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“She may be a cold-blooded killer, but she is not a ninja.”
“She kills, then she vanish. If she kills our men, that means she was not in house when it burns. That means she is still out there.”
“Then find her.”
“We do not know where she is.”
“But you know who she is.”
“Just barely.”
“But now you know where she lived. Learn more about her. Find out who she knows. See if she has family. Do I have to do everything myself?”
He had no time for this. The Fhi
5
Darryl was lying on his bed half asleep when he heard a knock. He rose and cocked a fist as he faced the door. If this was that asshole Hagaman . . .
“Yeah?”
The door opened and Hank stepped through. Darryl felt his jaw drop. Hank never came to his room. If he wanted to see Darryl, he always sent someone to fetch him.
“Hey, it’s me. What’s with the look?”
Darryl got a grip. “Wasn’t expecting you. Thought you might be someone else.”
“Yeah? Well, you might be wishing it was someone else real soon.”
Darryl’s gut writhed. “What do you mean?”
“We’ve got a problem.”
“Like what?”
Hank walked past him to the window and looked out at the slowly fading day.
“Not ‘what’—who. And that’d be you.”
Aw, shit.
Suppressing a groan, Darryl sat heavily on the bed and jammed his hands between his knees.
“So you heard.”
“Yeah. Fuck it all, Darryl. You’re one of my main men. Why’d you have to go and—”
“I know how it happened,” he said. “I’ve been racking my brain and I finally remembered.”
He kept staring out the window. “Do I want to hear this?”
“Yeah. In fact, you gotta. It was a needle.”
Hank turned from the window. “You’re a junkie?”
“Naw. You know better’n that. It was back in Dearborn when I split from the old lady. I got this puny body, in case you haven’t noticed.”
“Even punier now.”
“Yeah, well, I started going to this gym and—”
“Don’t tell me—juice?”
Darryl nodded, thinking how stupid he’d been.
“Yeah. For a price this guy would shoot you up with some kinda steroid—guaranteed to jack you in no time. I looked at some of his customers and, man, were they ripped. I figured that was for me. That’s the only time I had any needles since I was a kid. Had to be him. The sonovabitch must’ve been using the same needle over and over. That’s where I got it.”
“You idiot.”
“Hey, I was single again. Nothing like a cut bod to bring on the babes, right? So I signed on.”
“You’d’ve been better off with a dog. And where’s this ‘cut bod’ you were supposed to get?”
Darryl shrugged. “I never liked working out, so I hardly ever got to the gym. And I stopped the shots after two or three. But that was enough, I guess.” He pounded his fists on his thighs to keep from crying. “So fucking stupid!”
“Can’t argue with that.”
Darryl controlled himself and looked up at Hank. “So what’s the trouble you talked about? I mean, I know my trouble, but—”
“The guys want you out of here.”
A sudden rush of cold drove him to his feet. “What? They got no right! They can’t—!”
“They’ve got no right, yeah—I make the call as to who gets to stay here. But they’re all pretty worked up and worried about catching something and I’ve got no good excuse for why I should be letting someone with AIDS hang around.”
“You can tell ’em all to just fuck off, can’t you?”
Hank nodded. “Yeah, I can do that, but that’s not the Kicker style, know what I’m saying?”
Yeah, Darryl knew. Hank was the headman—hell, he invented the Kickers—but he didn’t want to look like the boss. Everyone treated him like he was, but he liked to pretend there was no boss.
“Well, then, tell ’em if they don’t like it, they can move out.”
He sighed. “Darryl, I need a reason why you should stay and they all should go. Got one?”
Darryl’s mind raced. They couldn’t kick him out. He couldn’t let this happen.
“I’m like your number-one assistant, right? So you’ve got to keep me here where you can reach me day or night. That works.”
Hank shook his head and looked away again. “Afraid not. That ain’t go
“Sure it is. It makes perfect sense and . . .” A realization sucker punched him in the gut. “Hey, wait. It’s you. You’re the one who wants me out!”
“No, it’s them. But I gotta say . . .”
“What?”
He looked at Darryl again. “Working with a guy with AIDS gives me the willies. How do I know I haven’t caught it from you already?”
“That’d be impossible, Hank. I don’t know much about it, but I know you need a needle or sex or something to catch it. It doesn’t just come out the air. You gotta work to get it.”
“Yeah, well, so you say—”
“That’s what everybody says!”
“It’s not what your fellow Kickers say. They’re scared to have you around. In just a few hours you’ve become a major distraction. You’re all anyone’s talking about. And that’s not good. We’ve got an evolution to run and nothing’ll get done as long as you’re here. So . . . you’ve gotta go, Darryl. I know it sounds cold, but I’ve got to put the Kickers first.”
“But I am a Kicker.”
“That’s right. And you’ll always be a Kicker. You just won’t be living here.”
Darryl fought back tears. His insides felt like they were tearing in two.
“But where’ll I go? I can’t go back to Michigan.” He didn’t know a soul who’d want to take him in except the police—for a ton of missed alimony and child-support payments. “And I don’t know anyone to crash with here.”
“Get an apartment. Get a hotel room.”
“Ain’t got no money, Hank. I’ve been working for you here for next to nothin’.”
“I’d hardly call room and board in this city next to nothing.”
“I should have five grand in my pocket for finding Dawn.”
Hank looked at the ceiling. “Let’s not get into that again. Yeah, you found Dawn, but is she here? No. She’s with the creepy guy.”
Yeah . . . the guy with the eyes.
“Maybe, but if he hadn’t taken her, we’d still have her. Not my fault she was stolen away. I still think I got something coming.”
Hank sighed. “Yeah, well, maybe you do. I’ll dig you up some cash so you can—”
“I don’t want money, Hank.”
“You can’t stay here, Darryl. I’m sorry, but you’re too much of a distraction. You’ve gotta be out of here sometime tomorrow.”
Tomorrow? Where was he go
“But I can’t—”
Hank jabbed a finger at him. “You can and you will. Don’t make this any harder than it already is.” His voice softened. “I . . .”
He looked like he really and truly hated what he was doing, and that made Darryl feel a little better, but not a whole hell of a lot. Not if he wasn’t going to change his mind.
“Maybe I could—”
“You’ll always be a Kicker, Darryl. Don’t you ever think otherwise. But you just can’t stay here.”
As Hank started for the door, he half reached out to Darryl’s shoulder but then dropped his hand.
He’s even afraid to pat me on the back.
He hoped Hank didn’t stop on his way out because Darryl didn’t know how long he could hold back the tears that had begun slamming against the backs of his eyelids.
“Remember,” Hank said as he closed the door behind him. “Gone tomorrow.”
When the door clicked shut, Darryl sank back onto the bed, buried his face in his hands, and bawled like a goddamn baby.