those cops down there pump my guts full of lead?”
“No. You have to be alive. That’s orders. I volunteered to come up and talk, because I told them you can be hardheaded, but you’re basically a decent sort. However, even if we have to shoot you down with tranquilizer darts and throw a net on you like some sort of wild jungle cat, you’re going to Jersey.”
Sullivan let the curtain fall. “Well, hell, Sam. Now you’ve got me all curious. And they do say that curiosity killed the wild jungle cat. Let me get my coat.”
There was one of the new Ford V10 Hyperions waiting. The engine was running and the exhaust formed a cloud in the chilly winter air. Cowley opened the passenger door and gestured for Sullivan to climb in.
“Nice ride,” Sullivan said as he sat down.
“That’s why we’re taking mine. Government cars are garbage scows in comparison,” said the driver.
He looked over to see who it was. “Well, that figures.”
“Evening, Mr. Important,” the woman from the library said.
“You left off the Nobody.”
This time she was wearing a cold-weather dress, and her hair was light brown rather than bright red and tied back neat and plain. “Let’s take a ride.”
“A wig . . . Too bad. I fancy redheads.”
Cowley got into the backseat and closed the door behind him. The Hyperion featured a state of the art interior heater, and that made the night slightly more bearable. The girl put it into gear and took off entirely too fast. One police car got in front and turned on its siren while another pulled in behind and did the same. Wherever they were going, they were planning on getting there quick.
“How long you been following me?” Sullivan asked her.
“Found you yesterday. Watched you all day today,” she answered, all business, eyes on the road. The socialite accent was gone, replaced with one that sounded vaguely East Texas, and he had no idea if it was real either. “It was easy to do, what with your nose in a book the whole time. You know normally men tend to notice me sooner when I’m all dolled up like that. It makes tailing men challenging.”
“I can imagine. Sorry, been preoccupied. Miss?”
“Hammer.”
“Nice to make your acquaintance, again. Miss Hammer.” Which probably wasn’t her real name either. There weren’t any females that worked at the BI other than clerical staff, and judging by the way she had played him like a sucker earlier, she was no stenotyper. “I didn’t know Hoover had started hiring lady agents.”
“He doesn’t,” Cowley chimed in. “Miss Hammer’s a—”
“Freelance consultant,” she said. “I don’t work for the government. I take care of odd jobs. I’m assuming you’re not offended by a woman in the work force.”
“Can’t say I’ve given it much thought. The mugging?”
“Oh, nothing I couldn’t handle, but I provoked those boys on purpose. Boys like that are rabbit dogs. They see something run, they’re going to chase it. Can’t help themselves, poor things. It’s in their nature. So don’t get feeling blue for hurting them. Only way a rabbit dog learns not to chase something is to beat the chase right out of it. You did them a favor. Maybe next time they smell fear, they’ll think twice.”
Got played again. “Did you get a good show?”
“I was fairly certain it was you from the descriptions, but I needed to make sure. My clients pay me to be thorough. I learned all about your history, Sullivan. Up until you dropped off the face of the Earth last year.”
She knew quite a bit about him; he knew nothing about her, except for an impression that she was crafty, and therefore dangerous. “Why are you here?”
“I’m protecting my current employer’s interest. You knew some mobsters . . . Well, the mob’s got nothing on big companies when it comes to protecting what’s theirs, and we can play pretty dirty too.”
“The Bureau calls it industrial espionage,” Cowley said.
“I would never
“No. You have to be alive. That’s orders. I volunteered to come up and talk, because I told them you can be hardheaded, but you’re basically a decent sort. However, even if we have to shoot you down with tranquilizer darts and throw a net on you like some sort of wild jungle cat, you’re going to Jersey.”
Sullivan let the curtain fall. “Well, hell, Sam. Now you’ve got me all curious. And they do say that curiosity killed the wild jungle cat. Let me get my coat.”
There was one of the new Ford V10 Hyperions waiting. The engine was running and the exhaust formed a cloud in the chilly winter air. Cowley opened the passenger door and gestured for Sullivan to climb in.
“Nice ride,” Sullivan said as he sat down.
“That’s why we’re taking mine. Government cars are garbage scows in comparison,” said the driver.
He looked over to see who it was. “Well, that figures.”
“Evening, Mr. Important,” the woman from the library said.
“You left off the Nobody.”
This time she was wearing a cold-weather dress, and her hair was light brown rather than bright red and tied back neat and plain. “Let’s take a ride.”
“A wig . . . Too bad. I fancy redheads.”
Cowley got into the backseat and closed the door behind him. The Hyperion featured a state of the art interior heater, and that made the night slightly more bearable. The girl put it into gear and took off entirely too fast. One police car got in front and turned on its siren while another pulled in behind and did the same. Wherever they were going, they were planning on getting there quick.
“How long you been following me?” Sullivan asked her.
“Found you yesterday. Watched you all day today,” she answered, all business, eyes on the road. The socialite accent was gone, replaced with one that sounded vaguely East Texas, and he had no idea if it was real either. “It was easy to do, what with your nose in a book the whole time. You know normally men tend to notice me sooner when I’m all dolled up like that. It makes tailing men challenging.”
“I can imagine. Sorry, been preoccupied. Miss?”
“Hammer.”
“Nice to make your acquaintance, again. Miss Hammer.” Which probably wasn’t her real name either. There weren’t any females that worked at the BI other than clerical staff, and judging by the way she had played him like a sucker earlier, she was no stenotyper. “I didn’t know Hoover had started hiring lady agents.”
“He doesn’t,” Cowley chimed in. “Miss Hammer’s a—”
“Freelance consultant,” she said. “I don’t work for the government. I take care of odd jobs. I’m assuming you’re not offended by a woman in the work force.”
“Can’t say I’ve given it much thought. The mugging?”
“Oh, nothing I couldn’t handle, but I provoked those boys on purpose. Boys like that are rabbit dogs. They see something run, they’re going to chase it. Can’t help themselves, poor things. It’s in their nature. So don’t get feeling blue for hurting them. Only way a rabbit dog learns not to chase something is to beat the chase right out of it. You did them a favor. Maybe next time they smell fear, they’ll think twice.”
Got played again. “Did you get a good show?”
“I was fairly certain it was you from the descriptions, but I needed to make sure. My clients pay me to be thorough. I learned all about your history, Sullivan. Up until you dropped off the face of the Earth last year.”
She knew quite a bit about him; he knew nothing about her, except for an impression that she was crafty, and therefore dangerous. “Why are you here?”
“I’m protecting my current employer’s interest. You knew some mobsters . . . Well, the mob’s got nothing on big companies when it comes to protecting what’s theirs, and we can play pretty dirty too.”
“The Bureau calls it industrial espionage,” Cowley said.
“I would never
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