“So you’ve heard about the warehouse and Lee Coburn?”
“I got a TV. Flat-screen.”
“Thanks to me.”
Diego let that pass without comment. The Bookkeeper didn’t need to know that their working relationship wasn’t exclusive. He did occasional jobs for other clients.
“Guns,” he said scornfully. “They’re noisy. Why shoot up the place? I would have taken out Marset silently, and you wouldn’t have a circus going on down there in Tambour.”
“I needed to send a message.”
Don’t fuck with me, or else. That was the message. Diego supposed that anyone who’d crossed The Bookkeeper, and had heard about the mass murder, was looking over his shoulder this morning. Despite the amateurish handling of Marset’s execution, no doubt it had been an effective wake-up call.
“They haven’t found Lee Coburn yet,” Diego said, almost as a gibe.
“No. I’m closely monitoring the search. I hope they find him dead, but if not, he’ll have to be taken out. And so will anyone he’s had contact with since leaving that warehouse.”
“That’s why you’re calling me.”
“It will be tricky to get close to someone in police custody.”
“I specialize in tricky. I can get close. I always do.”
“Which is why you’re the man for this job, should it become necessary. Your skills would have been wasted on Marset. I needed to make noise and leave a lot of blood. But now that it’s done, I want no loose ends.”
No loose ends. No mercy. The Bookkeeper’s mantra. Anybody who shied away from the wet work usually became the next victim.
A few weeks earlier, a Mexican kid had escaped the overloaded truck that was smuggling him into the States. He and a dozen others were destined for slavery of one type or another. The kid must’ve known what the future held for him. During a refueling stop, while the truck driver was paying for his gasoline, the kid got away.
Fortunately, a state trooper who was on The Bookkeeper’s payroll had found him hitchhiking on the westbound lane of the interstate. The trooper had hidden him and had been ordered to dispose of the problem. But he’d turned squeamish.
The Bookkeeper had contracted Diego to go in and do his dirty work for him. Then, a week after Diego killed the boy, The Bookkeeper hired him to take care of the driver whose carelessness had allowed the kid to escape, along with the trooper who had shown himself to be greedy but gutless.
No loose ends. No mercy. The Bookkeeper’s uncompromising policy instilled fear and inspired obedience.
But Diego wasn’t scared of anybody. So when The Bookkeeper asked him now, “Did you find the girl who got away from the massage parlor?” he replied in a flippant manner, “Last night.”
“She’s no longer a problem?”
“Only to the angels. Or the devil.”
“The body?”
“I’m not an idiot.”
“Diego, the only thing more annoying than an idiot is a smart-ass.”
Diego raised his middle finger at the phone.
“Someone else is calling in, so I must go. Be ready.”
Diego slid his hand into his pants pocket and fondled the straight razor for which he was famous. Although The Bookkeeper had already disconnected, Diego said, “I stay ready.”
Chapter 5
Engrossed in her program, Emily gave Honor and Coburn no notice as they passed through the living room.
When they reached Honor’s bedroom, she jerked her arm free from his grip and rubbed her bruised biceps. “I don’t want to get shot, and I certainly wouldn’t risk Emily’s life or run away and leave her behind. The manhandling is unnecessary.”