Exit Strategy

FORTY-SEVEN

By the time I got upstairs, it was past one. I opened the door. The sitting room was dark. As I slid inside, I realized this was Jack’s room, now that I’d moved in with Evelyn. I started to back out, but before the door closed, I remembered something else, namely that I didn’t have a key card for the other room.

I tiptoed to the door joining the other sitting area. As I drew near, I heard voices. Typical hotel-you can shell out for big suites and nice views, but don’t expect soundproofing. It was Evelyn talking, though I could only hear snatches of the conversation.

“…to do about it?…sit back and feel sorry…”

A low rumble. Male, probably Jack, but too low to hear clearly. I considered knocking, but didn’t want to interrupt. Maybe I could watch TV, turn it up loud enough so they’d know I was here, in case they were waiting for me. And the blare of a TV would be less intrusive than a polite knock?

Evelyn again. “Fine, brood, not sulk…”

Jack answered, still unintelligible. As I reached out to knock, Evelyn’s voice grew louder, her words coming clearer. I rapped anyway, but she continued. “…need to take what’s yours.”

Another rumble.

Evelyn sighed. “…not yours, then. So change that. Do something.”

I took the handle and turned it, slowly, checking whether the door was open. It was. One final knock.

Evelyn continued. “If you think he’s going to let this blow over, and just walk away afterward, you’ve got a hell of a shock coming-”

As she spoke, I eased open the door, then gave one last, loud knock, and she stopped in midsentence. I poked my head through the opening.

“Sorry,” I said. “I tried knocking, but I guess you couldn’t hear me. I just wanted to let you know I’m back. I’ll wait over here…”

Evelyn pulled the door open and I nearly fell in. Jack stood across the room, arms crossed.

“Everything…okay?” I asked.

Jack uncrossed his arms, but Evelyn beat him to an answer.

“No, everything is not okay,” she said, looking at him. “But, apparently, it won’t be fixed anytime soon. Not that it matters. Fuck up this chance and I’m sure one will come around again…in another twenty, thirty years.”

“The plan, you mean?” I said as I closed the door behind me. “Has something gone wrong? Qui

“The plan is fine…or as fine as we can make it at this point.”

“Maybe not,” I said. “Qui

I told them our thoughts on the “final” solution.

“Yeah,” Jack said. “Been thinking that. It’s a problem. Not just Wilkes getting off. He’s arrested? He’ll talk.”

“About you and Evelyn. Damn it, I didn’t think-”

“Doesn’t matter. We can handle that. Cops know we exist. You? Still an unknown. I want to keep it that way.”

“Fine, but I still say you guys are in more danger. He won’t hesitate to use whatever he knows as leverage and, if that fails, he’ll just give it away to make your lives difficult. That settles it, then. We can’t hand him over to Dubois while he’s in any condition to talk.”

“Easy enough,” Evelyn said. “We amend the plan so we hand over a corpse instead of a suspect. No big deal. You kill Wilkes, and Dubois will claim he did it in self-defense.”

And there it was. Easy as could be. “You kill him, Nadia.” I didn’t even have to suggest it.

I said, “With the ambition angle, we have some leeway. Dubois might see the danger of bringing in a dead man, but he’ll see the advantages, too. ‘Top federal agent takes on notorious serial killer in a fight to the death…and wins’ makes a lot better copy than ‘Top federal agent apprehends suspect.’”

“No need to decide anything until morning, so let’s take the night to think about it. In the meantime…” She glanced Jack’s way.

Jack hesitated, then looked at me. “You tired? Got a smoke or two left.” He took the pack from his pocket. “Should get them gone.”

My gut twisted. I knew what he really wanted-to finish our argument from earlier, the one I’d walked away from.

“When the hell did you start smoking again?” Evelyn asked Jack.

“Never stopped,” he said.

“I haven’t seen you light up in years.”

“Don’t do it in front of you.”

“But you’ll do it in front of Dee? You really do know how to treat a lady. Take her outside in the middle of the chilly night, so you can blow smoke in her face? At least find someplace warm. There’s a lounge downstairs. Order a drink, relax, have your smoke if you need it…”

I shook my head. “I don’t drink before a job. And I’m beat. I’m just going to go to bed, okay?”

I didn’t wait around to find out whether it was okay, just grabbed my bag and headed for the bathroom. When I came out, Jack was gone.

Evelyn started for the bathroom, but I stopped her.

“You know what Qui

A small smile. “The Boy Scout?”

“Is that his other pro name?”

She moved back into the room and sat on her bed. “Yes, but I wouldn’t suggest you use it unless you want to piss him off. Seems vigilante types have this odd aversion to having it thrown in their face.”

I ignored that and pressed on. “But if this is his angle, vigilantism as you call it, and he’s obviously far more into it than I am, why not take him?”

She gri

“But he is a vigilante. And a true believer, not just some guy taking advantage of an underserviced wedge of the market.”

“Still trying to wriggle out of this without making a decision, Nadia?”

“Of course not,” I snapped, a little harder than I meant, a

“And make sure I’m not misleading you? Tricking you into something?”

“I’m being careful.”

“Good girl. So why you and not him? Fair question. For Qui

“But Qui

“Technical skills, attention to detail, creativity, brains, all that can make you a damned fine hitman, and Qui

I said nothing. She pushed to her feet, muttering about her knees, then wished me good night and headed to the bathroom.

I didn’t sleep. Couldn’t. That never fails. If you have a big day coming, and you know you need your rest, then you won’t be able to find it, and the longer you lie there, the more anxious you get, which only keeps you awake.

What really kept me awake that night, though, was my conversation with Jack. I believe in honesty. Always have. But brutal honesty is, well, brutal. It rips the scabs off wounds you’ve tried so hard to heal.

He hadn’t said anything I didn’t already know. No matter how hard I’d worked to get my life back on track after Wayne Franco, that track was closed to me forever now. I’d never be a cop again. Marriage, kids, a house in the suburbs-none of it had ever ranked very high on my list of life goals, but there’s a difference between not wanting something and not being able to have it.