Hit Man

“If you’d managed,” Dot pointed out, “I’d shrug and say what’s done is done, and let it go at that. But, fortunately or unfortunately, you checked your machine in time.”

“Fortunately or unfortunately.”

“Right, and don’t ask me which is which. Easiest thing, you say the word and I call both of the middlemen and tell them we’re out. Our foremost operative broke his leg in a skiing accident and you’d better call somebody else. What’s the matter?”

“Skiing? This time of year?”

“In Chile, Keller. Use your imagination. Anyway, we’re out of it.”

“Maybe that’s best.”

“Not from a dollars-and-cents standpoint. No money for you, and refunds for both clients, who’ll either look elsewhere or be reduced to shooting each other. I hate to give money back once it’s been paid.”

“What did they do, pay half in front?”

“Uh-huh. Usual system.”

He frowned, trying to work it out. “Go home,” she said. “Pet Andria and give Nelson a kiss, or is it the other way around? Sleep on it and let me know what you decide.”

He took the train to Grand Central and walked home, rode up in the elevator, used his key in the lock. The apartment was dark and quiet, just as he’d left it. Nelson’s dish was in a corner of the kitchen. Keller looked at it and felt like a Gold Star Mother, keeping her son’s room exactly as he had left it. He knew he ought to put the dish away or chuck it out altogether, but he didn’t have the heart.

He unpacked and showered, then went around the corner for a beer and a burger. He took a walk afterward, but it wasn’t much fun. He went back to the apartment and called the airlines. Then he packed again and caught a cab to JFK.

He phoned White Plains while he waited for them to call his flight. “On my way,” he told Dot.

“You continue to surprise me, Keller,” she said. “I thought for sure you’d stay the night.”

“No reason to.”

There was a pause. Then she said, “Keller? Is something wrong?”

“ Andria left,” he said, surprising himself. He hadn’t intended to say anything. Eventually, sure, but not just yet.

“That’s too bad,” Dot said. “I thought the two of you were happy.”

“So did I.”

“Oh.”

“She has to find herself,” Keller said.

“You know, I’ve heard people say that, and I never know what the hell they’re talking about. How would you lose yourself in the first place? And how would you know where to look for yourself?”

“I wondered that myself.”

“Of course she’s awfully young, Keller.”

“Right.”

“Too young for you, some would say.”

“Some would.”

“Still, you probably miss her. Not to mention Nelson.”

“I miss them both,” he said.

“I mean you both must miss her,” Dot said. “Wait a minute. What did you just say?”

“They just called my flight,” he said, and broke the co

Cinci

“It’s a Japanese car,” the clerk told him, “but it’s actually produced right here in the US of A.”

“That’s a load off my mind,” Keller told him.

He checked into a motel half a mile from the previous one and called in from a restaurant pay phone. He had a batch of questions, things he needed to know about Barry Moncrieff, the fellow who was at once Client #1 and Assignment #2. Dot, instead of answering, asked him a question of her own.

“What do you mean, you miss them both? Where’s the dog?”

“I don’t know.”

“She ran off with your dog? Is that what you’re saying?”

“They went off together,” he said. “Nobody was ru

“Fine, she walked off with your dog. I guess she figured she needed him to help her go look for herself. What did she do, skip town while you were in Cinci

“Earlier,” he said. “And she didn’t skip town. We talked about it, and she said she thought it would be best if she took Nelson with her.”

“And you agreed?”

“More or less.”

“ ‘More or less’? What does that mean?”

“I’ve often wondered myself. She said I don’t really have time for him, and I travel a lot, and… I don’t know.”

“But he was your dog long before you even met her. You hired her to walk him when you were out of town.”

“Right.”

“And one thing led to another, and she wound up living there. And the next thing you know she’s telling you it’s best if the dog goes with her.”

“Right.”

“And away they go.”

“Right.”

“And you don’t know where, and you don’t know if they’ll be back.”

“Right.”

“When did this happen, Keller?”

“About a month ago. Maybe a little longer, maybe six weeks.”

“You never said anything.”

“No.”

“I went on about how you should pet him and kiss her, whatever I said, and you didn’t say anything.”

“I would have gotten around to it sooner or later.”

They were both silent for a long moment. Then she asked him what he was going to do. About what, he asked.

“About what? About your dog and your girlfriend.”

“I thought that’s what you meant,” he said, “but you could have been talking about Moncrieff and Strang. But it’s the same answer all around. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

What it came down to was this. He had a choice to make. It was his decision as to which contract he would fulfill and which he would cancel.

And how did you decide something like that? Two people wanted his services, and only one could have them. If he were a painting, the answer would be obvious. You’d have an auction, and whoever was willing to make the highest bid would have something pretty to hang over the couch. But you couldn’t have bids in the present instance because the price had already been fixed, and both parties independently had agreed to it. Each had paid half in advance, and when the job was done one of them would pay the additional 50 percent and the other would be technically entitled to a refund, but in no position to claim it.

So in that sense the contract was potentially more lucrative than usual, paying one and a half times the standard rate. It came out the same no matter how you did it. Kill Moncrieff, and Strang would pay the rest of the money. Kill Strang, and Moncrieff would pay it.

Which would it be?

Moncrieff, he thought, had called first. The old man had made a deal with him, and a guarantee of exclusivity was implicit in such an arrangement. When you hired somebody to kill someone, you didn’t require assurance that he wouldn’t hire on to kill you as well. That went without saying.

So their initial commitment was to Moncrieff, and any arrangements made with Strang ought to be null and void. Money from Strang wasn’t really a retainer, it came more under the heading of windfall profits, and needn’t weigh in the balance. You could even argue that taking Strang’s advance payment was a perfectly legitimate tactical move, designed to lull the quarry into a feeling of false security, thus making him easier to get to.

On the other hand…

On the other hand, if Moncrieff had just kept his damned mouth shut, Strang wouldn’t have been forewarned, and consequently forearmed. It was Moncrieff, ru

And it was Moncrieff’s blabbing that had made Strang such an elusive target. Otherwise it would have been easy to get to the fat man, and by now Keller would have long since completed the assignment. Instead of sitting all by himself in a motel on the outskirts of Cinci

Moncrieff, loose of lip, had sunk his own ship. Moncrieff, unable to keep a secret, had sabotaged the very contract he had been so quick to arrange. Couldn’t you argue that his actions, with their unfortunate results, had served to nullify the contract? In which case the old man was more than justified in retaining his deposit while accepting a counterproposal from another interested party.