insurance investigations. Could this guy be Saul?”
He shook his head. “Nah. Got arthritis. In his hands. Had to retire early. Even before that?” Another head shake. “Going downhill. Couldn’t do the work.”
“But someone else? Could one hitman get enough insurance jobs to tie this together?”
“One guy? On his own? Doubtful. Through a broker? Yeah. They specialize, too.”
I drank the remainder of my coffee and threw out the cup. “Okay, we’ll get Evelyn to do some searching, see who benefited from the other deaths. Did we get anything more from Evelyn when you called?”
“Yeah. The stockbroker. One of his clients. Didn’t just invest in stocks. Drug connections. Set her on Kozlov, too. Check out a mob connection.”
With that, we should have been ready to leave. But Jack just stood there, staring off into space.
He’d been quieter than usual since our visit to Saul, and I’d thought he was just off balance, that an old comrade would think he’d lowered himself to the “female student” ploy. But that didn’t seem like Jack, to be so bothered by what someone else thought.
“Saul did give you a lead, didn’t he?”
“Yeah.” He pulled out one hand to pat his breast pocket, then made a face, remembering he didn’t have cigarettes. “Rumor. Wanted to run it by Evelyn first.”
“And…?”
He jerked his chin toward the road. “Tell you on the way.”
As Jack drove, he told me the story of Baron, a former hitman. Not a friend, but an acquaintance, someone he seemed to respect. Ten years ago, Baron had gotten out of the business. Voluntarily.
That’s rare, Jack said. Like being an actor or a politician, you tell yourself you’re going to get out when you’ve accomplished some goal or tired of the job, but the truth is, hardly anyone leaves until he’s forced out. The money’s too good and the adrenaline rush is too addictive. Your ego wants you to get out while you’re at the top, but you keep holding on just a little longer. Then the fall starts—you screw up, you slow down, you’re off your game—and you tell yourself you’ll retire just as soon as you climb that hill again so you can do it from the top. Only you never get back up, and you hang in until you’re at the bottom, like Saul.
But Baron got out. He met a woman—a single mother working in a strip club while she took college classes. Maybe he looked at her, saw someone working to get out of the life and thought “if she can, so can I.” They fell in love. They married. He retired from the life. He bought a business restoring old cars. They started a family.
“Helluva story, huh?” he said. His gaze was on the windshield, face expressionless, but he gave the words a twist of something like bitterness.
“No happily-ever-after in this one, is there?”
“Should be. You think…” He shrugged. “Cynical side says bullshit. Won’t work. The hitman and the stripper? Like a bad movie. But that optimistic side?” Another shrug. “Says good on them. He got out? He’s happy? Good.”
“Everyone likes a fairy-tale ending. To think someone beat the odds and came out on top. It makes a good story.”
“Yeah. And that’s all the fuck it is. A good story.”
“It didn’t last?”
“Thought it did. Until Saul said otherwise. Few months ago? Baron came back to the life. Sniffing around for work. Wife took off. Kids with her. Which came first? Who knows.”
“Whether they left because he was talking about turning pro again, or whether he decided to turn pro again because they left?”
“Yeah. Doesn’t matter. Point is, he didn’t get back in. Gone too long. Can’t find work. New middlemen? Don’t know who the fuck he is. Older guys? Don’t give a shit. You been gone that long, you start over. From the bottom. Prove yourself.”
I remembered what Evelyn and Jack had said about “advertising.” “And that’s why Saul mentioned it to you. Because it’s possible that this killer is
He shook his head. “Nah. Got arthritis. In his hands. Had to retire early. Even before that?” Another head shake. “Going downhill. Couldn’t do the work.”
“But someone else? Could one hitman get enough insurance jobs to tie this together?”
“One guy? On his own? Doubtful. Through a broker? Yeah. They specialize, too.”
I drank the remainder of my coffee and threw out the cup. “Okay, we’ll get Evelyn to do some searching, see who benefited from the other deaths. Did we get anything more from Evelyn when you called?”
“Yeah. The stockbroker. One of his clients. Didn’t just invest in stocks. Drug connections. Set her on Kozlov, too. Check out a mob connection.”
With that, we should have been ready to leave. But Jack just stood there, staring off into space.
He’d been quieter than usual since our visit to Saul, and I’d thought he was just off balance, that an old comrade would think he’d lowered himself to the “female student” ploy. But that didn’t seem like Jack, to be so bothered by what someone else thought.
“Saul did give you a lead, didn’t he?”
“Yeah.” He pulled out one hand to pat his breast pocket, then made a face, remembering he didn’t have cigarettes. “Rumor. Wanted to run it by Evelyn first.”
“And…?”
He jerked his chin toward the road. “Tell you on the way.”
As Jack drove, he told me the story of Baron, a former hitman. Not a friend, but an acquaintance, someone he seemed to respect. Ten years ago, Baron had gotten out of the business. Voluntarily.
That’s rare, Jack said. Like being an actor or a politician, you tell yourself you’re going to get out when you’ve accomplished some goal or tired of the job, but the truth is, hardly anyone leaves until he’s forced out. The money’s too good and the adrenaline rush is too addictive. Your ego wants you to get out while you’re at the top, but you keep holding on just a little longer. Then the fall starts—you screw up, you slow down, you’re off your game—and you tell yourself you’ll retire just as soon as you climb that hill again so you can do it from the top. Only you never get back up, and you hang in until you’re at the bottom, like Saul.
But Baron got out. He met a woman—a single mother working in a strip club while she took college classes. Maybe he looked at her, saw someone working to get out of the life and thought “if she can, so can I.” They fell in love. They married. He retired from the life. He bought a business restoring old cars. They started a family.
“Helluva story, huh?” he said. His gaze was on the windshield, face expressionless, but he gave the words a twist of something like bitterness.
“No happily-ever-after in this one, is there?”
“Should be. You think…” He shrugged. “Cynical side says bullshit. Won’t work. The hitman and the stripper? Like a bad movie. But that optimistic side?” Another shrug. “Says good on them. He got out? He’s happy? Good.”
“Everyone likes a fairy-tale ending. To think someone beat the odds and came out on top. It makes a good story.”
“Yeah. And that’s all the fuck it is. A good story.”
“It didn’t last?”
“Thought it did. Until Saul said otherwise. Few months ago? Baron came back to the life. Sniffing around for work. Wife took off. Kids with her. Which came first? Who knows.”
“Whether they left because he was talking about turning pro again, or whether he decided to turn pro again because they left?”
“Yeah. Doesn’t matter. Point is, he didn’t get back in. Gone too long. Can’t find work. New middlemen? Don’t know who the fuck he is. Older guys? Don’t give a shit. You been gone that long, you start over. From the bottom. Prove yourself.”
I remembered what Evelyn and Jack had said about “advertising.” “And that’s why Saul mentioned it to you. Because it’s possible that this killer is
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