Life Expectancy

asked.
        "We nailed Ornwall in March 2000. He was livin' in Miami under the name John Dillinger."
        "You're kidding," I said.
        "No, sir." Carson smiled and shook his head. "Ornwall knows end-all about banks and armored cars, but he's one bean short of a full spoon."
        "Maybe two beans."
        "He told us bein' Dillinger was like Edgar Allan Poe's story "The Purloined Letter," like hidin' in plain sight. Who would expect a wanted bank robber to be livin' under the name of a famous dead criminal?"
        "Obviously, you guys did."
        "Well, because first time we arrested Emory Ornwall and sent him to Leavenworth, he was hidin' under the name Jesse James."
        "Unbelievable," I said.
        "A lot of criminals," Carson said, "are dim bulbs."
        "More coffee?" Lorrie asked.
        "No thank you, ma'am. I can see you've got a big dinner comin' up, so I want to get out of your hair soon as I can."
        "You're welcome to stay."
        "Can't, I'm afraid. But thanks for your kindness. Anyway… like I said, Ornwall… he knows end-all about banks and armored cars, but he's no strategist or tactician. Beezo planned the jobs, and he was brilliant at it."
        "You're talking about our Beezo?" Lorrie asked disbelievingly.
        "I mean, ma'am, we've seen some smart guys gone wrong, but none the equal of him. We were in awe of Beezo."
        This surprised me. "He's crazy."
        "Maybe he is, maybe he isn't," Carson said, "but he's a genius when it comes to executin' big-ticket stickups. They say he was on his way to bein' the greatest clown of his day, and for sure he found this other line of work he was also born for."
        "From our experience, he's all emotion and rage, no reason."
        "Well, the genius sure wasn't Ornwall or the roustabouts, all second-raters. They would've screwed up most of their jobs if Beezo hadn't planned so well and kept them in line. Pure genius."
        "It did take some planning to bug our house that time and keep a watch on us from Nedra Lamm's place," Lorrie reminded me. Then she turned to Carson and got to the quick of it. "Where is he now?"
        "Ornwall tipped us that Beezo had gone to South America somewhere. He didn't know where, and it's a big continent."
        "When I was trapped in the Explorer with him, out there in the woods, he told me he'd gone to South America in '74," Lorrie said, "after he killed Dr. MacDonald."
        Carson nodded. "Back then he spent six months in Chile, two and a half years in Argentina. This time… took us a while, but we tracked him to Brazil."
        "You got him?"
        "No, ma'am. But we will."
        "He's there now-in Brazil?"
        "No, ma'am. He left the first of this month, thirty-six hours before we broke his cover, got his identity and address in Rio."
        Lorrie looked meaningfully at me.
        "Almost nailed him there," Carson continued. "But he skipped to Venezuela, where we have some problems with extradition treaties right now. Just a hiccup. He won't get out of there except we take him out in handcuffs or in a box."
        Only fear for her family could tighten Lorrie's face in such a way as to diminish her beauty. "He's not in Venezuela anymore," she told Porter Carson. "Sometime tomorrow… he's going to be here." hocolate marmalade cake, baked ham steeped in cherry juice, dark-roasted Colombian coffee, and the subtle sour scent of heart-piercing dread, which also manifested as a faint metallic taste … Until this moment, I hadn't realized that I had been deeply invested in the hope that Konrad Beezo was dead.
        I had told myself that I couldn't count him out, that prudence required me to assume that he remained alive.
        Unconsciously, however, I had put a stake through his heart. I had stuffed a clove of garlic in his mouth, placed a crucifix on his breast, and had buried him facedown in a churchyard of the mind.
        Now Beezo had risen.
        "Sometime tomorrow," Lorrie predicted, "or as early as midnight tonight, he'll be here."
        Her cold certainty surprised and perplexed Porter Carson. "No, ma'am, there's no chance of that."
        "I'd bet my life on it," she replied. "And in fact, Mr. Carson, that's exactly what I'll be doing, whether I like it or not."
        He turned to me. "Mr. Tock, I came here to ask something of you, but please believe me, I didn't come to warn you that Beezo is on