Fair Game (3 page)

The three men exchanged nervous glances. They believed him.

Ransom pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one, inhaling luxuriously as he relaxed. These men were afraid of him; there was no threat here.

“Second,” he went on, “I pick the place and time of the hit, and the method. I’m the professional; I’ll make the professional decisions. You supply me with the information I require, and I’ll formulate the plan.”

The leader shifted in his seat. Ransom waited, but the man didn’t speak.

“Third,” Ransom continued, “the identity you manufacture for me will be discarded as soon as the job is done. All papers, pictures, and other items will be destroyed immediately, and the name and occupation never re-used.”

Ransom looked at each man in turn. He was met with expressionless stares.

“Fine,” he said, aware that this lack of protest was assent. “What do you have for me?”

The leader passed the stack of folders down the table to him. “All the background information you requested on the Senator, his family, and close associates. His itinerary for the eight-week campaign tour of Pennsylvania, including what details we could obtain. Security is already tight. Not a lot was available.”

“I’ll get what I need,” Ransom replied shortly, riffling through the papers. He examined the contents of two packets and put them aside. “Is this my identity?” he asked, opening another folder.

The leader nodded. “Social security card, employment ID card, driver’s license, credit cards, all made out to the name Peter Ransom. The photo you gave the contact was used for the pictures.”

“Where am I working and what am I doing?” Ransom asked, picking up the ID card.

“You lease office space for a real-estate concern,” the leader informed him. “Real estate was one of the areas of expertise that you indicated to your contact.”

Ransom smiled slightly. He had worked in real estate for a short time after the army, until he determined that killing people for a living, as opposed to killing them for his country, was a distinctly more lucrative field.

“Do you have a monitor on this number?” Ransom asked, indicating the telephone exchange on the ID card.

“Monday through Friday, nine to five,” the leader replied. “She’ll answer with the indicated company name, say you’re out for the day or away from your desk, and take any messages for you.”

Random nodded. The company had to seem real if anyone checked.

“There’s a stack of business cards there, too, and stationery,” the leader added.

“How about the location?” Ransom asked.

“It’s an office building. We took a suite and put the name on the door. The girl monitoring the phone will be at the reception desk.”

“What did you tell her?” Ransom asked.

“She thinks that we’re opening a new branch of the business and won’t be moving in for a while, so we need an advance guard to make sure we don’t miss any calls. The girl’s an evening college student; she doesn’t care what’s going on there. She’s just collecting her pay while she reads her textbooks and hopes the phone doesn’t interrupt her.”

“Okay. What about after hours?”

‘The door will be padlocked from the inside, and we’ll have a guard on duty there at night. If somebody got curious, they’d have to break down the door, and then have a lot of explaining to do.”

“Good,” Ransom said. The deception would hold up short term, time enough for him to get the job done; he was never around long term.

“Here are the keys you’ll need,” the leader said, indicating a thick envelope. “This one is for the apartment we rented, and there’s a copy of the lease. It’s rented in the company name, furnished, in a luxury high rise in Philadelphia. The address is there. Wardrobe has also been supplied, as requested. The car is leased in the company name, like the apartment. Any questions?”

Ransom opened the envelope, looked at the contents briefly, then shook his head.

“The rest of it is miscellaneous,” the leader said. “The Senator’s quirks and habits, hobbies, favorite restaurants, anything we could find. We didn’t know what might be helpful, so we put it all in there.”

Ransom looked up. “Where’s my money?” he said.

The short man to the left of the leader spoke up for the first time. “Wait a minute,” he said stiffly. “So far we’ve made a substantial investment in you merely on the recommendation of your contact. How do we know you’ll perform as expected?”

Ransom stubbed out his cigarette in the hotel ashtray, not bothering to answer.

“How do we know Fair will be eliminated in accordance with our timetable?” the short man insisted.

Ransom directed his hazel gaze to the speaker, and the man held it for only a moment before looking down.

“The Senator will not survive this tour of Pennsylvania,” Ransom replied flatly. “That’s all you need to know.”

The short man looked up again. “I don’t like it,” he said defiantly, looking at each of his companions in turn. “We don’t know this guy that well.”

The leader, who had heard this from him before, moved to silence him, but Ransom intervened.

“Do you want to kill the Senator, little man?” Ransom said to him scornfully.

The short man flushed, his hands gripping the table.

“No?” Ransom persisted, his lips twisting with disdain. “Too much at risk? Career, kiddies, sterling reputation?”

The short man looked away.

Ransom nodded. “Well, that’s the difference between me and you, junior. I got nobody, and I got nothing to lose.”

The leader sighed heavily, shaking his head. He wanted to secure this deal as bloodlessly as possible; it was a mistake to get into personalities.

“So I guess you’ll have to rely on me to get the job done, won’t you?” Ransom concluded sarcastically.

There was no reply.

“Look,” Ransom said, standing, “I don’t have to prove myself to you people. If I made a practice of stiffing my clients, I’d be out of business. I realize that it’s upsetting for solid citizens like yourselves to talk to me, but I insist on an initial meeting with the paying customers, and we’ve had it. You won’t see me again, so you can forget this ever happened and just look forward to the result.” He shrugged with an air of finality. “The contact knows my track record. He discussed it with you. Now, if that’s not enough, just say so, and I’m gone.”

The leader held up a placating hand, drawing a final envelope from his inside breast pocket.

“We’re satisfied,” he said. “Here’s your retainer. Good luck.”

Ransom took the money and counted it before stowing it inside his jacket.

“Gentlemen,” he said with a faint, sneering emphasis on the word that did not escape his audience, “it was a pleasure doing business with you.”

He walked around the table and left the room.

“Bastard,” the short man said when Ransom was safely gone.

“You don’t have to love him, Charlie. You’re not getting married,” the leader said. “He can be as arrogant as he likes as long as he gets the job done.”

“He’s charging a fortune,” Charlie said furiously.

“Murder comes high,” the leader said. “And he’s the best. Twelve hits in the last five years. Only one of the targets survived, and he’s now a vegetable, due to extraordinary medical intervention. Ransom uses the mob method: two shots, head and heart. He never misses.”

“I still don’t like it,” the short man complained.

“Do you want Joseph Fair to become the next President of the United States?” the fat man asked rhetorically, speaking for the first time.

The short man didn’t answer.

“Then we have to make sure he isn’t alive to run. Stop being such a chickenshit, Charlie, and face up to what must be done,” the fat man said.

The leader stood, closing the hasps of his briefcase. “I think our business here is completed,” he said, and his colleagues rose to follow him as he left the room.

When Martin got back to the precinct house, Capo was seated behind a desk in the open booking area, typing with two fingers on an old portable. He was wearing an intense, pained expression.

“Hey,” Martin greeted him, sitting on the edge of the desk.

“Don’t interrupt me. I’m concentrating,” Capo said. “Why don’t they get us one of those computers like they have in Burglary? I feel like George Washington writing the Declaration of Independence with a quill pen.”

“George Washington didn’t write the Declaration of Independence. Thomas Jefferson did.”

“Excuse me, Joe College, I stand corrected.”

“You don’t have to go to college to know that, Capo. Fourth-graders know that. My nephew is in second grade and he knows that.”

Capo ignored the razzing, searching out another key and stabbing it with his forefinger. Then he said, “Damn it.”

“What?”

“Made another mistake.” He yanked open the desk drawer to get the bottle of correcting fluid.

“Didn’t you take typing in high school like everybody else?” Martin asked, smiling.

“I barely took high school,” Capo replied absently, unscrewing the plastic cap.

“What is that, anyway?”

“Interview report. This woman listed her husband officially missing this morning. Seems he was a gym teacher and he got suspended by the Board of Education for taking weird things from the kids’ gym lockers. Jock straps, baseball gloves, track shoes. She says he was so humiliated he may have killed himself. Or somebody else killed him. Anyway, he’s disappeared and she thinks he’s dead, which is why she was talking to me. She wants a homicide investigation, and he’s been gone long enough.”

“You sure do catch the garbage, don’t you?”

“That’s because whenever somebody calls in and they sound like they’re one step away from a psychiatric ward, Rourke sends me to talk to them.”

“Maybe he thinks you’re on the same wavelength.”

“Thanks a lot,” Capo said, unoffended.

“Well, forget that. You can give it to somebody else to finish. We’re got something more important going.”

Capo looked up at him. “What could be more important than this?” he asked sarcastically.

“Senator Fair.”

Capo looked interested. “Oh, yeah? Are we escorting a motorcade or something? I saw on the news that he was in town.”

“It’s more than a motorcade.”

Capo waited.

“We’ve been assigned to guard him and his daughter for the next couple of months.”

Capo’s mouth fell open. “Are you kidding me?”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?” Martin countered.

Capo sat back in the swivel chair and said slowly, “I always knew Rourke hated me.”

“Come on, it won’t be that bad,” Martin said, trying to sound convincing.

“Two months of wetnursing some gladhanding politico?” Capo said. “Geez, I thought filling out reports was bad.”

“You have to go home and get some clothes,” Martin said. “We’re going to be staying in the hotels with them as they travel.”

“Why is Rourke sending you on this?” Capo asked. “You’re his boy, he’s your rabbi. Everybody knows he and your dad were tight in the good old days.”

“He thinks it will be an easy tour,” Martin said lightly. “And we both fit the physical description they sent.”

“Physical description? Oh, God, I don’t think I want to hear this.”

“They requested people of a certain height and weight to match the Senator so he doesn’t look out of place with us.”

“Great. I wish I was a midget.”

“Stop complaining and go home. Kiss the wife and bambinos. You won’t be seeing them for a while.”

“Lorraine isn’t going to like this.”

“Sic her on Rourke. He deserves it.”

“Maybe I will. What do I do with this?” Capo indicated the report he was still holding.

“Put it on Hadley’s desk. Just leave him your notes to fill in on it. It’ll take him five minutes. He can type.”

“Ha.” Capo did as Martin advised, and then picked up his jacket, slinging it over his shoulder.

“Are you coming with me?” Capo asked as Martin followed him between the rows of desks.

“Looks like it.”

“You just want to see Lorraine again. I know you like her legs.”

“I don’t deny it.”

“Why don’t you get married, Tim?”

“You got somebody for me to marry?”

“Lorraine has a sister.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“She’s twelve.”

“Very funny.

“She’s got her junior-high spring dance coming up soon.”

“I just bought a new suit.”

They passed through the lobby and out into the spring day.

* * * *

Meg Drummond sidled up to Ashley and whispered, “The policemen are here. They’re waiting out in the sitting room.”

“What do they look like?”

Meg grinned. “Cutest cops you ever saw. I think they sent us the PBA poster boys.”

Ashley laughed. “How do they seem?”