Hit Man

Once inside the house, he could stuff the new wife in a coat closet and lay doggo, waiting for Wickwire to return, taking out him and his bodyguards before they had a clue. But that was heavy-handed, that was as Chicago as deep-dish pizza. There ought to be a subtler way… and just like that it came to him.

Get into the house. Arrange an accident for wife number three. Take her out back and drown her in the pool, say. Or break her neck and leave her at the foot of the stairs, as if she’d taken a header down the staircase. There was no end of ways to kill her, and how hard could any of them be? The woman obviously had the self-preservation instincts of a lemming.

Then let Wickwire explain.

It was poetic, and that part appealed to him. Wickwire, having murdered two wives with impunity, would get one of the state of Louisiana ’s special flu shots for a murder he hadn’t committed, a wife he hadn’t killed. Neat.

He went out and got something to eat, and by the time he got back to the room he had abandoned the scheme. There were a couple of things wrong with it, chief among them being the uncertainty of the enterprise. If they hadn’t been able to convict him before, when everybody but the jury flat-out knew he was guilty, who was to say they could do it now? The bastard’s luck might hold. You couldn’t be positive it wouldn’t.

Besides, the client had paid to have Wickwire killed, not framed. The client was getting on in years, and he didn’t have all the time in the world. If Wickwire finally wound up convicted, and if he did indeed draw a sentence of death by lethal injection, he still had enough money to stretch out the appeal process for years on end. Revenge, Keller had heard, was a dish best enjoyed cold, but you didn’t want it with mold growing on it. How sweet could it be if your victim outlived you?

Think of something else, Keller told himself, and let your subconscious take care of it. He picked up the stamp weekly he’d brought along-the current issue, he was a subscriber now-and flipped the pages until a story about precancels caught his eye. He read it, and half of another story. Then he straightened up in his chair and put the paper aside.

Gotcha, he thought.

He turned the idea over in his mind, and this time he couldn’t find anything wrong with it. It would take special equipment, but nothing that would be too hard to come by. He’d obtained the same item once before, in a small city in the American heartland, and if you could find it in Muscatine, Iowa, how hard would it be to lay hands on it a few hundred miles downriver?

He checked the Yellow Pages and found a likely source within walking distance. He called, and they had what he wanted. He broke the co

The dealer was a pudgy, round-shouldered fellow in his fifties. He wore a pale blue corduroy shirt with a button-down collar he hadn’t troubled to button down. His suspenders had Roman coins on them, but the shop itself was exclusively devoted to stamps; there was a sign in the window, professionally lettered, asserting,WE DO NOT BUY OR SELL COINS.

“Nothing against them,” said the man, whose name was Hildebrand. “But I don’t happen to buy or sell chewing gum, either. Only difference is I don’t have to put a sign in the window to keep the gum chewers away. I don’tknow anything about coins, I don’tunderstand coins, I don’t have afeel for coins, so why should I presume to traffic in the damned things?”

Keller’s eyes went involuntarily to the suspenders. Hildebrand noticed, and rolled his eyes. “Women,” he said.

That seemed to call for a reply, but Keller was stumped.

“My wife wanted to buy me suspenders,” Hildebrand said, “and she thought suspenders with stamps would be nice, seeing that I’ve been a collector all my life, and a dealermost of my life. She bought me a tie with stamps on it a few years ago- U.S. classics, the Black Jack, the Je

“I see,” Keller said.

“So she couldn’tfind suspenders with stamps,” Hildebrand said, “so she bought these, withcoins on them, because according to her they amounted to the same thing. Can you imagine?”

“Wow,” Keller said.

“All those years, and she thinks stamps and coins amount to the same thing. Well, what are you going to do, do you know what I mean?”

“Perfectly.”

“Other hand, where would we be without ’em? Women, I mean. Or coins, for that matter, but-” He brought himself up short. “Enough of that. What can I do for you?”

“I’m in town on business,” Keller said, “and I’ve got a little time to spare, and I thought I could look at some stamps.”

“I’d say you came to the right place. What do you collect, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Worldwide. Before 1952.”

“Oh, the good stuff,” Hildebrand said, with what sounded like appreciation and respect. “The classics. Well, I’ve got plenty of stuff for you to look at. Any particular countries you’d like to see?”

“How about Austria? That’s one of the checklists I happen to have with me.”

“ Austria,” said Hildebrand. “You have a seat right here, why don’t you? I’ve got a nice stock, mint and used. Including some of those early semipostals that get tougher to find every time you look for them. Do they have to be Never Hinged?”

“No,” Keller said. “I hinge my stamps.”

“Man after my own heart. You just make yourself comfortable. Here’s a pair of tongs you can use, unless you brought your own?”

“I didn’t think to pack them.”

“What some folks do,” Hildebrand said, “is keep an extra pair in their suitcase, and that way they’ve always got tongs with ’em. Here’s a stock book- Austria -and here’s a box of glassines, also Austria. Enjoy yourself, and just give a holler if I can help you with anything.”

“Mr. Wickwire? My name is Sue Ellen? Sue Ellen Bates?”

“Yes?”

“I guess you don’t remember. In the restaurant? I brought you your cocktails, and you smiled at me?”

“Rings a bell,” Wickwire said.

“I said how I knew all along you were i

“I did, did I? When was this, Sue Ellen?”

“Oh, it was a while ago. It took me this long to get up my courage, and then I was out of town for a while. I just got back, I’m staying at a motel until I get my own place.”

“Is that a fact?”

“And now you don’t even remember me. Shoot, I knew I should of called earlier!”

“Who says I don’t remember you? Refresh my memory, girl. What-all do you look like?”

“Well, I’m blond.”

“You know, I kind of thought you might be.”

“And I’m slim, except I’m what you call fullfigured.”

“I think I’m begi

“And I’m twenty-four years old, and I stand five foot seven, and my eyes are blue.”

“Any tattoos or piercings I should know about?”

“No, I think they’re tacky. Plus my mom’d about kill me.”

“Well, you sound good enough to eat.”

“Why, Mr. Wickwire!”

“Just an expression. You know what’d be good? If I could meet you, that’d be the best way ever to refresh a man’s memory.”

“You want to meet me at a restaurant or something?”

“That’s a little public, Sue Ellen. And in my position…”

“Oh, I see what you mean.”

“Did you say you were staying at a motel, Sue Ellen? Where’s it at?”

“Hello, this is Sue Ellen Bates calling?”

“Come again?”

“My name is like Sue Ellen Bates? I’m blond, and my eyes are like blue?”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Dot said. “Keller, when are you going to grow up?”

“I’ve wondered that myself.”

“You’re using one of those telephone voice-changers, and I wish to God you’d disco