Hit List

least you were on the scene. When Petrosian got it you were watching TV in your motel room.”
    “First there was a commercial,” he said, “and I couldn’t tell what they were advertising. And then Petrosian dropped dead, and the first thing I thought was the guy in the helicopter shot him. But nobody shot him, or stabbed him with an umbrella, or sprayed poisoned perfume in his face.”
    “He just dropped dead.”
    “In front of God and everybody.”
    “Especially everybody.” She took a long drink of iced tea. “We got paid,” she said.
    “That was quick.”
    “Well, you’ve got a real fan club in Albuquerque, Keller. There are some people there who may not know your name, but they’re sure crazy about your work.”
    “So they paid the second half. How about the escalator?”
    “It was marble steps. Oh, sorry, I got lost there. Yes, they paid the escalator. You nailed the bastard before they could even swear him in. They paid the escalator, and they paid a bonus.”
    “A bonus?”
    “A bonus.”
    “Why? What for?”
    “To make themselves feel good, would be my guess. I don’t know what the prisons are like in New Mexico, but I gather they’re grateful not to be going, and they wanted to make a grand gesture. What they said, the bonus was for dramatic effect.”
    “Dramatic effect?”
    “On the courthouse steps, Keller? The man dies surrounded by G-men, and the whole world gets to see him do it over and over again? Believe me, they’ll get their money’s worth out of this one. They’ll be playing that tape every time they swear in a new member. ‘You think you can ever cross us and get away with it? Look what happened to Petrosian.’ “
    He thought about it. “Dot,” he said, “I didn’t do anything.”
    “You just went out every morning for a Mexican breakfast.”
    “Huevos rancheros.”
    “And here I always thought a Mexican breakfast was a cigarette and a glass of water. You ate eggs and watched television. What else? Get to a movie?”
    “Once or twice.”
    “Buy any stamps?”
    He shook his head. “Roswell’s like a three- or four-hour drive from Albuquerque. The stamp dealers in town, a couple of them just work through the mails, and the one shop I went to was basically a coin dealer. He sells supplies and albums, a few packets, but he doesn’t really have a stamp stock.”
    “Well, you can buy stamps now, Keller. Lots of them.”
    “I suppose so.”
    She frowned. “Something’s bothering you,” she said.
    “I told you. I didn’t do anything.”
    “I know, and that’ll have to be our little secret. And who’s to say it’s true?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Think about it,” she said, and hummed the Twilight Zone theme. “You go to Illinois and Klinger gets hit by a car. You go to Albuquerque and Petrosian has a handy little heart attack. Coincidence?”
    “But . . .”
    “Maybe your thoughts are powerful, Keller. Maybe all you have to do is get to thinking about a guy and his ticket’s punched.”
    “That’s crazy,” he said.
    “Be that as it may,” said Dot.

Seventeen
----
    “It’s been a while,” Maggie Griscomb said.
    They were in her loft on Crosby Street. Keller’s clothes were neatly folded on the couch, while Maggie’s lay in a black heap on the floor. Music played on her stereo, something weird and electronic. Keller couldn’t guess what the instruments were, let alone why they were being played like that.
    “I thought you weren’t going to call me anymore,” she said. “And then you did. And here you are.”
    Here he was, in her bed, his perspiration evaporating beneath the overhead fan.
    “I was out of town,” he said.
    “I know.”
    “How?” He turned to face her, worked to keep the alarm from showing on his face or in his voice. “That I was out of town,” he said. “How did you know that?”
    “You told me.”
    “I told you?”
    “Two hours ago,” she said, “or whenever it was that you called. ‘Hi, it’s me, I was out of town.’ “
    “Oh.”
    “Or words to that effect. Does it all come back to you now?”
    “Sure,” he said. “I was confused there for a minute, that’s all.”
    “Addled by lovemaking.”
    “Must be.”
    She rolled over on her side, propped her pointed chin on his chest. “You thought I was checking up on you,” she said.
    “No.”
    “Sure you did. You thought I meant I already knew you were out of town, before you told me.”
    That was what he’d thought, all right. And