even two, butfaced with a posse of 88s or three or four widebodies from People Nation? No. And does he want to spend life in prison in any case? Also no. Better dead than caged. He guesses Nick knows that, too.
None of it will be an issue if he isnât caught. He never has been, seventeen times heâs gotten away clean, but heâs never been faced with a situation like this one. Itâs not like shooting from an alley with a car nearby to carry you away, the best route out of town carefully marked.
How did you disappear after youâd gunned a man down from the fifth floor of a downtown office building, with a shit-ton of city and county cops right across the way? Billy knows how it would work in a movie: the bad-guy shooter would use a sound-and-flash suppressor. Thatâs not an option in this case. The range is just a little too long, and he wonât get a second chance if he misses the first time. Also, thereâs going to be the unmistakable crack of the bullet breaking the sound barrier. A suppressor can do nothing about that. Billy has a personal issue, as well: he has simply never trusted potato-busters. Put a gadget on the end of a good rifle and youâre taking a risk of fucking up your shot. So itâs going to be loud, and while the source may not be immediately identifiable, when people stop cringing and look up, theyâre going to see a window on the fifth floor from which a small circle of glass is missing. Because these windows donât open.
The problems donât daunt Billy. On the contrary, they engage him. The way the prospect of certain dangerous escapesâbeing chained up inside a safe and thrown into the East River, or dangling from a skyscraper in a straitjacketâno doubt engaged Houdini. Billy doesnât have a whole plan yet, but heâs got a start. The parking garage was a little more loaded on the first two levels than Irv Dean had indicated, maybe todayâs court docket is especially heavy, but by the time Billy got to Level 4, he had his pick of spots. Privacy, in other words, and privacy is good. Billy is sure Houdini would have agreed with that.
He goes back to the table, where the expensive Mac Pro is still playing Canfield. He powers up his own laptop and goes to Amazon. You can buy anything at Amazon.
2
A stretch of curb in front of Gerard Tower has been stenciled AUTHORIZED PARKING ONLY. At quarter past eleven a truck with a big sombrero on the side pulls up there. Below the sombrero, JOSEâS EATS. And below that, TODOS COMEN! People start leaving the building, trundling toward the truck like ants drawn to sugar. Five minutes later another truck pulls up behind the first. On the side of this one is a grinning cartoon boy woofing down a double cheeseburger. At eleven-thirty, while people are lined up for burgers and fries and tacos and enchiladas, a hotdog wagon appears.
Time to eat, Billy thinks. Also time to meet some more neighbors.
There are four people waiting for the elevator, three men and a woman. All are dressed for business and all look to be in their mid-thirties, the woman maybe even younger. Billy joins them. One asks if heâs the new writer in residence⦠as if Billy has supplanted an old one. Billy says he is and introduces himself. They do likewise: John, Jim, Harry, Phyllis. Billy asks whatâs good down below. John and Harry suggest the Mexican wagon. âExcellent fish tacos,â John says. Jim says the burgers arenât bad and the onion rings are A-plus. Phyllis says she has her face fixed for one of Petieâs chili dogs.
âNone of itâs haute cuisine,â Harry says, âbut it beats brown-bagging it.â
Billy asks about the café across the street and all four shake their heads. Such instant unanimity strikes Billy funny and he has to grin.
âStay away from it,â Harry says. âCrowded at lunch.â
âAnd the prices are high,â John adds. âI
None of it will be an issue if he isnât caught. He never has been, seventeen times heâs gotten away clean, but heâs never been faced with a situation like this one. Itâs not like shooting from an alley with a car nearby to carry you away, the best route out of town carefully marked.
How did you disappear after youâd gunned a man down from the fifth floor of a downtown office building, with a shit-ton of city and county cops right across the way? Billy knows how it would work in a movie: the bad-guy shooter would use a sound-and-flash suppressor. Thatâs not an option in this case. The range is just a little too long, and he wonât get a second chance if he misses the first time. Also, thereâs going to be the unmistakable crack of the bullet breaking the sound barrier. A suppressor can do nothing about that. Billy has a personal issue, as well: he has simply never trusted potato-busters. Put a gadget on the end of a good rifle and youâre taking a risk of fucking up your shot. So itâs going to be loud, and while the source may not be immediately identifiable, when people stop cringing and look up, theyâre going to see a window on the fifth floor from which a small circle of glass is missing. Because these windows donât open.
The problems donât daunt Billy. On the contrary, they engage him. The way the prospect of certain dangerous escapesâbeing chained up inside a safe and thrown into the East River, or dangling from a skyscraper in a straitjacketâno doubt engaged Houdini. Billy doesnât have a whole plan yet, but heâs got a start. The parking garage was a little more loaded on the first two levels than Irv Dean had indicated, maybe todayâs court docket is especially heavy, but by the time Billy got to Level 4, he had his pick of spots. Privacy, in other words, and privacy is good. Billy is sure Houdini would have agreed with that.
He goes back to the table, where the expensive Mac Pro is still playing Canfield. He powers up his own laptop and goes to Amazon. You can buy anything at Amazon.
2
A stretch of curb in front of Gerard Tower has been stenciled AUTHORIZED PARKING ONLY. At quarter past eleven a truck with a big sombrero on the side pulls up there. Below the sombrero, JOSEâS EATS. And below that, TODOS COMEN! People start leaving the building, trundling toward the truck like ants drawn to sugar. Five minutes later another truck pulls up behind the first. On the side of this one is a grinning cartoon boy woofing down a double cheeseburger. At eleven-thirty, while people are lined up for burgers and fries and tacos and enchiladas, a hotdog wagon appears.
Time to eat, Billy thinks. Also time to meet some more neighbors.
There are four people waiting for the elevator, three men and a woman. All are dressed for business and all look to be in their mid-thirties, the woman maybe even younger. Billy joins them. One asks if heâs the new writer in residence⦠as if Billy has supplanted an old one. Billy says he is and introduces himself. They do likewise: John, Jim, Harry, Phyllis. Billy asks whatâs good down below. John and Harry suggest the Mexican wagon. âExcellent fish tacos,â John says. Jim says the burgers arenât bad and the onion rings are A-plus. Phyllis says she has her face fixed for one of Petieâs chili dogs.
âNone of itâs haute cuisine,â Harry says, âbut it beats brown-bagging it.â
Billy asks about the café across the street and all four shake their heads. Such instant unanimity strikes Billy funny and he has to grin.
âStay away from it,â Harry says. âCrowded at lunch.â
âAnd the prices are high,â John adds. âI
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