Hit Man

“Who do you think, Keller? You know the story about the little red hen?”

“No.”

“Well, I’m not about to tell it to you, but she couldn’t find anyone to help her, so she did it all herself.”

“You…”

“Right.”

“Dot, for God’s sake. I would have done it.”

“I didn’t even want you within five hundred miles, Keller. I wanted you to have an alibi that nobody could crack. Just in case somebody knew about the co

“I understand,” he said, “but under the circumstances… ”

“No,” she said. “And I have to say it was easy for me, Keller. The hardest decision, but the easiest thing in the world. Something in his cocoa to make him sleep, and a pillow over his face to keep him from waking up.”

“That’s the kind of thing that shows up in an autopsy.”

“Only if they hold one,” she said. “His age, and then his regular doctor came over and signed the death certificate, and that’s all you need. I had him cremated. It was his last wish.”

“It was?”

“How do I know? I said it was, and they gave me the ashes in a tin can, and if some joker wants to do an autopsy now I’d say he’s got his work cut out for him. I don’t know what the hell to do with the ashes. Well, I’m sure I’ll think of something. There’s no hurry.”

“No.”

“It was something I never thought I’d have to do, something I never even figured I’d be capable of doing. Well, you never know, do you?”

“No.”

“It’s on my mind a lot, but I guess I’ll get over that. This too shall pass, right?”

“You’ll be fine,” he said.

“I know. I’m fine now, as far as that goes. Now all I have to do is figure out what I’m going to do with the rest of my life.”

“I was going to ask you about that.”

She frowned. “What I suppose I’ll do,” she said, “is retire. I can afford it. I’ve put money aside myself, and he left me the house. I can sell it.”

“Probably bring a good price.”

“You would think so. And there’s the cash on hand, which he didn’t specifically leave me, but since I’m the only one who knows about it… ”

“That makes it yours.”

“You bet. So it’s enough to live on. I can even afford to travel some. Go on cruises, put my feet up, see the world from the deck of a ship.”

“You don’t actually sound that enthusiastic, Dot.”

“Well,” she said, “it’s probably because I’m not. What I’d rather do is keep on keeping on.”

“Stay here, you mean?”

“Why not? And stay in the business. You know, I’m the one who’s been pretty much ru

“I know.”

“But with you deciding to pack it in, it would mean finding other people to work with, and the ones I have access to are not people I’m crazy about. So I don’t know.”

“You can’t work with people unless you feel a hundred percent about them.”

“I know it. Look, I’m better off hanging it up. All I have to do is follow the same advice I gave you.”

“And get a hobby.”

“There you go. It really worked for you, didn’t it?You’re a full-fledged philatelist, and don’t ask me to say that three times.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it. But that’s me, all right.”

“I’ll bet you even found a stamp dealer in Kansas City. To pass the time while you were there.”

“Actually,” he said, “that’s how I picked Kansas City.” And he told her a little about the auction. “It’s pretty amazing,” he said. “You’ll be sitting next to some rube in baggy pants and a dirty T-shirt, and he’ll raise his index finger a few times and spend fifty or a hundred thousand dollars on postmasters’ provisionals.”

“Whatever they are,” she said. “No, don’t tell me. I have a feeling stamp collecting’s not going to be my hobby, Keller, but I think it’s great that it’s yours. I guess we can say you’re retired, can’t we? And fully prepared to enjoy the Golden Years.”

“Well,” he said.

“Well what?”

“Well, not exactly.”

“What’s the matter?”

“Well, it’s an expensive hobby,” he said. “It doesn’t have to be, you can buy thousands of stamps for two and three cents apiece, but if you really get serious about it… ”

“It runs into money.”

“It does,” he agreed. “I’m afraid I’ve been dipping into my retirement fund the last month or so. I’ve spent more money than I expected to.”

“No kidding.”

“And the thing is I’m really enjoying it,” he said, “and learning more and more about it as I go along. I’d like to keep on spending serious money on stamps.”

She gave him a thoughtful look. “It doesn’t sound as though you’re quite ready to retire after all.”

“I’m not in a position to,” he said. “Not anymore. And I don’t really want to, either. In fact I’d like to get as much work as I can, because I can use the money.”

“To buy stamps.”

“It sounds silly, I know, but… ”

“No it doesn’t,” she said. “It sounds like the answer to a maiden’s prayer. We always worked well together, didn’t we, Keller?”

“Always.”

“Some of the other jokers I was considering, I think they might have a hard time coming to terms with the idea of working for a woman. But I don’t see that as a problem for you and me.”

“Certainly not.”

“Well,” she said. “Thank God for stamp collecting is all that I can say. How about another glass of iced tea, Keller? And you can even tell me about postmasters’ promotionals, if it makes you happy.”

“Provisionals,” he said. “And you don’t have to hear about them. I’m happy already.”

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Keller gets around a great deal, and it is perhaps fitting that the author was similarly peripatetic while chronicling his adventures. He is thus pleased to acknowledge the following venues, where various sections of this book were written: the Virginia Center for the Creative Arts, in Sweet Briar, Virginia; the Ragdale Foundation, in Lake Forest, Illinois; the Park Plaza Motor Lodge, in Johnson City, New York; the SS Nordlys, in Norwegian coastal waters; Emilie Poe Wood’s house, in Lucedale, Mississippi; Continental Airlines flight 214 from Houston to Newark; and, in New York City, the Writers Room (Waverly Place), the Writers Room (Astor Place), the Peacock Caffé (Greenwich Avenue), Caffe ` Lucca (Bleecker Street), and the Do

Grateful acknowledgment is also due to those publications in which some of Keller’s adventures appeared in a slightly different form: Murder on the Run, a collection of stories by members of the Adams Round Table; Murder Is My Business, an anthology edited by Mickey Spillane and Max Allan Collins; and, of course, Playboy.

About the Author

LAWRENCE BLOCK is a Mystery Writers of America Grand Master and a multiple wi

Please visit www.lawrenceblock.com.