saved his life more than once.

He looked around, not too fast, checking the rental’s mirrors, scanning the street.

Then he clocked the kid. A young man in his twenties. Slouching at the corner, standing a little too still. Staring right at him, sizing him up.

If this kid was a contractor, like him, at least he wasn’t an idiot like the other guy. He was surveying the situation. Planning ahead.

And he was good enough to spot Elliott. Which meant he had to be pretty good.

Elliott waved, partly just to see what the kid would do.

The kid smirked and waved back.

Then he began walking toward the car. Hands loose at his sides, well away from his pockets, that smirk still on his face.

Elliott reached under his jacket and gripped his Ruger .357. He preferred revolvers for close-up work, and the .357 was loaded with hollowpoints, so accuracy wasn’t a real concern.

The kid stopped at the passenger-side window and knocked on it, shave and a haircut, two bits.

Elliott rolled down the window, the .357 still concealed under his jacket.

The kid grinned and leaned over, a couple of feet away from the car, keeping a respectful distance.

“I’ve seen you around,” he said.

“Really,” Elliott said. That was surprising. This was the first time he’d noticed the kid. Maybe he was getting old.

“I have a feeling we might be in the same line of work.”

“Why would you think that?” Elliott asked. No sense being an idiot. The guy could be a cop.

The kid shrugged. “Just a hunch. Maybe we shouldn’t be working the same territory, you know. Might be bad for business.”

“Could be,” Elliott said. “You want to move on, nobody’s stopping you.”

The kid laughed. “You’re pretty quick for your age.”

“You’ve got no idea,” Elliot said, and laughed, too.

The kid looked away from him, which was a perfect chance to shoot him in the head, but Elliott didn’t want to do that yet. The kid seemed to be considering his options.

Then he turned back. “We should talk,” he said. “You know Daisy’s?”

“I can find it.”

“You can’t miss it. Got a big sign saying No Cops Allowed. Meet me there for breakfast.”

“What if I don’t feel like talking?”

The kid looked disappointed. “Come on, man. I’m sure neither of us wants to end up like that asshole they just arrested. And it’s way too early for bloodshed. Let’s talk it out.”

He straightened up and walked away.

Elliott eased the hammer back down on the .357, watching him in the mirror the whole time.

He thought about it. He almost always worked alone.

But in this town, small as it was? With every dipshit on the East Coast on their way here to take their shot at the contract and cash?

Against that cop?

He might as well get some breakfast and hear what the kid had to say.

And if worse came to worst, at least he wouldn’t have to kill him on an empty stomach.