Imola (24 page)

Jason spun around out of reflex, looking for Lilin, even though he knew she wouldn’t be on this near-vacant side street. His head went light, and he prayed he wouldn’t crumple to the pavement like the old derelict.

One of the suits punched Jason’s upper arm. “We’ve got this now. You need to get back to the statue.” He pushed Jason toward the street corner. The second suit was already gone.

Jason rounded the corner, but his stride was slow, shuffling. A memory swirled. When he had reached his elementary school years, his father had graduated from using his hand for delivering spankings to usinga stick: a half-inch-thick piece of pine with a crudely notched handle. It was kept in the broom closet just off the kitchen, and his father heaped a psychological swat onto the whipping by making Jason fetch the paddle. The spanking had always been delivered in the privacy of his bedroom, and it was almost a relief after the agonizing thirty-foot walk to the broom closet and back. Dead man walking.

Jason felt the same dread, and anticipation, as he shuffled back toward Snoopy and Charlie. The chatter of people on the sidewalk was loud, but tangled into the “wah-wah” sounds of Charlie Brown’s teacher. It had to be Lilin. But where was she? And where were Bransome’s men? Were the two suits the only ones? He scanned the area but couldn’t find the suit with the Blackberry. He hoped to see the jogger in the seafoam sweat suit, or anyone else who looked like an undercover cop.

He paused at the corner across from the statue and was surrounded by a half dozen close-standing tourists. A wave of panic shot through his spine. He pushed his way to the edge of the group and took an additional step to the side. A car cleared the intersection, and the group moved like a herd of sheep. Safety in numbers and danger in a crowd. The contradiction had barely entered Jason’s mind when he noticed his legs were moving, trailing the gaggle into the street.

Halfway across, the tourists scattered, their formationperforated by a group of young teens weaving through, hurrying in the opposite direction. Jason had to sidestep to avoid a head-on collision. He stopped and turned to watch the teens disappear around the corner.

A car horn spun him back around. He was three-quarters of the way across the street and directly in front of an SUV grill. Two steps and he stopped again. An itch came from his left pinky finger. As soon as it registered, the itch turned to a burn, like it was being prodded with a soldering iron. He pulled his hand upward in time to see a stream of blood produce a steady drip from the fingernail. A red line ran across the width of the finger. It was thin, straight. A razor cut?

Another honk. A car whizzed past in the opposite lane. Jason hurried to the corner and spun around, trying to get sight of her. The SUV squealed its tires through the intersection, temporarily obliterating his view.

His right hand dove into his back pocket and shook the handkerchief open as he pulled it to his left hand. Wrapping it tightly around the finger, he returned his gaze to the pedestrians streaming away on the far side of the intersection.

He rose to tiptoes to get a better glimpse, but the crowd seemed to have doubled. He couldn’t see very far in a straight line, and Lilin was short—no more than five foot six.

His eyes flicked left, down the side street, and a hunching figure caught his attention. The right size, theculprit was overdressed for the weather: a long trench coat, at least three sizes too large, hung nearly to the ankles. The coat’s collar was upturned. A fedora-like hat was pulled low over the ears, pasting shoulder-length hair to the side of an obscured face.

The traffic had increased, so Jason ran down his side of the street parallel to the path of the mysterious figure. He pulled even at the next intersection and cupped his hands around his mouth. “Hey, you. Stop.”

He waited for a car to pass and sprinted across the street short of the intersection.

The hunched figure picked up its pace to the fastest walk this side of a trot and rounded the corner, heading off away from Jason. The road cut in to form a loading zone behind one of the buildings, and the stranger swept in, out of Jason’s sight.

Jason rounded the corner to view an empty courtyard. A dumpster to the right stood against a tall brick wall. To the left, nothing but a bare wall and several steel doors. None were open.

He rounded the edge of the dumpster and halted, holding his breath despite the need for oxygen from the run. The small figure crouched, wedged in the corner formed by the dumpster and the brick wall. One hand was held up, covering the face.

Jason pulled a deep breath and blew it out, and then let his breathing free-run. He approached the figure.

“Lilin?”

The person tried to push into the wall.

“Agnes?”

Muscles relaxed and the person’s arm lowered, revealing a thick growth of at least a week’s worth of whiskers. The man eyed Jason and dropped his eyes. His voice was gravelly. “Don’t take me.”

“What?” Jason couldn’t move. He wanted to run back to look for Lilin, but his legs wouldn’t work.

“Don’t take me back to the spaceship. I don’t know nothing.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Don’t hurt me no more. I don’t know nothing.”

Jason stepped back, and the man pushed against the wall again. “I’m not going to hurt you. I thought you were someone else.”

The man relaxed.

Jason hurried back around the dumpster and plodded back toward the statue. His cell phone rang. Bransome’s voice boomed like he was inches away.

“Where the hell are you? What’s going on?”

Jason held the phone six inches from his ear. “I’m coming back to the statue.” He decided not to tell Bransome about the cut.

“Don’t bother. All hell’s broke loose. I’m calling it off.”

Jason stopped. “What do you want me to do?”

A heavy exhalation rang from the phone. “I don’tgive a damn. Go home. This whole thing’s gone to shit.”

The phone clicked.

Go home? Right. Lilin was on the loose with a razor, and he was supposed to go home. His thoughts were interrupted by the treble ring of his voice mail. Jason punched a couple of buttons and mumbled to the phone. “The Chronicle. Must have called when I was talking to Bransome.”

He punched two more buttons, then hit the one marked “speaker.”

“Jason? It’s Mary. Where are you? Mr. Franzione wants you to get to the city right away. He’s got an exclusive, a terrorist on his way from Oakland. Mr. Franzione’s going to call you in fifteen minutes to give you the details. He said you’d better be in your car.”

Jason clicked the message off and exhaled. He’d never been so happy to get an emergency assignment. He turned toward Plaza Mall, where he’d parked the Volvo.

The handkerchief was nearly soaked through with blood, so he unwrapped it and peered at the injury. The smooth edges of the slice pulled apart showing pink flesh, now barely oozing. He shook his head. “Needs stitches.” He rewrapped the handkerchief, not so tight this time, and started walking.

“No time right now,” he said to the sidewalk. The first aid kit in the trunk of the Volvo had a pack of butterfly bandages. That would have to do.

Lilin thought morning would never come. She was still energized from her meeting with Jason even though it had only been a brief slice of time. Her disguise wasn’t much: a baseball hat, sunglasses, and oversized, dowdy clothes. She had slipped past him in the middle of the street amongst a gaggle of marauding youngsters. Her second message had been delivered with a single-edged razor blade, dumped in a garbage bin before she ducked into the bookstore three shops from the intersection. Thirty minutes of browsing and she strolled back to her car undetected.

She’d stayed up all night after the Snoopy affair, first watching TV, then reading through her coverless copy of Dan J. Marlowe’s quick read
The Name of the Game Is Death
. The Earl Drake series was her favorite, and forsome reason she kept coming back to this one. Maybe it was because Drake wasn’t known as Drake yet. This was the story that spawned the metamorphosis. Drake or not, he stood for two things: justice and retribution. He viewed them from a very personal standard. One Lilin found agreeable.

Are you there?

Silence.

Agnes? Can you hear me? Speak up.

Silence.

Good.

Lilin leaned her head back against the stack of pillows. Like Drake, she had a plan. And it was just about to unfold. She needed to be rid of Agnes forever. Especially now. Agnes had disappeared twice. Both times were after satisfying jobs, when Lilin had fallen asleep with an atypical smile on her face. Contentment seemed to be the key to unlock Agnes’s cell, and until the key was gone for good, Lilin couldn’t savor her own justice and retribution. The victories were hollow without that feeling.

Her mind flipped forward. Jason Powers was the answer. She sensed a congealing, a shaping of a plan that would send Agnes over the edge. The more it took on life, the more perfect it seemed. Agnes would have to kill him—kill the man she loved. And poor little Agnes was halfway there. Lilin had seen the brief flash of anger—of pure emotion—when jealousy had overtaken logic in Dr. Leahy’s condo. That jealousy was the key to mining Agnes’s rage. This would be no panning for dust. This vein contained nuggets.

Killing Jason would take away Agnes’s final hope, her future. But it wouldn’t be easy. Not after Lilin had sliced his finger and slipped into the bookstore across the street. She needed to get him alone, and she needed an hour. Time enough to get Agnes’s hand on the razor with hers. Time to turn Agnes’s rage loose. On Jason.

And there was more. Jason was the one Lilin wanted to savor. And that savor part would be reserved for her—Lilin. She wouldn’t let Agnes in on it. It would drive Agnes over the edge.

Lilin sat forward and smiled. Killed by her hands but enjoyed by mine. The final guilt-jealousy meltdown. The downfall of all logic.

Lilin felt a head-to-toe tingle, but it was short-lived. She couldn’t believe she had considered letting him go. She thought that knowing he was out there would wear Agnes down. But now she saw it much more clearly. Jason was like her father. He loved his good girl, Agnes.

Lilin took in a maximum breath and let it flow out. And he wants to hurt me. To kill me.

A sudden rush of energy propelled her from the bed. She couldn’t think about Jason yet. She had another job to do first. The earlier the better. She could use the afterglow of calmness to finalize her plan. And another warm-up wouldget Agnes better conditioned to the routine. Freedom was close, but first a hot shower and another day on the job.

Lilin’s feet were heavy on the steps: she rarely walked without a purpose. On the fifth step, her heel slipped from the missing lip. Her left hand caught the railing, which wobbled but held. Only the balls of her feet touched the remaining stairs.

She expected a wait. On her previous visit, the place had reeked of marijuana. And the strewn refuse and disorderly stacks of computer equipment suggested he wasn’t an eight-to-fiver.

She banged on the door. Silence. Banged again, this time rattling the door in the jamb. A baby cried down the hall, and she thought she heard behind her a door opening a crack and then closing. A shuffle caught her attention.

One more series of bangs, and a thump, a curse, anda door slam confirmed the occupancy. She waited.

A toilet flushed. She’d have to be careful on this one. Not careful, just quiet. She doubted the neighbors would be the 911 types, and any visitors probably wouldn’t want the attention.

The door swung open and a pair of beet red, squinty eyes played a game with focus. She pushed into the room before he could react. The door slammed on his “Oh, shit.”

She moved to the one chair in the room and pointed. “Sit.” Her right hand was in her purse, and as he moved she stayed within easy lunging distance.

Donnie Powers flopped into the chair. His eyes didn’t seem to have trouble with focus anymore.

“What do you want? I have to leave. I have an appointment.”

Lilin stood over him. “I have another job for you. This one won’t take long, and you have the right equipment here.”

“I’ve been having trouble—”

“Shut up.” Her hand twitched in the purse.

Donnie’s eyes fell to the purse. They were nearly as round and wide as his mouth. He shrunk into the chair.

Don’t do this
.

Lilin paused.

Hey, look who’s back. Come on. You know how it goes. And you’re starting to like it. I can tell. We’ll do this one together. Just like the car salesman. I’ll makethe first cut if you want.

No. Don’t kill him
.

Donnie flinched, maybe due to the prolonged silence. His lips moved, as if he was trying to speak, but Lilin waved her left hand in front of his face. He closed his mouth.

He doesn’t mean anything to you. Let him go
.

He’s a loose end. And a pretty nice-looking one at that. Good enough for me, loose end or not.

Donnie’s lips moved again. “What kind of job?”

“Something needs to be erased.”

No
.

“I can make things go away. It’ll cost you—”

“We’ll discuss price after.” Lilin smiled.

“I like to work it out before.”

“After!”

Donnie jumped. His eyes fell to her purse again.

Lilin stepped back a half step. “Stand up. Let’s get to this.”

Donnie didn’t move. “I’ll tell you what. Just give me the details and leave. I’ll do the job for free. Right after you go.”

A husky laugh filled the room. “You’re the honorable type. And so generous, too. I’m overwhelmed. Your generosity intrigues me, and when I’m intrigued, I get horny. How about a quickie before you do the job? No charge.”

“No.” His eyes went to the purse again. “Thank you.”

A frown invaded her face in a millisecond, her eyes apiercing black. “Then get your ass out of the chair.”

Donnie didn’t move.

Don’t
.

Lilin’s face relaxed into a near grin. “You want me out of here, right?”

Donnie nodded.