you think I give a shit about that?”
“No, sir,” Parker murmured, looking over his shoulder as another EMT team arrived on the scene. The whole situation was becoming ridiculous. From what he could see, he hadn’t even clipped his damned target. “It isn’t your concern. I’ll be taking care of him along with Mitchell, just like I did your guy at Skywood.”
“The handler needed to die, anyway. I wasn’t going to shell out half a million dollars for him to drag the boy out to a fucking garden.” The gruff-voiced man grunted. “What’s your ETA on taking care of the boy?”
“I don’t know. Soon.”
“Did you at least take care of those damned actors before you headed out there?”
“The ‘mom’ and ‘dad’? Yeah. Tragic house fire. No survivors at either place.” Parker’s fingers were beginning to itch, and his mouth dried. He’d lost his damned cigarettes someplace, and he needed to stay calm, especially when dealing with his employer. He’d have to pick some up before he hunted Mitchell down. “I got any papers out that referenced their hire.”
“Assholes. Kept calling me to talk about how my fucking nephew was doing.” The scorn in the man’s voice carried strong over the crackling phone line. “I could have given a shit about how he was doing. The only reason I hired them was to back up the story the doctors spun him.”
“So why take Mitchell out now? Shit, why even go through any of this? He was already dead.” Parker risked a question, wondering if he even cared about the answer. His employer was a steaming vent of a man. Knowing the asshole on the other side of the phone would send in someone to kill him just for spite was the only thing that kept him from walking away from the job.
“Because he’s worth a shitload of money, and I need it. Merchandising alone is going through the roof, but that fucking singer won’t release the commercial rights to their songs. That’s someone else you might have to take care of while you’re out there,” the man groused. “And I wanted this done at Skywood because he’s starting to remember things—solid stuff someone else could back up if they wanted to. With his fucking marbles in place, he’s better off dead. Look, just find the boy and take care of him. If you can’t do him in the next twenty-four hours, call me back. We’re going to have to start taking care of other shit there to drive him out into the open.”
Parker had half a mind to tell the man to shove it. One day, probably soon, he was going to find himself on the wrong end of a bullet. His employer’s pension plan was a simple one. Outgrow your usefulness and someone like Parker would be knocking on your door. He knew what to expect. After all, it was how his predecessor retired, and Parker’d been the one to deliver the man’s pink slip.
No, doing the kid would be his last job for the man. The money from Mitchell’s kill would go a long way to helping Parker disappear. He’d already looked into setting up a gator farm in the Everglades, and if someone came looking for him to tie up his boss’s loose ends, he’d have a ready supply of hungry carnivores to take care of any nasty business that came his way.
He closed the phone, ambled over to a sidewalk coffee kiosk, and caught the attention of the tiny, pretty Filipina barista working the cart. Smiling as widely as the crocs he hoped to own one day, Parker leaned on the counter and murmured. “So, what do I have to do to get a coffee around here?”
Chapter 4
The stars are crying
It’s like the world knows you’re gone.
Slipping away and sliding on,
The shadows hold your voice
I keep hearing you on the wind
Either come back to my side
Or leave me the hell alone
— In Blue Notebook Margins, Page 82
D EE looked like he was going to bolt. Sionn could see it from across the pier walk even through the still-thick fog. Watching the lean guitarist intently, he didn’t hear what the inspector
“No, sir,” Parker murmured, looking over his shoulder as another EMT team arrived on the scene. The whole situation was becoming ridiculous. From what he could see, he hadn’t even clipped his damned target. “It isn’t your concern. I’ll be taking care of him along with Mitchell, just like I did your guy at Skywood.”
“The handler needed to die, anyway. I wasn’t going to shell out half a million dollars for him to drag the boy out to a fucking garden.” The gruff-voiced man grunted. “What’s your ETA on taking care of the boy?”
“I don’t know. Soon.”
“Did you at least take care of those damned actors before you headed out there?”
“The ‘mom’ and ‘dad’? Yeah. Tragic house fire. No survivors at either place.” Parker’s fingers were beginning to itch, and his mouth dried. He’d lost his damned cigarettes someplace, and he needed to stay calm, especially when dealing with his employer. He’d have to pick some up before he hunted Mitchell down. “I got any papers out that referenced their hire.”
“Assholes. Kept calling me to talk about how my fucking nephew was doing.” The scorn in the man’s voice carried strong over the crackling phone line. “I could have given a shit about how he was doing. The only reason I hired them was to back up the story the doctors spun him.”
“So why take Mitchell out now? Shit, why even go through any of this? He was already dead.” Parker risked a question, wondering if he even cared about the answer. His employer was a steaming vent of a man. Knowing the asshole on the other side of the phone would send in someone to kill him just for spite was the only thing that kept him from walking away from the job.
“Because he’s worth a shitload of money, and I need it. Merchandising alone is going through the roof, but that fucking singer won’t release the commercial rights to their songs. That’s someone else you might have to take care of while you’re out there,” the man groused. “And I wanted this done at Skywood because he’s starting to remember things—solid stuff someone else could back up if they wanted to. With his fucking marbles in place, he’s better off dead. Look, just find the boy and take care of him. If you can’t do him in the next twenty-four hours, call me back. We’re going to have to start taking care of other shit there to drive him out into the open.”
Parker had half a mind to tell the man to shove it. One day, probably soon, he was going to find himself on the wrong end of a bullet. His employer’s pension plan was a simple one. Outgrow your usefulness and someone like Parker would be knocking on your door. He knew what to expect. After all, it was how his predecessor retired, and Parker’d been the one to deliver the man’s pink slip.
No, doing the kid would be his last job for the man. The money from Mitchell’s kill would go a long way to helping Parker disappear. He’d already looked into setting up a gator farm in the Everglades, and if someone came looking for him to tie up his boss’s loose ends, he’d have a ready supply of hungry carnivores to take care of any nasty business that came his way.
He closed the phone, ambled over to a sidewalk coffee kiosk, and caught the attention of the tiny, pretty Filipina barista working the cart. Smiling as widely as the crocs he hoped to own one day, Parker leaned on the counter and murmured. “So, what do I have to do to get a coffee around here?”
Chapter 4
The stars are crying
It’s like the world knows you’re gone.
Slipping away and sliding on,
The shadows hold your voice
I keep hearing you on the wind
Either come back to my side
Or leave me the hell alone
— In Blue Notebook Margins, Page 82
D EE looked like he was going to bolt. Sionn could see it from across the pier walk even through the still-thick fog. Watching the lean guitarist intently, he didn’t hear what the inspector
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