Hit Man

bodyguard, sat like a coiled spring.
    Too many people, Keller thought. Give it another day.
    The next day he arrived at the same time and the hostess led him to the table he’d reserved. Dinsmore’s table had two places set, and a RESERVED sign in place. Keller got to his feet and went to the men’s room, where he locked himself in a stall.
    A few minutes later he left the men’s room and threaded his way through the maze of tables, passing close to the Dinsmore table on his way, bumping into it, reaching out to steady himself.
    As far as he could tell, nobody paid him any attention.
    He returned to his own table, sat down, waited. At 12:30 Dinsmore’s table was still unoccupied. What would he do if they gave it to somebody else? He couldn’t try to undo what he’d just done, could he? He didn’t see how, not with people sitting at the table.
    Risky plan, he thought. Too many ways it could go wrong. If he’d been able to talk it through with Nelson first—
    Get a grip on yourself, he told himself.
    He was doing just that when Dinsmore and the wrestler turned up, the executive in a testy mood, the bodyguard looking sullen and bored. There was a bad moment when the hostess seemed uncertain where to seat them, but then she worked it out and led them to their usual table.
    Keller longed to get out of there. He’d been picking at his veal ever since it had been placed in front of him. It tasted flat, but he figured anything would just then. Could he just put some money on the table and get the hell out? Or did he have to sit there and wait?
    Fifteen minutes after his arrival, Dinsmore cried out, clutched his throat, and pitched forward onto the table. Half an hour after that, Keller turned in his rental car at the airport and booked his flight home.
    In the cab from the airport, Keller had to fight the impulse to have the driver stop so he could pick up something for Nelson. He’d changed planes in St. Louis, and he’d spent most of his time between flights in the gift shop, trying to find something for the dog. But what would Nelson do with a snow shaker or a souvenir coffee mug? What did he want with a Cardinals cap, or a sweatshirt with a representation of the Gateway Arch?
    “You hardly touched that,” the waitress in Omaha had said of his veal. “Do you want a doggie bag?”
    He’d been stuck for an answer. “Sorry,” he said at length. “I’m a little rattled. That poor man . . .” he’d added, with a gesture toward the table where Dinsmore had been sitting.
    “Oh, I’m sure he’ll be all right,” she said. “He’s probably sitting up in his hospital bed right now, joking with his nurses.”
    Keller didn’t think so.
    “Hey, Mist’ Keller,” the elevator operator said. “Ain’t seen you in a while, sir.”
    “It’s good to be back.”
    “That dog be glad to see you,” the man said. “That Nelson, he’s a real good dog.”
    He was also out, a fact the attendant had neglected to mention. Keller unlocked the door and entered the apartment, calling the dog’s name and getting no response. He unpacked, and decided to delay his shower until the dog was back and the girl had gone for the day.
    He could have had several showers. It was fully forty minutes from the time he sat down in front of the television set until he heard Andria’s key in the lock. As soon as the door was open Nelson came flying across the room, leaping up to greet Keller, tail wagging furiously.
    Keller felt wonderful. A wave of contentment passed through him, and he got down on his knees to play with his dog.
    * * *
    “I’m sorry you had to come home to an empty house,” Andria said. “If we’d known you were coming—”
    “That’s all right.”
    “Well, I’d better be going. You must be exhausted, you’ll want to get to bed.”
    “Not for a few hours,” he said, “but I’ll want a shower. There’s something about spending a whole day in airports and on planes—”
    “I know what you mean,” she said. “Well, Nelson, what’s today? Tuesday? I guess I won’t be seeing you until Friday.” She petted the dog, then looked across at Keller. “You still want me to give him his regular walk on Friday, don’t you?”
    “Definitely.”
    “Good, because I’ll be looking forward to it. He’s my favorite client.” She gave the dog another pat. “And thanks for paying me, and for the bonus. It’s great of you. I mean, if I wind up having to get a hotel room, I can afford it.”
    “A hotel