Hit List

all of them quick and quiet and deadly.
    Unless he was the kind of guy who liked to take his time. There were people like that, Keller knew. You didn’t find too many in the professional ranks, but there were a few. He’d heard stories.
    He found himself remembering things about Maggie. The way she had of cocking her head. Other winning little mannerisms.
    No choice, he thought. Couldn’t be helped.
    He pictured her, looking sweet and saucy and desirable, and he willed himself to do the little trick he’d taught Dot. He turned the color level down, faded it all the way to black and white, then muted the contrast until it became shades of gray. He shrank the picture, moved it farther and farther away so that the image got smaller and smaller.
    He was holding it in his mind like that, just a blur, really, invisibly small, when Maggie’s light went out.
    Keller let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. For a moment he felt a slight sense of loss, but it gave way to anticipation. He was just about done with waiting. Now he was going to have a chance to do something.
    He drew back into the shadows and kept his eyes on the front door, waiting for the killer to emerge. But something made him look up, and he saw a faint red glow in the top-floor window, saw it brighten as the man drew on his cigarette.
    He was having a smoke, taking a long look out the window. Did he have the sense that someone was outside waiting for him? Keller figured he himself was invisible, but what about Roger? Was he around? Could the killer see him?
    And had Roger noticed the glow of the cigarette?

Twenty-eight
----
    The killer had a cigarette going when he emerged from the building. The same one, Keller figured. It was evidence, and he wouldn’t want to leave it behind. He flicked it at the curb, and sparks danced when it hit the pavement.
    The man looked both ways, then turned toward Keller. As soon as he did, Keller left the shelter of the doorway and walked on ahead of the man, leading him, turning left at the corner, walking toward oncoming traffic. He hailed a cab and got in front, next to the driver, who gave him a look, then asked the destination. Keller didn’t say anything until the killer came into view, then pointed him out to the driver.
    “See that man?” he said.
    “Guy with the hat?”
    “That’s the one. He’s going to get a cab, and we’re going to follow him.”
    “This a gag?”
    “I beg your pardon?”
    “ Candid Camera, something like that? And I got news for you, he’s not even trying for a cab. He’s walking.”
    “Follow him.”
    “Follow a guy that’s walking?”
    “Slowly,” Keller said. “Don’t get too close.”
    The man walked east for three blocks, setting a brisk pace. Keller followed him in the cab, trying to ignore the driver. Then the man turned, heading north on a street that was one-way southbound.
    “Shit,” Keller said, and paid off the cab. He got out on the opposite side of the street from his quarry and scanned the area, trying to determine if either of them was being followed. He couldn’t see anybody, but that didn’t necessarily mean there was nobody there.
    They walked for a couple of blocks, Maggie’s killer on the left-hand side of the avenue, Keller on the right. Then, at the corner of a westbound street with a fair amount of traffic, the man stepped to the curb and held up a hand. Keller did the same, and snatched the cab the man had been trying for. This time he got in back and leaned forward, pointing out the man to the driver.
    “He was tryin’ to flag me,” the driver said, “but you were first. You want to give him a ride?”
    Keller was tempted, but only for an instant. “No,” he said. “I want you to wait here, and when he gets a cab I want you to follow it.”
    “Good tip, right?”
    “Fifty bucks.”
    “Plus the meter?”
    “You drive a hard bargain,” Keller said. “Here we go. No, hang on. Wait a minute.”
    A cab had stopped, but pulled away after a brief conversation. “Maybe he didn’t like the guy’s looks,” the driver suggested.
    “Why not? He’s dressed decently.”
    “So maybe your guy didn’t like the cabby’s looks. Maybe the cab’s a mess, maybe some drunk puked in it.”
    “Maybe he wanted to go to the airport,” Keller thought aloud.
    “No,” the cabby said. “Brooklyn, maybe. Here’s another one stopping for him. Well, it’s his lucky day. He’s getting in.”
    “Don’t lose him,” Keller