Hit List

couldn’t wait.”
    “Evidently not, one reason or another. It’s a good thing, too, because he would have had me cold. I wouldn’t have expected a thing. And if he tried for me in New York and killed the wrong person, he could come back the next day and try again.”
    “The miserable son of a bitch.”
    “You could call him that.”
    “It’s not like he doesn’t have enough work. The way you laid it out, he turns down a job every time.”
    “Well, that’s the way I would do it.”
    “And I’ll bet it’s the way he does it, too, the rat bastard. Well, he made a mistake. He’s in trouble.”
    “He’s in trouble? We don’t know anything about him, Dot. Not who he is or where he lives or what he looks like. How much trouble can he be in?”
    “We know he’s out there,” she said grimly. “And that’s enough. Keller, go home.”
    “Huh?”
    “Go home, lie down, put your feet up. Play with your stamps. This guy’s not a danger today. He probably thinks he got the right person when he nailed Louis Minot. And even if he knows better, he doesn’t know where to look for you. So go home and live your life.”
    “And?”
    “And I’ll pick up the phone,” she said, “and ask a few questions, and see what I can find out about this unprincipled son of a bitch.”
    “What I don’t get,” she was saying, “is where they get off calling this a Long Island Iced Tea. There must be half a dozen different kinds of booze in it, but is there any tea at all?”
    “You’re asking the wrong person.”
    “No tea,” she decided. “Are they being ironic? Like this is what they drink for tea on Long Island? Or do you figure it’s a reference to Prohibition?”
    “Beats me.”
    “And I bet you don’t care, either. Well, one of these is going to be enough, I’ll say that much. I want to be sober when I shop, and the last thing I want is to sleep through The Lion King tonight.”
    They were at a restaurant on Madison Avenue. Dot didn’t come to the city often, and when she did she managed to look like a suburban matron all gussied up for a day of shopping and a night at the theater. Which was reasonable enough, he thought, since that pretty much described her.
    When the food came she said, “Well, let’s get to it. I didn’t want to do this over the phone, and why make you chase up to White Plains when I had to come in anyway? I ordered this ticket so long ago I feel as though I’ve already seen the play. I made some calls.”
    “You said you were going to.”
    “And I found out a thing or two about Roger.”
    “That’s his name?”
    “Probably not,” she said, “but that’s what he goes by. No last name, just Roger.”
    “Where does he live?”
    “Nobody knows.”
    “Somebody’s got to. Not his address necessarily, but the city.”
    “Roger the Lodger,” she said. “But wherever he’s lodged, it’s a secret.”
    “If somebody wants to reach me,” he said, “they go through you. Who do you call to reach Roger?”
    “Any of several brokers. Or you call him direct.”
    “Well, there you go. His number must have an area code. What is it?”
    “Three-oh-nine.”
    “I don’t know that one.”
    “Peoria, Illinois. But all you get when you call the number is his voice mail at Sprint’s central office, and that’s nowhere near Peoria. You leave a number and he calls you back.”
    “You figure he lives in Peoria?”
    “There’s a chance,” she said, “but I’ve probably got a better chance in the lottery, and I haven’t bought a ticket. I think he went to Peoria once and bought a cell phone just so he could have the voice mail.”
    “He calls you back,” he said. “Probably not on his cell phone, he probably just uses that for his messages. Then what?”
    “You tell him about the job and he says yes or no.”
    “You give him the name and address, the other details.”
    “And anything else he’s going to need.”
    “Suppose you want to point out the target?”
    She shook her head. “No finger men for Roger. Nobody ever meets his plane.”
    “In other words, nobody ever sees the guy.”
    “Right.”
    “Well, that’s damn smart,” he said. “And from now on it’s how we do business, and not because we’re afraid of the client.”
    “But because we’re afraid of Roger.”
    “Not afraid exactly, but—“
    “But close enough. How’s your veal?”
    “It’s fine. What’s that, filet of sole?”
    “And it’s nice,” she said, “only a Long Island Iced