Toxin

SEVENTEEN

Monday night, January 26th

Straightening up with a groan, Kim stretched his back. Abandoning his heavy wooden-handled mop, he put his hands on his hips to get maximum extension.

Kim was by himself mopping the front hall, starting from the reception area. He'd had his earphone in for the last ten minutes, complaining to Tracy how exhausted he was. Tracy was sympathetic.

The cleaning had been extensive. The whole crew had started with high-pressure steam hoses on the kill floor. It was backbreaking work, since the hoses weighed several hundred pounds and had to be hauled up onto the catwalks.

After the kill floor, they had moved into the boning rooms. Cleaning them had taken the rest of the shift up until the dinner break at six. At that time Kim had gone back out to the car and even had had the stomach for some of the lunch he and Tracy had packed that morning.

After the dinner break, Kim had been sent out on his own on various jobs around the plant. As the others had slowed down, he'd volunteered to mop the front hall.

"I'm never going to complain about surgery being hard work again," he said into his microphone.

"After all this experience, I'll hire you to do my house," Tracy quipped. "Do you do windows?"

"What time is it?" Kim asked. He was in no mood for humor.

"It's a little after ten," Tracy said. "Less than an hour to go. Are you going to make it?"

"I'll make it. all right," Kim said. "I haven't seen any of my cleaning colleagues for the last hour. It's time for the record room."

"Be quick!" Tracy urged. "Your being in there is going to make me anxious all over again, and I don't think I can take too much more."

Kim stuck the heavy-duty mop into his bucket and pushed the contraption down the hall to the record room door. Its broken central panel was covered by a piece of thin plywood.

Kim tried the door. It opened with ease. He reached in and turned on the light. Except for a larger sheet of the same plywood over the sashless window facing the parking lot, the room looked entirely normal. The broken glass and the rock he'd tossed in had all been taken away.

The left side of the room had a long line of file cabinets. At random, Kim yanked out the nearest drawer. It was jammed full of files so tightly that not another sheet of paper could have been added.

"Gosh," Kim said. "They sure do have a lot of paperwork. This isn't going to be as easy as I'd hoped."

The end of an El Producto cigar burned brightly for a few moments and then faded. Elmer Conrad held the resulting smoke in his mouth for a few pleasurable moments and then blew it contentedly at the ceiling.

Elmer was the three-to-eleven cleaning crew supervisor. He'd held the job for eight years. His idea of work was to sweat like crazy for the first half of the shift and then coast. At that moment he was in the coasting mode, watching a Sony Watchman in the lunchroom with his feet up on a table.

"You wanted to see me, boss?" Harry Pearlmuter asked, poking his head into the lunchroom from the back hall. Harry was one of Elmer's underlings.

"Yeah," Elmer said. "Where's that queer-looking temp guy?"

"I think he's out in the front hall mopping," Harry said. "At least that's what he said he was going to do."

"Do you think he cleaned those two bathrooms out there?" Elmer asked.

"I wouldn't know," Harry said. "You want me to check?"

Elmer let his heavy feet fall to the floor with a thump. He pushed himself up to his full height. He was over six-feet-five and weighed two hundred forty pounds.

"Thanks, but I'll do it myself," Elmer said. "I told him twice he had to clean those heads before eleven. If he hasn't done them, he will! He's not leaving here until they're done."

Elmer put down his cigar, took a swig of coffee, and set out to find Kim. What was motivating him was that he'd received specific instructions from the front office that Kim was to clean the bathrooms in question, and he was to clean them alone. Elmer had no idea why he'd gotten such an order, but he didn't care. All he cared about was that it was carried out.

"This isn't going to be so hard after all," Kim said into his microphone. "I found a whole drawer of Process Deficiency Reports. They go from nineteen eighty-eight to the present. Now, all I have to do is find January ninth."

"Hurry up, Kim," Tracy said. "I'm starting to get nervous again."

"Relax, Trace," Kim said. "I told you I haven't seen a soul in an hour. I think they're all back in the lunchroom watching a ball game… Ah, here we are, January ninth. Hmmm. The folder's jammed full."

Kim pulled a clutch of papers from the folder. He turned around and put them down on the library, table.

"Pay dirt!" Kim said happily. "It's the whole group of papers Marsha talked about." Kim spread the papers out so that he could see them all. "Here's the purchase invoice from Bart Winslow for what must have been a sick cow."

Kim glanced through the other papers, finally picking one up. "Here's what I'm looking for. It's a Process Deficiency Report on the same cow."

"What does it say?" Tracy asked.

"I'm reading it," Kim said. After a moment he added: "Well, the mystery has been solved. The last cow's head fell off the rail onto the floor. Of course, I know what that means after the work I've been doing today. It probably fell in its own manure and then went in to be butchered for hamburger meat. This cow could have been infected with the E. coli. That's consistent with what you found out from Sherring Labs this afternoon indicating that the patty made from the meat butchered on January ninth was heavily contaminated."

In the next instant, Kim was startled enough to let out a whimper. To his utter shock the Process Deficiency Report was ripped from his hands. He spun around to find himself facing Elmer Conrad. While he'd been talking, he'd not heard the man come into the room.

"What the hell are you doing with these papers?" Elmer demanded. His broad face had become beet-red.

Kim felt his heart race. Not only had he been caught looking at confidential documents, but he had the microphone in his right ear. To try to keep the wire out of Elmer's line of sight, he kept his head turned to the right, looking at Elmer out of the corner of his eye.

"You better answer me, boy," Elmer growled.

"They were on the floor," Kim said, desperately trying to think of something. "I was trying to put them back."

Elmer glanced at the open drawer to the file cabinet, then back at Kim. "Who were you talking to?"

"Was I talking?" Kim asked innocently.

"Don't mess with me, boy," Elmer warned.

Kim put his hand on his head then gestured ineffectually at Elmer, but no words came out of his mouth. He was trying to think of something clever to say but couldn't.

"Tell him you were talking to yourself," Tracy whispered.

"Okay," Kim said. "I was talking to myself."

Elmer looked askance at Kim, almost the same way Kim was looking at Elmer.

"You sounded like you were having a goddamn conversation," Elmer said.

"I was," Kim offered. "Just with myself. I do it all the time when I'm alone."

"You're one weird dude," Elmer said. "What's wrong with your neck?"

Kim rubbed the left side of his neck with his left hand. "It's a little stiff," he said. "Too much mopping, I guess."

"Well, you got some more to do," Elmer said. "Remember those two restrooms next door here? Remember I told you that you had to clean them."

"I guess that did slip my mind," Kim said. "Sorry, but I can get right to it."

"I don't want you doing a crappy job," Elmer said. "So take your time even if you have to work past eleven. Understand?"

"They'll be pristine," Kim promised.

Elmer tossed the Process Deficiency Report onto the table and roughly pushed all the papers together. While he was occupied, Kim pulled the earphone out of his ear and tucked it under his shirt. It felt good to straighten his neck out.

"We'll leave these papers for the secretaries to deal with," Elmer said. He reached over to the file cabinet and pushed the open drawer shut. "Now get the hell out of here. You're not supposed to be in here in the first place."

Kim preceded Elmer out of the room. Elmer hesitated at the door to look around one final time. Only then did he put out the light and close the door. Taking out a large ring of keys, he locked it.

Kim was busy rinsing out his mop when Elmer turned to him. "I'm going to keep my eye on you, boy," Elmer warned. "And I'm going to come back and inspect these two restrooms after you're done. So don't cut corners."

"I'll do my best," Kim said.

Elmer gave him one final disapproving look before heading back toward the lunchroom.

Kim slipped his earphone back into his ear as soon as Elmer disappeared from view.

"Did you hear that whole exchange?" Kim asked.

"Of course I heard it," Tracy said. "Have you had enough of this nonsense now? Come on out!"

"No, I want to try to get those papers," Kim said. "The problem is the bum locked the door."

"Why do you want them?" Tracy asked with exasperation.

"It's something more to show Kelly Anderson," Kim said.

"We already have the results from the lab," Tracy said. "That should be enough for Kelly Anderson to make a case for a recall. That's what you want, isn't it?"

"Of course," Kim said. "At a minimum, Mercer Meats' entire January twelfth production has to be recalled. But those papers also show how the industry is willing to buy sick cows, avoid inspection, and then allow a grossly soiled cow head to continue in production."

"Do you think that was how Becky got sick?" Tracy asked emotionally.

"There's a good chance." Kim said with equal emotion. "That and the fact that her burger wasn't cooked through."

"It makes you realize how tenuous life is that it could be snuffed out by something so trivial as a cow's head falling on the floor and a hamburger not cooked enough."

"It also underlines the importance of what we're doing here," Kim said.

"How do you think you can get the papers now that the record-room door is locked?" Tracy asked.

"I don't know exactly," Kim admitted. "But the door has a thin piece of plywood covering a hole. It probably wouldn't be too hard to knock it off. But it will have to wait until I make a stab at these two restrooms. I expect Elmer to wander back here in a few minutes, so I better get busy."

Kim looked at the two doors. They faced each other across the hall. He pushed open the men's room door. Careful to avoid tipping over his bucket, he maneuvered it over the raised threshold and onto the tile. He gave it a shove into the room and let the door close behind him.

The room was a generous size with two toilet stalls and two urinals on the right and two sinks with mirrors over them to the left. There was a series of coat hooks just inside the door. The only other objects in the room were two paper towel dispensers and a trash container.

In the middle of the far wall was a window that looked out onto the parking lot.

"At least this men's room isn't very dirty," Kim said. "I had fears that it was going to look like the one on the kill floor."

"I wish I could come in there and help," Tracy said.

"I wouldn't mind that at all," Kim said.

Kim grabbed the handle of the mop. Stepping on the wringer's foot pedal, he wrung out the mop head. Then he walked over to the window and started mopping.

The door to the bathroom burst open with enough force for its knob to crack the wall tile. The sound and the movement shocked Kim, and his head shot up. To his utter dismay he now found himself staring at the man who had attacked him previously. Once again the man was brandishing a kill-floor knife.

The man's lips slowly curled back into a cruel smile. "We meet again, Doctor. Only this time there will be no police and no woman to help you."

"Who are you?" Kim demanded, eager for the man to continue talking. "Why are you doing this to me?"

"My name is Carlos. I've come to kill you."

"Kim, Kim!" Tracy shouted in Kim's ear. "What's going on?"

To help him think, Kim tore the earphone from his ear. Now Tracy 's frantic voice sounded as if she were yelling from a great distance.

Carlos took a step into the room, while holding up the knife so that Kim could appreciate its size and curving shape. The abused door swung shut.

Kim had a hold of the mop and he instinctively raised it.

Carlos laughed. To him the idea of a mop against a kill-floor knife was ludicrous.

With no other alternative, Kim dashed into one of the open toilet stalls and bolted the door. Carlos lunged forward and kicked the door fiercely. The stall shuddered under the impact, but the door held. Kim frantically backed up and straddled the toilet. Beneath the stall door, he could see Carlo's feet as he prepared to kick the door again.

Tracy panicked. She fumbled with the ignition key before getting the car started. Throwing the vehicle into gear, she stomped on the accelerator. The car shot forward with enough speed to press her into the seat. The antenna she'd balanced on top skidded off the back of the car and bounced along the pavement on its wire tether.

Tracy fought with the steering wheel to bring the speeding car around a tight turn. Misjudging the closeness of a neighboring vehicle, she ricocheted off its side, throwing her own car up onto two wheels for a split second. The car thudded to earth and with squealing tires rocketed along the front of Higgins and Hancock.

Tracy had no plan initially. Her only thought was to try to get to the men's room where Kim was cornered, apparently by the same man who'd been in Kim's house the night before. She knew she had little time. She could see the man's horrid face in her mind's eye as he'd tried to force his way into her shower stall with his knife.

For a moment Tracy contemplated crashing her car into the front entrance of the building, but she decided it wouldn't necessarily do the trick. She had to get into the men's room itself. That was when she remembered the gun and swore at Kim for not having kept it with him.

Slamming on the brakes, Tracy brought her car to a shuddering halt just opposite the window to the record room. She reached down onto the floor and snatched up the gun. Clutching it in her hand, she jumped from the car and ran over to the record-room window.

Remembering how Kim had gained entry, she put down the gun and picked up one of the rocks edging the pavement. Using both hands, she threw it against the plywood. It took two smacks, but she succeeded in knocking the plywood free of its temporary nails. Then she yanked it off.

Tracy snatched up the gun and tossed it through the window. Then she followed it headfirst. Once inside the dark room, she had to grope around for the gun on her hands and knees. As she searched she could hear intermittent thumps behind the wall to the right as if a metal partition was being kicked repeatedly. The noise increased her frenzy.

Her fingers finally brushed up against the weapon where it had come to rest at the base of a table leg. She seized it and then moved as fast as the darkness would allow to the vaguely illuminated door to the hall.

Tracy unlocked the door. From having listened to the conversation between Kim and Elmer she knew the men's room had to be close to the record room. She decided to follow the sound of the thumping. She made a right. After running only a few steps, she saw the men's room sign.

Without a second's hesitation, Tracy crashed through the door using her shoulder. She had the gun clasped in both hands and pointed it into the depths of the room.

She'd had no idea what to expect. What she saw was Carlos less than ten feet away with one leg raised in preparation for kicking a toilet stall door in. The door was already bent.

As soon as he spotted her, Carlos made a flying leap for Tracy. Like the night before, he had a large knife clasped in his hand.

Tracy had no time to think. Closing her eyes against the hurling figure she pulled the trigger in quick succession. Two shots rang out before Carlos careened into her, slamming her against the door and knocking the gun from her hand. She felt a stabbing pain in her chest as she crumbled beneath the man's weight.

Tracy desperately tried to breathe and to wriggle free as the man's weight settled on top of her. But he had her easily pinned.

To Tracy 's surprise the killer moved off her. She looked up, expecting to see him standing over her with his knife raised for a deadly stab. Instead she was looking at Kim's distraught face.

"Oh, God!" Kim cried. " Tracy!" He'd pulled the killer off her and had thrown him aside as if the man were no more than a sack of potatoes. Frantic over the amount of blood spreading across Tracy 's chest, he dropped to his knees and ripped open her blouse. As a thoracic surgeon, he'd treated stab wounds to the chest, and he knew what to expect. But what he found was a blood-soaked bra; Tracy 's skin was intact. There was no sucking chest wound with air rushing in as he'd feared.

Kim leaned closer to Tracy 's face. She was still struggling to catch the breath that had been knocked out of her.

"Are you all right?" Kim demanded.

Tracy nodded but still couldn't speak.

Kim turned his attention to the killer. The man was writhing and groaning and had managed to turn himself over on his stomach. Kim rolled him back over and recoiled.

At such close range, both of Tracy 's wild shots had found their mark. One had gone through Carlos' right eye to exit out the back of his skull. The other had hit him in the right chest, which explained the blood all over Tracy.

The man was foaming at the mouth and jerking uncoordinatedly. It was clear to Kim he was about to die.

"Is he hurt?" Tracy managed. Wincing against the pain in her chest, she pushed herself to a sitting position.

"He's as good as dead," Kim said. He stood up and began searching for the gun.

"Oh, no!" Tracy moaned. "I can't believe it. I can't believe I killed someone."

"Where's the gun?" Kim demanded.

"Oh, God!" Tracy managed. She couldn't take her eyes off Carlos who was agonally choking.

"The gun!" Kim snapped. He got down on his hands and knees. He found Carlos's knife but not the gun. Moving over to the stalls, he bent down again. At last he saw it behind the first toilet. Reaching in, he pulled it out.

Stepping over to the sink, he grabbed a paper towel and wiped the weapon clean.

"What are you doing?" Tracy asked through anguished tears.

"Getting rid of your fingerprints," Kim said. "I want only my prints on this thing."

"Why?" Tracy demanded.

"Because whatever comes of this mess, I'm taking responsibility," Kim said. He gripped the weapon, then tossed it aside. "Come on! We're getting out of here!"

"No!" Tracy said. She went after the gun. "I'm in this as much as you."

Kim grabbed her and pulled her upright. "Don't be foolish! I'm the accused felon here. Let's go!"

"But it was in self-defense," Tracy complained tearfully. "It's terrible, but it's justifiable."

"We can't trust what kind of spin the legal profession might put on this," Kim said. "You're trespassing and I'm here under false pretenses. Come on! I don't want to argue now!"

"Shouldn't we stay here until the police come?" Tracy asked.

"No way," Kim said. "I'm not going to sit in jail while this all gets sorted out. Come on now, let's go before anybody gets here."

Tracy doubted the wisdom of fleeing the scene but she could also tell that Kim's mind was made up. She let herself be led from the men's room. Kim looked up and down the hall, surprised that the shots had not brought any of his cleaning crew colleagues.

"How did you get in here?" Kim whispered.

"Through the record-room window," Tracy said. "The same window you broke."

"Good," Kim said. He took Tracy 's hand. Together they dashed to the record-room door. Just as they were entering, they heard approaching voices.

Kim motioned for Tracy to be silent as he quietly closed and locked the door. In the darkness they first went to the library table, where Kim snatched up the incriminating papers. Then they made their way to the window. Through the wall, they heard commotion in the men's room followed by running footsteps down the hall.

Kim climbed out first. Then he helped Tracy. Together they dashed for Tracy 's car.

"Let me drive," Kim said. He jumped behind the wheel while Tracy got into the backseat. He started the car and drove quickly out of the parking lot.

For a while they drove in silence.

"Who could have guessed it would have turned out like this," Tracy said at last. "What do you think we should do?"

"Maybe you had the right idea back there," Kim said. "Maybe we should have called the police ourselves and faced the consequences. I suppose it's not too late to turn ourselves in, although I think we should call Justin Devereau first."

"I've changed my mind," Tracy said. "I think your first instinct was correct. You'd certainly go to jail and probably me too, and it would probably be a year before there even was a trial. And then who knows what would happen? After the O.J. Simpson case I have zero confidence in the American court system. We don't have a million dollars to throw away on Johnny Cochrane or Barry Scheck."

"What are you implying?" Kim asked. He cast a quick glance at Tracy in the rearview mirror. She never failed to surprise him.

"What we talked about last night," Tracy said. "Let's go far away and deal with this mess from abroad. Someplace where the food is uncontaminated so we could continue our fight against that issue as well."

"Are you serious?" Kim asked.

"Yes, I'm serious," Tracy said.

Kim shook his head. They'd mentioned the idea and even had their passports, but he'd truly not taken it seriously. In his mind it had been more of a desperate scheme of last resort, something to consider in a worst-case scenario. Of course, thanks to the killing, he had to admit things couldn't have turned out much worse than they had.

"Of course we should call Justin." Tracy added. "He'll have some good suggestions. He always does. Maybe he'll know where we should go. There are probably some legal issues relating to extradition and all that."

"You know what I like best about the idea of us going to a foreign country?" Kim said after a few minutes of silence. He looked up to make eye contact with Tracy in the rearview mirror.

"What's that?" Tracy asked.

"That you're suggesting we do it together," Kim said.

"Well, of course," Tracy said.

"You know," Kim said. "Maybe we shouldn't have gotten divorced,"

"I have to admit the idea has crossed my mind," Tracy said.

"Maybe something good will come from all this tragedy," Kim said.

"If we did get remarried, I know we couldn't have another Becky, but it would be nice to have another child."

"You'd really want to?" Kim asked.

"I'd like to try."

Silence again reigned for a time as the former lovers struggled with their emotions.

"How long do you think we will have before the authorities catch up with us?" Tracy asked.

"It's hard to say," Kim said. "If you're asking to know how long we have before we have to make up our minds about what we're going to do, I'd say we don't have much time. I think we have to decide in twenty-four to forty-eight hours."

"At least that allows us time for Becky's services tomorrow," Tracy said, choking up all over again.

Kim felt tears arise in his own eyes with the mention of Becky's imminent funeral. Despite his best efforts to avoid facing it, Kim could no longer deny the horrible fact that his beloved daughter was gone.

"Oh, God!" Tracy whimpered. "When I close my eyes I can see the face of the man I shot. It's something I'll never be able to forget. It'll haunt me the rest of my life."

Kim wiped the tears off his check and took an uneven breath to pull himself together. "You have to concentrate on what you said back in the men's room. It was justified. If you hadn't pulled the trigger and shot him, he would surely have killed you. And then he would have killed me. You saved my life."

Tracy closed her eyes.

It was after eleven o'clock when they pulled into Tracy 's driveway and parked behind Kim's car. They were both completely drained: physically. mentally, and emotionally.

"I hope you're planning on staying here tonight," Tracy said.

"I was hoping I was still invited," Kim said.

They got out of the car. Arm-in-arm they walked up the path toward the house.

"Do you think we should call Justin tonight?" Tracy asked.

"Let's wait until morning," Kim said. "As wired as I am, I don't know whether I'll be able to sleep, but I need to try. At this point I really can't think much beyond taking a long, hot shower."

"I know what you mean," Tracy said.

They climbed onto the porch. Tracy got out her key and opened the door. She stepped inside and made way for Kim. She closed the door and locked it. Only then did her hand grope for the light switch.

"Wow, that seems bright," Kim said, squinting at the overhead light.

Tracy used the dimmer to cut the glare.

"I'm a basket case," Kim admitted. He slipped out of his Higgins and Hancock white coat and held it out at arm's length. "This thing should be burned. It's probably got E. coli plastered all over it."

"Just throw it away," Tracy said. "But it's probably best to throw it in the trash barrel outside in the back. I can only imagine what it's going to smell like in the morning." She took off her own coat and winced at the pain in her chest. Something hard had struck her just to the left of her sternum when Carlos had collided with her. At the time the pain had been so acute she'd thought she'd been stabbed.

"Are you all right?" Kim asked seeing her reaction.

Gingerly Tracy felt along the edge of her breastbone. "Is there anything that can break in here?" she asked.

"Of course," Kim said. "You could have fractured either a rib or the sternum itself."

"Oh, great!" Tracy said. "What should I do, Doctor?"

"Some ice wouldn't hurt," Kim said. "I'll get some after getting rid of this white coat."

Kim started for the back door via the kitchen. Tracy opened the hall closet and hung up her coat and kicked off her shoes. After closing the door, she started for the stairs. Halfway she suddenly froze and let out a screeching gasp.

Kim had only made it to the threshold of the kitchen when he heard Tracy 's cry. He came running back. He was relieved to discover her unharmed in the center of the front hall. She was calm, but she seemed oddly transfixed at something in the living room. Kim tried to follow her line of sight. At first he saw nothing and was perplexed. But then he too saw what she was looking at. He was equally as startled.

In the shadows of the half-darkened room was a man. He was sitting motionless in the wing chair next to the fireplace. He was dressed in a dark suit and tie. A camel-hair coat was draped carefully over the back of the chair. His legs were casually crossed.

The man reached up and turned on a floor lamp.

Tracy let out another plaintive whine. On the coffee table in plain sight and within the man's easy reach was a black automatic pistol with an attached silencer.

The man was the picture of serenity, which only made him that much more terrifying. After turning on the light, his hand returned to the armrest. His expression was stern, almost cruel.

"You have made me wait much longer than I had intended," he said suddenly, breaking the silence. His voice was angrily accusatory.

"Who are you?" Tracy asked hesitantly.

"Come in here and sit down!" he snapped.

Kim looked to his left, judging how quickly he might be able to shove Tracy behind the arched wall of the foyer and possibly out of harm's way. He didn't see how he could be quick enough especially since she'd then have to get out the front door.

Derek responded to their hesitation by snapping up the handgun and training it on them.

"Don't aggravate me further!" he warned. "This has been a bad day, and I'm in a cross mood. I'll give you two seconds to come in here and sit on the couch."

Kim swallowed hard, but his voice came out in a hoarse whisper. "I think we'd better sit down."

Kim urged Tracy forward while he berated himself for not having checked the house when they'd arrived. He'd made the effort that morning to be able to tell if anyone had come in while they were away, but then after the death of Carlos, he'd not even thought of it.

Tracy sat down first. Kim took a seat next to her. They were on the couch diagonally opposite the wing chair.

Derek calmly replaced his gun on the coffee table and leaned back. His hands returned to the upholstered arms of the chair with his fingers slightly curled like a gunfighter ready to draw. It was as if he were daring the people in the room to try to flee or take the gun, thereby giving him an excuse to shoot them.

"Who are you?" Tracy repeated. "What are you doing in my house?"

"My name is immaterial," Derek said. "Why I'm here is another matter. I was brought to this city to kill the doctor."

Both Kim and Tracy swayed slightly. Derek's frightening revelation made them momentarily dizzy. They were speechless in their terror. The man was a hired killer.

"But something went wrong," Derek said. "They brought me all the way to this godforsaken city and then withdrew the contract without any real explanation other than to say they had someone else who was going to do the job. They even had the gall to ask for the down payment back after I flew all the way out here."

Derek leaned forward and his eyes blazed. "So not only am I not going to kill you, Dr. Reggis, I'm going to do you a favor. Now, I cannot figure out why these beef people want you dead."

"I can tell you," Kim offered anxiously. He was more than willing to cooperate.

Derek raised his hand. "There's no need for me to know the details at this point," he said. "I tried to find out, but I gave up. It's your business. What you should know is that these people want you dead enough to hire me or someone like me. My way of getting back at them for taking advantage of me is to tell you that you are in grave danger. What you do with the information is entirely up to you. Am I making myself clear?"

"Perfectly," Kim said. "Thank you."

"No reason to thank me," Derek said. "I'm not doing this for altruistic reasons."

Derek stood up. "The only thing I ask in return is that you keep this conversation just between us. Otherwise I might have to come back and visit either one of you again, and I hope that's just as clear. I should warn you that I am very good at what I do."

"Don't worry," Kim said. "We won't discuss this with anyone."

"Excellent," Derek said. "Now, if you will excuse me, I am going to try to get home."

Kim made a move to get up from the couch.

"Don't bother," Derek said, motioning Kim to stay put. "I saw myself in, I'll see myself out."

Kim and Tracy watched dumbfounded as Derek slipped on his camel-hair coat. He picked up his handgun and slipped it into his pocket. Then he picked up his briefcase.

"I wouldn't have been quite so rude if you'd gotten home at a decent hour," Derek said. "Good night."

"Good night," Kim said.

Derek walked out of the living room.

Kim and Tracy heard the door open and then slam closed.

For several minutes neither spoke.

"This is all so incredible. It's as if I'm in a nightmare and just can't wake up," Tracy said.

"It's a nightmare that keeps on going," Kim agreed. "But we have to do what we can to end it."

"Do you still think we should go to a foreign country?" Tracy asked.

Kim nodded. "At least I should. It seems I'm a marked man. In fact, let's not even stay here tonight."

"Where will we go?" Tracy asked.

"Hotel, motel, what does it matter?" Kim asked.