Hit Man

imagination. Anyway, we’re out of it.”
    “Maybe that’s best.”
    “Not from a dollars-and-cents standpoint. No money for you, and refunds for both clients, who’ll either look elsewhere or be reduced to shooting each other. I hate to give money back once it’s been paid.”
    “What did they do, pay half in front?”
    “Uh-huh. Usual system.”
    He frowned, trying to work it out. “Go home,” she said. “Pet Andria and give Nelson a kiss, or is it the other way around? Sleep on it and let me know what you decide.”
    He took the train to Grand Central and walked home, rode up in the elevator, used his key in the lock. The apartment was dark and quiet, just as he’d left it. Nelson’s dish was in a corner of the kitchen. Keller looked at it and felt like a Gold Star Mother, keeping her son’s room exactly as he had left it. He knew he ought to put the dish away or chuck it out altogether, but he didn’t have the heart.
    He unpacked and showered, then went around the corner for a beer and a burger. He took a walk afterward, but it wasn’t much fun. He went back to the apartment and called the airlines. Then he packed again and caught a cab to JFK.
    He phoned White Plains while he waited for them to call his flight. “On my way,” he told Dot.
    “You continue to surprise me, Keller,” she said. “I thought for sure you’d stay the night.”
    “No reason to.”
    There was a pause. Then she said, “Keller? Is something wrong?”
    “Andria left,” he said, surprising himself. He hadn’t intended to say anything. Eventually, sure, but not just yet.
    “That’s too bad,” Dot said. “I thought the two of you were happy.”
    “So did I.”
    “Oh.”
    “She has to find herself,” Keller said.
    “You know, I’ve heard people say that, and I never know what the hell they’re talking about. How would you lose yourself in the first place? And how would you know where to look for yourself?”
    “I wondered that myself.”
    “Of course she’s awfully young, Keller.”
    “Right.”
    “Too young for you, some would say.”
    “Some would.”
    “Still, you probably miss her. Not to mention Nelson.”
    “I miss them both,” he said.
    “I mean you both must miss her,” Dot said. “Wait a minute. What did you just say?”
    “They just called my flight,” he said, and broke the connection.
    Cincinnati’s airport was across the river in Kentucky. Keller had turned in his Avis car that morning, and thought it might seem strange if he went back to the same counter for another one. He went to Budget instead, and got a Honda.
    “It’s a Japanese car,” the clerk told him, “but it’s actually produced right here in the US of A.”
    “That’s a load off my mind,” Keller told him.
    He checked into a motel half a mile from the previous one and called in from a restaurant pay phone. He had a batch of questions, things he needed to know about Barry Moncrieff, the fellow who was at once Client #1 and Assignment #2. Dot, instead of answering, asked him a question of her own.
    “What do you mean, you miss them both? Where’s the dog?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “She ran off with your dog? Is that what you’re saying?”
    “They went off together,” he said. “Nobody was running.”
    “Fine, she walked off with your dog. I guess she figured she needed him to help her go look for herself. What did she do, skip town while you were in Cincinnati?”
    “Earlier,” he said. “And she didn’t skip town. We talked about it, and she said she thought it would be best if she took Nelson with her.”
    “And you agreed?”
    “More or less.”
    “ ‘More or less’? What does that mean?”
    “I’ve often wondered myself. She said I don’t really have time for him, and I travel a lot, and. . . I don’t know.”
    “But he was your dog long before you even met her. You hired her to walk him when you were out of town.”
    “Right.”
    “And one thing led to another, and she wound up living there. And the next thing you know she’s telling you it’s best if the dog goes with her.”
    “Right.”
    “And away they go.”
    “Right.”
    “And you don’t know where, and you don’t know if they’ll be back.”
    “Right.”
    “When did this happen, Keller?”
    “About a month ago. Maybe a little longer, maybe six weeks.”
    “You never said anything.”
    “No.”
    “I went on about how you should pet him and kiss her, whatever I said, and you didn’t say anything.”
    “I