Trouble in Paradise

Ten

“And you just walked out and shot the cop without a word,” Faye said.

They were sitting in the Mercedes parked on Indian Hill, looking at Stiles Island where it jutted into the harbor.

“He was the dangerous one. Knock him over and they take you seriously.”

“So you did it for effect.”

“I wanted to neutralize him. And I wanted to get their attention.”

“Weren’t you afraid someone would hear the shot?” Faye said.

“Hotel rooms have pretty good sound insulation,” Macklin said. “And most people don’t know what a gun shot sounds like anyway. They’re afraid to call up and make an asshole of themselves, you know?”

“Why didn’t they call down to the desk the minute you left the room?”

“And say what — we were having an illegal poker game up here, guarded by a corrupt Boston cop? As soon as I left the room, they were busy getting the hell out of there and covering their tracks.”

“So they won’t even report it.”

“Nope. Why I like to knock them over.”

“Paper says that a policeman was found shot to death in a room,” Faye said.

“And the room was occupied by someone named Thomas King, who turns out to be a phony.”

“It didn’t say in the paper.”

“It will,” Macklin said. “The real Thomas King will be a guy from Des Moines, who’s never been to Boston, and somebody lifted his credit card number and used it to make phony plastic.”

“You take some awful chances, Jimmy.”

“Not really,” Macklin said.

“What if the cop had found your gun?”

“Guy’s patting you down he stays away from your crotch.”

“But suppose he had found it?”

“So he takes it,” Macklin said. “And they either boot me out or let me play. If they boot me out, I take my thousand and leave. If they let me play, I donate my thousand and leave.”

“But shooting the cop?”

“Part of doing business,” Macklin said. “Either it bothers you or it doesn’t. If it bothers you, find another line of work.”

“It doesn’t bother you.”

“No.”

“What if you’d missed?”

Macklin grinned at her.

“I don’t miss.”

They were quiet. Below them, a sloop, heeling sharply in the offshore wind, was moving out of the harbor under sail. They were too far to make out the people onboard.

“So how much did you get?” Faye said.

“Fifteen thousand and change,” Macklin said. “Should keep us afloat until we clean out Stiles Island.”

“You really think we can?”

“It’s perfect,” Macklin said. “The isolation. The money. The police.”

“Small-town cops?”

“You bet,” Macklin said. “Biggest robbery they’ve ever had is probably some kid copping two Snickers bars from a Ma and Pa.”

“I think something happened here last year, while you were in jail.”

“Probably caught a Peeping Tom,” Macklin said.

“No — I don’t remember. It was on the news one night.”

“Whatever,” Macklin said and grinned at her again. “They haven’t seen anything like me before.”

Faye smiled back at him. “Not many people have,” she said.