Certain Prey

the mistake, he’d tell them about the software glitch that they might want to patch up before their clients started getting ripped off, and they found themselves liable for a billion bucks or something.”
    “They did it?”
    “Took them aweek to agree,” Carmel said. “They hated to apologize—hated it. But they did it. Then he insisted on a contract that would pay him another half-million for isolating the bug. Said it was severance pay, and he deserved it. They eventually did that, too. I guess they got their money’s worth.”
    Rinker shook her head: “Don’t people just work for money anymore?”
    Carmel didn’t want to think about that question. Instead, she said, “Um, listen, what do I call you?”
    “Pamela Stone,” Rinker said. “By the way, do you know how to get to South Washington County Park?”
    “No, I don’t think so.”
    “I’ll show you on a map,” Rinker said. “We gotta get my guns back. Can’t fly with them, you know.” C ARMEL KEPT looking at Rinker as they headed out of the airport to the parking ramp; looking for some sign that she could be an executioner for the mob. But Rinker wasn’t a monster. She was a chick, chattering away about the flight, about an airline-magazine article on body piercing, and about the Jaguar, as they pulled through the pay booths: “I drive a Chevy, myself.”
    Carmel listened for a while and then Rinker put a hand on Carmel’s forearm and said, “Carmel, you’ve gotta relax. You’re tighter’n a drum. You look like you’re gonna explode.”
    “That’s because I don’t want to spend the next thirty years locked in a closet like some fuckin’ squirrel,” Carmel said.
    “They’re locking squirrels in closets now?” Rinker asked.
    Carmel had to smile, despite herself, and loosened her grip on the steering wheel. “You know what I mean.”
    “Ain’t gonna happen anyway,” Rinker said. “We’ll get this Rolo fellow in a quiet place, explain the situation to him, and get the tape.”
    “And kill him?”
    Rinker shrugged. “Maybe he’s made three or four copies. If he tells us about two of them, and the third one is hidden somewhere . . . maybe if he’s gone, it’ll never be found.”
    “We can’t take the chance that there’s a third one. We have to make sure we can get them all before we do it. Kill him.”
    “We’ll scare him,” Rinker said. “I can guarantee that. But there’s no way we can finally be sure.”
    “How’ll we do it?”
    “Leave it to me. I’ll pick him up with you, tag him, and when he’s alone, I’ll take him. Is there a farm store around here? Or a truck store? Or a big hardware place?”
    “Yeah, I suppose.”
    “We’re gonna need some chain and a couple of padlocks and some other stuff . . .” S OUTH W ASHINGTON C OUNTY P ARK was twenty miles south of St. Paul, a complex of hiking and skiing trails. Only two cars were parked in the entry lot, but their drivers were nowhere to be seen.
    “Park down at the end,” Rinker said, pointing. Carmel parked, and they got out. Rinker, carrying her leather backpack, led the way down a trail along a tiny creek, then up a hillside covered with thick-trunked oaks. At the top of the hill, she took a long look around, then led the way off the trail, back into the trees. After a minute, they came to a fence separating the park from a farm field. Rinker turned down the fence, finally said, “Here.”
    She stepped away from the fence, knelt next to an oak and probed between two of its roots. The dirt was soft, and came away easily. After a minute, she pulled two automatic pistols from the ground, the dirt still clinging to them.
    At that moment, Carmel was aware that she was out of sight of everyone, in a nearly deserted park, with a killer who now had two guns. If Rinker killed her, here and now, who would know, until some hiker way off the beaten path found her body? Rinker could take the Jag and park it downtown. Or who was to say that she hadn’t somehow pre-positioned one of those cars in the parking lot down below?
    The whole scenario flitted through Carmel’s mind in a half-second. Rinker brushed dirt off the two pistols, put them in her leather backpack, and said, “You worry too much.”
    “I anticipate,” Carmel said.
    “Why didn’t you anticipate that Rolo was making a movie?” Rinker asked politely.
    Carmel didn’t dodge the question. She grimaced and said, “I fucked up. I knew something wasn’t right. I remember thinking