![Guns [John Hardin 01]](/res/dh/book4.jpg)
doors, and they walked out onto the deck, Strake closing the door behind them. He moved over to put his hands on the rail and look down.
He knows I hate heights
, Davis thought.
Davis was a big man in his late forties with the face of a football coach set off by a razored black goatee. He had seen much violence in his long career and feared few humans or circumstances, but heights made his head light and his breathing rapid and shallow.
“Come here,” Strake said. There was a breeze picking up. There were no poles under the deck, just big struts angled back into the rock. The traffic on the bridge far below moved in beaded strings of light. Red one way, white the other.
Davis walked over to stand near the rail, not touching it. Controlling his breathing.
The deck was softly lit from built-in fixtures under the railing and from the glow of the lights spread out down there. Davis thought he could feel the deck boards shifting slightly under his feet.
Strake reached into the inside pocket of his immaculate suit jacket and took out a newspaper clipping. He held it out to Davis. It was carefully folded to show a photo of a lanky man standing in a side-hug with a short woman. Davis took his time studying it, bending slightly to hold it down under the railing lights, and unfolding it to scan the article. The piece was actually an abbreviated version, though Davis couldn’t know that. Picked up by the Associated Press Syndicate, it had run in one hundred and twelve different papers across the country, mostly as filler on slow news days. Davis straightened and said, “It’s the Cowboy. On some island in North Carolina.”
“Yes. Keep the clipping.”
“Louis, are you sure this will be worth—” But Strake cut him off with a quick stop-it gesture.
“We have the transaction in Miami next week,” Strake said. “That should take no more than three days.”
Tina, Strake’s chubby three-year-old daughter, wobbled across the floor of the great room all by herself in her fluffy pink slippers and Pooh pajamas, clutching a yellow-dressed doll in one arm. She stopped, slapped the window with her free hand, and waved. Slapped and waved. Slapped and waved. Slapped and waved. Leaving finger marks on the glass.
Strake smiled and waved back. Elaine hurried over, not looking out onto the deck, took Tina by the hand, and led her quickly away.
“When we get back from Miami,” Strake said, absently watching his shapely young wife and his daughter through the glass wall, “I want you to go down there and kill him.”
Davis was still for a moment. Then he said, “All right, Louis.”
Strake turned back to rest his hands on the railing and look off. “I’m telling you now so you can think about it. Take Winston and the new one, Donny. The son of a bitch knows you and he may have seen Winston, so Donny will be useful, and the young man has his specialties. The pay will be thirty thousand. Half up front. I don’t care how you split it. You pay your own expenses. Be careful. Set it up. And, Montgomery…”
“Yes.”
Strake turned his head to look intently at him, those black eyes glittering now in the up-light.
Like a pissed-off wharf rat,
Davis thought,
or a rabid Doberman, standing there stock still just before it charges you.
He wondered, not for the first time lately, why he had worked so long for this guy who wanted people to think he was high-class but who was really no better than any number of other men who lived in Davis’s world of shadows and violence. Strake tried to talk like a lawyer but Davis thought he wasn’t fooling anybody. He was like two different men, one this fake slick talker and the other basically just a street thug like himself.
“I want him to see it coming,” Strake said, speaking slowly. “You listen to what I’m telling you. First, I want you to break him. Take your time doing it. I want him to hurt. I want him to see it coming.” “We’ll take care of it, Louis.”
“Now, you’d
He knows I hate heights
, Davis thought.
Davis was a big man in his late forties with the face of a football coach set off by a razored black goatee. He had seen much violence in his long career and feared few humans or circumstances, but heights made his head light and his breathing rapid and shallow.
“Come here,” Strake said. There was a breeze picking up. There were no poles under the deck, just big struts angled back into the rock. The traffic on the bridge far below moved in beaded strings of light. Red one way, white the other.
Davis walked over to stand near the rail, not touching it. Controlling his breathing.
The deck was softly lit from built-in fixtures under the railing and from the glow of the lights spread out down there. Davis thought he could feel the deck boards shifting slightly under his feet.
Strake reached into the inside pocket of his immaculate suit jacket and took out a newspaper clipping. He held it out to Davis. It was carefully folded to show a photo of a lanky man standing in a side-hug with a short woman. Davis took his time studying it, bending slightly to hold it down under the railing lights, and unfolding it to scan the article. The piece was actually an abbreviated version, though Davis couldn’t know that. Picked up by the Associated Press Syndicate, it had run in one hundred and twelve different papers across the country, mostly as filler on slow news days. Davis straightened and said, “It’s the Cowboy. On some island in North Carolina.”
“Yes. Keep the clipping.”
“Louis, are you sure this will be worth—” But Strake cut him off with a quick stop-it gesture.
“We have the transaction in Miami next week,” Strake said. “That should take no more than three days.”
Tina, Strake’s chubby three-year-old daughter, wobbled across the floor of the great room all by herself in her fluffy pink slippers and Pooh pajamas, clutching a yellow-dressed doll in one arm. She stopped, slapped the window with her free hand, and waved. Slapped and waved. Slapped and waved. Slapped and waved. Leaving finger marks on the glass.
Strake smiled and waved back. Elaine hurried over, not looking out onto the deck, took Tina by the hand, and led her quickly away.
“When we get back from Miami,” Strake said, absently watching his shapely young wife and his daughter through the glass wall, “I want you to go down there and kill him.”
Davis was still for a moment. Then he said, “All right, Louis.”
Strake turned back to rest his hands on the railing and look off. “I’m telling you now so you can think about it. Take Winston and the new one, Donny. The son of a bitch knows you and he may have seen Winston, so Donny will be useful, and the young man has his specialties. The pay will be thirty thousand. Half up front. I don’t care how you split it. You pay your own expenses. Be careful. Set it up. And, Montgomery…”
“Yes.”
Strake turned his head to look intently at him, those black eyes glittering now in the up-light.
Like a pissed-off wharf rat,
Davis thought,
or a rabid Doberman, standing there stock still just before it charges you.
He wondered, not for the first time lately, why he had worked so long for this guy who wanted people to think he was high-class but who was really no better than any number of other men who lived in Davis’s world of shadows and violence. Strake tried to talk like a lawyer but Davis thought he wasn’t fooling anybody. He was like two different men, one this fake slick talker and the other basically just a street thug like himself.
“I want him to see it coming,” Strake said, speaking slowly. “You listen to what I’m telling you. First, I want you to break him. Take your time doing it. I want him to hurt. I want him to see it coming.” “We’ll take care of it, Louis.”
“Now, you’d
Similar Books
