bored—being seen by the target was one thing, eating her pussy was another. That kind of up-close-and-personal contact can lead a guy to making bad calls.
So I could walk away. You can always walk away.
And someone else would kill her, and Jonah Green would, understandably, be miffed with me, and likely send people to kill me, loose end that I would become, people like me but not old and gone-soft ones, and then I’d be dead, too...or at least up to my asshole in dead assholes.
That didn’t sound like any fun.
I could go after the guy who hired me. I had full confidence that I could make Jonah Green’s death happen; but Green was an important guy, connected enough in Outfit circles to find out about my past,and with the wherewithal to find me at Sylvan Lake in short order. I killed him, who could say what the fuck I’d unleash?
And I’d be dead, and Janet Wright would be dead, too.
That left only one alternative: go ahead and do the job I’d been hired for. There was that little matter of a quarter of a million dollars, the kind of money that meant I’d never have to put myself in a situation like this again.
And if I accepted that Janet Wright was really dead already, just didn’t know it yet—a premise I had expressed to Jonah Wright at the outset, a concept I knew to be true when any party had been marked for elimination—perhaps the only humane thing to do under the circumstances was kill her myself.
I could figure out some way that would be quick and painless. If I left her to the devices of some amoral monster who killed people for money, Christ knew what shit she would be put through....
I had always taken great pride in my lack of sadism, that I had never taken any sick pleasure or joy out of turning life into death. Mine had been a profession, and like a doctor with a patient or a lawyer with a client, I represented a person with a problem, and I just made that problem go away. Nothing fun about it. Nothing mean about it, either.
Such were my thoughts, threading through mybrain and the motel-room darkness, and I don’t honestly remember going to Janet’s. In my mind, I’m in the motel room one second, sitting on the bed, trying to figure this shit out, and the next second, I’m at the top of the stairs out on the small landing, staring at her apartment door, with the nine millimeter in one hand and working the doorbell with the other.
She didn’t answer.
Well, it was the middle of the night; or rather, really, really early Monday morning....
So I rang it again.
And again.
Finally I could hear her moving in there.
I checked the action on the nine.
The sound of the night latch unlatching prompted me to slip the nine back in my jacket pocket, and then her face, pale and severe without makeup, was visible in the cracked-open door.
She frowned just a little. “...Jack?”
“I have to see you.”
She frowned more than just a little. “You know, even Rick used to call the day after. Even Rick never showed up at three in the morning, demanding—”
“Please?”
She sighed.
She let me in.
Wrapped up in the green robe, which was feminine but not particularly sexy, Janet seemed embarrassedby my intrusion, self-consciously straightening her hair.
“Sit down,” she said, leading me into a living room that I’d never been in before, though was entirely familiar with. “Give me a minute...freshen up.” She turned toward me, not mad at all, now. “You want coffee or something? Jesus, what time is it?”
I took her into my arms, firmly but not roughly, and asked, “What time does it have to be?”
And I kissed her.
The kiss was a little over the top, zero-to-sixty kind of thing, and it surprised her; but she got into it, soon enough.
I lowered her to the floor, and I drew open the robe and she was almost afraid, looking up at me, and her throat was red, her face white, her breasts full and staring at me.
Then my pants were around my ankles and I was fucking her. Her knees were
So I could walk away. You can always walk away.
And someone else would kill her, and Jonah Green would, understandably, be miffed with me, and likely send people to kill me, loose end that I would become, people like me but not old and gone-soft ones, and then I’d be dead, too...or at least up to my asshole in dead assholes.
That didn’t sound like any fun.
I could go after the guy who hired me. I had full confidence that I could make Jonah Green’s death happen; but Green was an important guy, connected enough in Outfit circles to find out about my past,and with the wherewithal to find me at Sylvan Lake in short order. I killed him, who could say what the fuck I’d unleash?
And I’d be dead, and Janet Wright would be dead, too.
That left only one alternative: go ahead and do the job I’d been hired for. There was that little matter of a quarter of a million dollars, the kind of money that meant I’d never have to put myself in a situation like this again.
And if I accepted that Janet Wright was really dead already, just didn’t know it yet—a premise I had expressed to Jonah Wright at the outset, a concept I knew to be true when any party had been marked for elimination—perhaps the only humane thing to do under the circumstances was kill her myself.
I could figure out some way that would be quick and painless. If I left her to the devices of some amoral monster who killed people for money, Christ knew what shit she would be put through....
I had always taken great pride in my lack of sadism, that I had never taken any sick pleasure or joy out of turning life into death. Mine had been a profession, and like a doctor with a patient or a lawyer with a client, I represented a person with a problem, and I just made that problem go away. Nothing fun about it. Nothing mean about it, either.
Such were my thoughts, threading through mybrain and the motel-room darkness, and I don’t honestly remember going to Janet’s. In my mind, I’m in the motel room one second, sitting on the bed, trying to figure this shit out, and the next second, I’m at the top of the stairs out on the small landing, staring at her apartment door, with the nine millimeter in one hand and working the doorbell with the other.
She didn’t answer.
Well, it was the middle of the night; or rather, really, really early Monday morning....
So I rang it again.
And again.
Finally I could hear her moving in there.
I checked the action on the nine.
The sound of the night latch unlatching prompted me to slip the nine back in my jacket pocket, and then her face, pale and severe without makeup, was visible in the cracked-open door.
She frowned just a little. “...Jack?”
“I have to see you.”
She frowned more than just a little. “You know, even Rick used to call the day after. Even Rick never showed up at three in the morning, demanding—”
“Please?”
She sighed.
She let me in.
Wrapped up in the green robe, which was feminine but not particularly sexy, Janet seemed embarrassedby my intrusion, self-consciously straightening her hair.
“Sit down,” she said, leading me into a living room that I’d never been in before, though was entirely familiar with. “Give me a minute...freshen up.” She turned toward me, not mad at all, now. “You want coffee or something? Jesus, what time is it?”
I took her into my arms, firmly but not roughly, and asked, “What time does it have to be?”
And I kissed her.
The kiss was a little over the top, zero-to-sixty kind of thing, and it surprised her; but she got into it, soon enough.
I lowered her to the floor, and I drew open the robe and she was almost afraid, looking up at me, and her throat was red, her face white, her breasts full and staring at me.
Then my pants were around my ankles and I was fucking her. Her knees were
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