Kim Oh 3: Real Dangerous People (The Kim Oh Thrillers) (19 page)

“Hm. That part’s
not
good, Kim.” Her voice went stern. “We overlooked that aspect of your finances once before. I’m not sure we can do it again.” She tilted her head to one side, peering into my eyes. “Do you understand?”

The way she was looking at me made the room go swimmy and vague around me. Kind of like the way I’d felt before, when the whole world seemed to go all two-dimensional and fake, and I had to hold on as tight as I could to make it become real again. From far away, I could hear my pulse pounding in my chest, but the blood didn’t seem to reach my head.

A crazy thought came in there instead.

My backpack was in the closet. And the .357 was in the backpack.

This stupid bitch didn’t know who she was screwing around with.

I’d already seen two people get blown away, just a few hours ago. Maybe it was her turn.

That won’t help
 – now I was arguing with myself.
Won’t help at all
. If I took out Miss Thorpe, CPS would just send out another social worker. There were armies of them – must be a growth industry or something. I probably wouldn’t even have time to drag this one’s body away. There would be some other officious little person sitting here in my apartment, pulling more papers out of his briefcase. And we’d be having this exact same conversation, with the Thorpe woman lying on the floor between us, a bullet hole drilled between her eyes. I’d probably get a demerit on one of their checklists for my sloppy housekeeping standards:
Miss Oh leaves corpses around the residential premises in an unsanitary condition, plus the carton of milk in the refrigerator was past its sell-by date
. If these people wanted me to keep the place immaculate, they should’ve sent over a housekeeper, not more social workers.

So just blowing away Miss Thorpe wasn’t really on the table as a viable option. I’d have to come up with another plan.

Which made my mood even more pissed off. What was the point of being able to kill people, if you never could? At least not the right ones.

“All right.” I nodded. “I’ll get it straightened out.”

She didn’t say anything. Just gave me one of those looks – must be part of the training at social worker academy – that are supposed to be all sympathetic and stuff. Even reached over and patted me on the hand, for Christ’s sake.
You bet, bitch
 – first you come into my home and threaten to take away my little brother, then you want me to know that you’re really on my side.

I was already reconsidering the decision I’d made just a few seconds earlier. The one about not blowing her away.

Fortunately for her, she scraped all her papers and forms back into portfolio, then left before I could change my mind.

I was still sitting at the kitchenette table when I heard Donnie come rolling out of the bedroom.

“That didn’t go too well, did it?”

I looked over at him. “You think?”

“What are we going to do?”

“Well . . .” I shrugged. “I guess I’ll come up something. Some kind of a plan.”

“What if . . .” He seemed genuinely worried. “What if it doesn’t work? Then what?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I just don’t know.”

THIRTEEN

I found out later, that while I was having my little conference with the social worker, the other members of the crew were also talking away.

Which really wasn’t surprising. A lot had happened, that gave them a lot to think about.

The neon sign over the door of the Diamondhead Lounge was switched off by the time Curt came back from dumping off the stolen car. Mae had closed the place up early, due to lack of customers. For a long time now, nights during the week had been getting slower and slower.

The door was still unlocked, though. Curt pushed it open and went on in. That was the sort of thing somebody could do when they had regulars’ privileges, the way he and the crew did.

Elton and Foley were waiting for him in one of the booths. The chairs were all stacked upside-down on the tables. From the back room came the sounds of Mae washing up the beer glasses.

“There –” Curt slid into the booth. “That’s taken care of.”

Foley glanced over at him. “How far away did you leave it?”

“Over by the wharves.”

“Christ, that’s miles. No wonder we been waiting for you so long.”

“I needed the walk,” said Curt. “Feel like I’ve been cooped up all day.”

“Yeah . . .” Elton nodded. “I think we all kinda feel that way.”

They were all quiet for a while. Elton took his empty glass over to the bar, leaned over and refilled it from the beer tap. He brought another one back and set it down in front of Curt.

“Thanks.” Curt barely sipped at it. “Look, uh, why don’t you guys take the rest of the night off? I got some things to take care of.”

Elton looked straight back at him. “What kinda things?”

“I gotta get ready.” Curt had hesitated before replying. “To go talk to Mr. Falcon.”

“Yeah, well – I’m coming with you.”

Curt shook his head. “You don’t have to do that. This is pretty much my business with him.”

“Actually . . .” Elton spoke quietly. “It’s mine, too.”

Curt regarded him for a moment, then nodded. “Okay.”

“What about you?” Elton looked over at Foley. “You in?”

Foley looked back at both men, then rolled his eyes up toward the ceiling. “All right – I’m in.” He heaved a sigh. “Might as well . . .”

From his overcoat pocket, Curt took out his gun and laid it on the table. He brought out a small, beat-up tin box as well. From it, he took out a black-smeared rag and his cleaning tools. He got to work, disassembling the gun with easy, practiced efficiency.

The others started on their pieces as well. It was the sort of thing guys like them did, when they were getting ready for something. Sort of Zen, maybe. Quieting the mind and all that.

Still working on his piece, Foley spoke up.

“So what’re we gonna do about her?”

Wiping his gun with one of the soft rags, Elton glanced over at him. “Who you talking about?”

“Whaddaya mean, who? That Kim broad. Who else?”

Elton set his gun down on the table. “What about her?”

“What about her?” Foley looked straight back at him. “Am I the only one who does any thinking around here anymore? She got roped in on this deal, too, ya know.”

“I don’t get it. Roped in how?”

“Come on, pal – think. Falcon obviously brought her on the crew ’cause he was figuring she’d screw up the way she did before. Back when she was working for Moretti. With her working with us, Falcon must’ve thought that would give Johnny Dodd an even easier time picking us off.”

Keeping silent, Curt watched the other two men kick it back and forth.

“Actually –” An ugly smile twisted the corner of Foley’s mouth. “I think it’s pretty funny that Dodd got nailed by her instead. Just ’cause she was able to get off a lucky shot. Serves the bastard right.”

“She’s dead.”

Both men looked over at Curt.

“Huh?” Foley’s brow creased. “What’d you say?”

“You heard the man,” said Elton. “You might not get it, but I do. Whatever the deal might be with Kim, it’s nothing you have to worry about anymore. She’s dead – or good as.”

“How do you know that?”

“And you think you’re so smart.” Elton showed a thin smile. “Figure it out, man. Say what you want about the gal, but she knows her stuff. Probably better than you do. That wasn’t any lucky shot when she took care of Dodd. She chased the guy down and nailed his ass. Right in front of Falcon’s eyes. So he knew what that meant. He might’ve been figuring beforehand that bringing her onboard would mess up the crew, make it easier for Johnny Dodd to kill us off – but as soon as he saw her in action, he must’ve known he was wrong. ’Cause it all sure didn’t happen that way.”

“Then . . .” Foley slowly nodded, figuring it out. “Then she’s a problem. For him.”

“That’s right,” said Elton. “Now Falcon’s gotta figure out a way to get rid of her. If he hasn’t already, while we’ve been sitting here.”

“It’s like this.” Curt wiped the gun’s barrel with the rag. “She’s a good kid – I don’t have anything against her – and she seems to know her business. But she’s got to look out for herself. Same way you and I have to. That’s why I didn’t say anything to her back at Falcon’s place, when he said he wanted her over at the hotel. Working with Karsh’s bodyguards.”

“Wait a minute.” Foley leaned forward, peering into Curt’s face. “You’re saying that was a setup?”

“Chances are good. Why else would Falcon want to peel her away from the rest of the crew? He doesn’t know how the rest of us might react, if the hammer came down on her right in front of us? Sure, Kim hasn’t been working with us very long, but she’s still part of the crew. If Karsh’s guys came after her, once they got her someplace out of the way, the rest of us might not take too well to that. We might either be successful at keeping them from blowing her away like they’ve been ordered to – and maybe take out a couple of them in the process – or we wouldn’t. Then whoever’s left of us would be standing there, looking at her lying on the ground. And if we had any doubts before about Falcon looking to eliminate the crew, we sure as hell wouldn’t have them anymore.”

“Yeah,” said Foley, “but we know that already. We found that out from Moretti.”

“Falcon doesn’t know that we did. He doesn’t know that we all went up there to Albany. So he probably figures we’re just as clueless as before, about what’s happening. So he’s over there at the Hilton, kicking back and relaxing with his wife. And getting ready to go to the opening of Karsh’s stupid Polynesian restaurant tomorrow.”

“Huh.” Foley mused it over some more. “You know . . . you’re right. You must be. ’Cause if Falcon did know we’d found out all that stuff from Moretti – we wouldn’t be sitting here right now. Thinking about our options. He’d have had his buddy Karsh send his guys over to take care of us.”

“Way to go, Einstein.” Elton started reassembling his own gun. “You should go on
Jeopardy
or something like that. You know, and win a prize.”

The remark didn’t trigger anything with Foley.

“You’re right,” he said, a little more softly. “That musta been what’s happened to her. Shit.” He shook his head. “You know, that’s a shame. A real shame. I kinda liked the little broad.”

“Yeah, right,” said Elton. “Sure you did.”

They went back to finishing up their gun-cleaning ritual.

Mae came out of the back of the lounge, drying a glass with a bar towel. She looked over to the booth where the crew was sitting. Their regular one.

“You know,” she said, “I don’t like you guys doing that in here.”

Curt looked around to her.

“Sorry,” he said. “It’s the last time. I promise.”

FOURTEEN

As much as I hated to admit it, Foley was right.

About Curt being right.

And I really hated Curt being right. Because it meant that I was in a world of crap.

Maybe if I hadn’t been sandbagged by the social worker showing up at the apartment, then having to use all my brain cells to try and figure out what to do about her – maybe then I would’ve been able to figure out what Curt and the rest of the crew had worked out.

Which was that I was in deep trouble. And didn’t know it yet.

So I finally got back to the hotel, the one Falcon and his wife checked into. I took the elevator all the way up to the top, to the Presidential Suite. The most expensive digs in the place – either Falcon was splashing out big time, from his own pocket, to make it up to Mrs. Falcon for all the nerve-wracking stuff she’s had to go through lately, or Karsh was paying for it. Just to cement his friendly relationship with his new partner, plus rub it in about how much better off things are with Karsh’s people taking care of security, rather than Falcon’s old crew.

The elevator finally let me off, after a long vertical ride. Sure enough, two of Karsh’s people were right there, stationed on either side of the suite’s enormous gilt-decorated doors. I’d already met these two goons. The one with the crew cut was named Collier; the one with the heavy black-framed glasses was Amboy.

“Mr. Falcon’s been asking about you.” Collier had that kind of stupid smirk on his face, that school kids get when they think one of their little classmates is in trouble. “Wondering where you were.”