Bonnie thought it was funny, the way Shaban gaped at her, slack-jawed.
“Kinda unfriendly,” she said, “sneaking in the back way like this.”
“It appears I did not sneak so well.”
“Yeah, I heard you scratching around back there. I knew there was a fair chance you’d try that route. That’s why I unhooked the chain.”
“You unhooked it?” He shut his eyes briefly. “I have been outplayed. And now—what?”
His expression was calm, his eyes clear. She admired him for that.
“Now we sit and talk. But first—drop your piece.”
He straightened his shoulders, and his Adam’s apple bobbed once. She recognized the body language. He was thinking of trying something.
“Don’t be a hero,” she added in her most reasonable tone. “I don’t want to shoot you, but you know I’m capable of it.”
He hesitated a moment longer. Then his fingers opened, and the pistol fell to the floor.
“Kick it away.” He did. “Good boy.”
She studied him. A year had passed since she’d seen him, but he was still a hawk-nosed, sharp-eyed badass, lean and fit, and, unlike most of his colleagues in the Albanian mob, clean-shaven. He was a snazzy dresser—she pegged his suit as Giorgio Armani—and he didn’t show off a lot of bling, though she remembered he wore two gold wristwatches, one set to local time and the other to Albanian time. He had showed them to her, the last time they met.
“Got any other weapons on you?” she asked. “Another gun, a blade, that Swiss Army knife you used to carry?”
“No.”
“That’s probably a lie. Reach for anything, and you’ll regret it.”
“I will not reach.”
“Okay. Take a seat over there.” She pointed to a straight-backed chair tucked into a kneehole in a bureau.
He crossed the carpet in quick jerky strides. He was young—early twenties—and still had an adolescent’s gangly frame and clumsy coltish way of walking. He spun the chair around and sat. She resumed her place in the armchair, turning it slightly to face him.
“May I ask what the hell is going on?” His tone was polite, but his eyes burned. He didn’t like being held at gunpoint. Well, hell. Nobody did.
“Yeah,” Bonnie said, “you may ask. This was supposed to be a setup. Kyle wanted me to take you out.”
“The girl hired you?”
Bonnie nodded. “Gotta say, you really hit the jackpot when you hooked up with her.”
“She has proved untrustworthy,” Shaban said mildly.
“No kidding. She told me she got ripped off at the airport and lost her stash. Since you’d never believe that story, it was my job to put you out of action before you could put the kibosh on her. She would lure you here with a phone call, and when you walked in, it’d be wham-bam, bye-bye Shaban.”
Silence hummed in the room for a long moment. “And yet I am alive,” Shaban said finally.
“Noticed that, did you? Yeah, I never intended to go through with the hit.”
“Why not?”
“Because I knew she was bullshitting me.”
“Then why do you work for her at all? For money?”
“This is turning out to be kind of a pro bono assignment.”
“If no money, then why?”
“I don’t know. She reminds me of someone.”
“Who?”
“Me, I guess. When I was younger. But only in some ways. Unlike me, she’s book smart, not people smart. And she’s in way over her head. She could never have outmaneuvered you.”
“I am flattered.”
“Statement of fact. For instance, you got here in under half an hour. You couldn’t have made it all the way from Hoboken that fast.”
“I had already crossed the Millstone County line when I got her call.”
“So you tracked her that far on your own. Color me not surprised.”
His right hand drifted toward his belt buckle. There could be a blade inside. She wagged the gun at him.
“Nuh-uh, silly rabbit. Tricks are for kids.”
His hand retreated. It would bear watching. By the rules he played by, he was entitled to take her out if he could.
“Where is the girl?” Shaban asked too casually.
“Around.”
“I would like to see her.”
“I don’t think so. You might do something you’d regret. More to the point, you might oblige me to do something I’d regret.”
He gave her a shrewd look. “Would you indeed regret it?”
“I’m not interested in killing anybody. I don’t do that sort of work anymore.”
“No? You have gone straight?”
“Absolutely. You’re looking at friggin’ Mother Teresa here.”
“What, then, is your purpose?”
“In life?”
“In holding this meeting.”
“Oh. I intend to broker a deal.”
“Deal,” he said quietly. He smacked his lips as if tasting the word.
“Why not? I did it once before, and there were no complaints, were there?”
“This situation is different.”
“Every situation is different, but I think we can work this one out and walk away friends. Okay, not friends. But we can all walk away, at least. Like last time.”
A year ago the head of a local chain of office supply stores had come to her with a problem. He’d purchased a shipment of high-tech gear at a bargain price from some freelancers. Sure, the deal had seemed shady, but you had to cut a few corners to make a buck, what with the economy and all. He’d done it before.
Trouble was, this particular shipment had been stolen from a truck owned by the Albanian mob, and they were looking for it. If they traced it to him, he would be in their crosshairs, and everyone knew the Albanians were not people you could afford to piss off. He wanted to make things right, but he was afraid to approach them on his own.
Bonnie had brokered the deal. Her negotiating partner had been Shaban Dragusha, the big boss’s grandson. Shaban had struck her as a rare find among mobsters—a guy who actually believed in honoring his word.
“You wish to strike a bargain, is that it?” Shaban asked, measuring her with his gaze. “You negotiate on her behalf?”
“That’s about the size of it.”
“Does she know you do this?”
“Not a clue.”
“She will be unhappy when she finds out.”
“Yeah, I’m guessing I’m off her Christmas card list.”
“You lose a client, you make no money. There is nothing in it for you, Bonnie Parker. But there can be.” He leaned forward, the chair creaking under him. “Here is the deal I offer. You and me share all profits from the product. No pro bono bullshit. Street value is two hundred twenty or more. You get half, I get half. This is good money for you. More than you make for a hit.”
“Used to make. I’m out of the business, remember? And anyway, how would you know my price?”
“People talk. I know your reputation. You have killed, sure, yes, but only when you feel it is justified. And you have never tortured.”
“Right.” Though as far as torture was concerned, she admitted to some doubt about Frank Lazzaro’s sendoff.
Shaban nodded in approval. “Torture is for fools and sick perverts. I like a quick kill, no pain. To make the man dead is all that matters. You know this. You are smart. Professional.”
“Aw, stop. You’ll make me blush.” She leaned forward. “I take it you’re telling me this to convince me we can work together.”
“Is an idea.”
“If you and me go halfsies, won’t your superiors miss their cut?”
“Let me worry about them.”
“And in exchange for this windfall, I also give you Kyle?”
He spread his hands. “Is only fair.”
It was fair, in its way. But it wasn’t the deal she had in mind.
She sat back in the chair again. “That’s not how we’re gonna play it, Shabby. We’re gonna come to a different agreement.”
He crossed his legs and folded his arms, a study in sales resistance. “What agreement?”
“See the American flag coat on the bed?” She knew he had. She’d noticed his eyes tick toward it more than once since he’d sat down. “As I’m sure you’re aware, your latest shipment of Turkish delight is sewn into the lining. You’ll take it and let me and Kyle skate. No retaliation, no retribution, now or later.”
“This is bullshit.”
“It’s the deal that’s on the table.”
“Is crap deal.”
“Not really. You get the shipment. No need to split any profits with me. All you give up is the opportunity to take revenge on a dumb kid who doesn’t matter anyway.”
He shook his head fiercely. “She betrayed my trust. For this she must pay.”
“Yeah, I get that.” She lifted the Walther a tad. “But you’re not in a position of strength in this negotiation.”
“You expect me to agree to your terms under duress?”
“Duress. Nice use of the lingo. Your English has come a long way. Yeah, you’re gonna sign on.”
“And what makes me keep this agreement? Why do I not go after her later?” His eyes narrowed, and the light in them turned cold. “And go after you too, Parker?”
“You’re going to give me your word.”
“So you count on my sense of honor.”
“I do. As a matter of fact, that’s the only reason we’re having this conversation. When I heard you were involved, I saw a way to play it. A nice nonviolent way that would pull Kyle’s bacon out of the fire without the need for bloodshed. But it had to be you. I wouldn’t trust anyone else to play fair.”
“Maybe you trust me too much.”
“I don’t think so. You’re a straight shooter. And you know I am, too.”
He spun his chair halfway around, fidgeting like a trapped animal. “I do not like it.”
“But you’ll do it.”
“You seem very sure of this.”
“That’s ’cause I’m the one holding the gun.”
“I always liked you, Parker. I am disappointed now.”
“You never liked me. And I never liked you. We did business together, that’s all. Let’s not make a whole big thing out of it.”
He shut his eyes, inhaled slowly, and released the breath with a hiss. “Give me the coat.”
“Give me your word.”
“I will meet your terms. No harm comes to you or the girl.”
“On your honor?”
“On my honor.”
“Pinky swear? Only kidding.”
For the first time, she thought she just might get away with this gamble. Before this moment, he had been within his rights to make a move on her. In principle, at least, that option had now been foreclosed.
She walked to the bed, collected the jacket, and tossed it to him.
“There you go. Two kilos of junk all wrapped up in the red, white, and blue.”
He inspected the lining and nodded. “I take your word that it is all here.”
“What, like I’m gonna rip you off?” She couldn’t suppress a twitch of irritation. “I don’t want your fucking dope. How do you sell that shit to kids and still live with yourself?”
“I do not sell to kids. I sell to dealers. What they do with it is not my trouble.”
“That’s a pretty questionable way of looking at it.”
“Also I confess my sins very often. I get absolution.”
This was news to her. It hadn’t come up in their previous business dealings. “You a Christian, Shabby?”
“I talk to Saint Bessus sometimes.”
“Who’s he?”
“Patron saint of men in war.”
“Is that what you are?”
“I am a soldier on the field of battle, sure, yes.”
“And you’ve got this Saint Bejesus looking out for you?”
“Saint Bessus,” he corrected.
“So you’re in the clear with the powers that be, no matter what you do?”
“Fate of my soul is God’s will, not mine. But I think I am okay.”
“Even if I’d gone through with the hit?”
He shrugged. “You shoot me, I go to heaven maybe, which is better than here. Or to hell, which is about the same.”
“Yeah, the distinction between hell and Jersey is pretty thin. But I don’t think you’re that cool about getting aced. No one is.”
“Is a dangerous life. I know this from day one. Odds are, I die from a bullet. If it is tonight, is tonight. If not tonight, is later. Different night, different bullet, same result. Why should I not be, as you say, cool?”
“I dunno, but if you ain’t shining me on, you’re a very different breed of cat. Okay, we’re done here.”
He stood, facing her. “May I collect my handgun?”
“Knock yourself out.” Under the circumstances there was little additional risk in letting him retrieve his weapon. Either he would honor their agreement or he wouldn’t. If he chose not to, then he would sic the whole Dragusha mob on her, and she would be dead in short order anyway. And from what she understood, his colleagues didn’t share his reservations about torture or his preference for a quick kill.
“You can leave by the front door,” she said as she holstered her gun. “It’s more civilized that way.”
“Sure, yes.”
“Incidentally, how much did you pay Kyle per run?”
“Fifteen hundred.”
“She said ten grand. Did you help her set up a bank account with a safe deposit box?”
“I did not help her do nothing. What do I care where she puts her money?”
“Yeah, I hear you. I’m betting you and her never hooked up, either.”
“She tells you this?”
“Said you two did the dance with no pants at your apartment. Probably she’s never even been there.”
“Once she was there, for a party. She came with a friend. Is where we met. But there was no dance. I do not fuck any goddamn courier.”
“Not even a swallower?”
“What?”
“Never mind. Our Kylie’s just a little liar, isn’t she?”
“And yet she lives,” Shaban said bitterly.
“A deal’s a deal. And Kyle’s life is possibly worth saving.”
“This I doubt.”
“You know me. I try to believe the best about people.”
“Except for the ones you have killed.”
“Right. Except for them.”
“You are a strange one, Parker.”
“Yeah, I’m one of a kind.”
His gaze drilled into her from a yard away. The muscles of his face were taut, his mouth a bloodless line like a paper cut.
“Someday,” he said, “we may meet under circumstances where I have the upper hand, and when I am not bound by honor.”
She returned his stare without blinking. “Looking forward to it, Shabby. Don’t take any wooden kopeks.”
He turned away, breaking eye contact. “Currency in Albania is not the kopek. Is the lek.”
“Well, don’t take any wooden ones of those, either.”
He didn’t answer. He opened the front door and stalked off into the night. Slowly she shut the door.
Only then did she allow herself to relax. Remarkably enough, the encounter had gone smoothly. This was the first time in a long while that a visit to a motel had worked out well for her. Maybe her luck was changing.
Of course, there was still Kyle Ridley to deal with. And man, was she gonna be pissed.