The Bodies Left Behind

you meet him?”
    “A mutual friend.”
    “Who’d that be?”
    “Freddy Lancaster.”
    “Freddy, sure. How’s his wife doing?”
    Michelle had laughed. “That’d be tough to find out, Hart. She died two years ago.”
    And Hart had laughed too. “Oh, that’s right. Bad memory. How does Freddy like St. Paul?”
    “St. Paul? He lives in Milwaukee.”
    “This memory of mine.”
    The Dance  . . .
    After his first meeting with Brenda-Michelle, Hart had made phone calls to both Gordon Potts and FreddyLancaster to verify times, dates and places down to the tenth decimal. A dozen other calls too, after which he was confident that nobody was working for the law. Brenda Jennings was a petty thief with no history of informing on her partners—and was also, Hart now knew, an identity Michelle had stolen.
    So he arranged another meeting to discuss the job itself.
    Michelle had explained she’d heard that Steven Feldman had been making inquiries about swapping old bills, silver certificates, for newer Federal Reserve notes. She’d looked into the situation and learned about some meatpacking executive who’d hidden cash in his summer home in the 1950s. A million bucks. She gave Hart the details.
    “That’s a lot of money.”
    “Yeah, it is, Hart. So you’re interested?”
    “Keep going.”
    “Here’s a map of the area. That’s a private road. Lake View Drive. And there? That’s a state park, all of it. Hardly any people around. Here’s a diagram of the house.”
    “Okay . . . This a dirt road or paved?”
    “Dirt . . . Hart, they tell me you’re good. Are you good? I hear you’re a craftsman. That’s what they say.”
    As he’d studied the map he’d asked absently, “Who’s ‘they’?”
    “People.”
    “Well, yeah, I’m a craftsman.”
    Hart had been aware of her studying him closely. He looked back into her eyes. She said, “Can I ask you a question?”
    A lifted eyebrow. “Yeah.”
    “I’m curious. Why’re you in this line of work?”
    “It suits me.”
    Hart was somebody who didn’t believe in psychoanalysis or spending too much time contemplating your soul. He believed you felt in harmony or you didn’t, and if you bucked that feeling you were making a big mistake.
    God, doesn’t the boredom just kill them? It would me. I need more, Brynn. Don’t you?
    Michelle had nodded, as if she understood exactly what he meant and had been hoping for just that answer. She said, “It looks like it does.”
    He got tired of talking about himself. “Okay. What’s the threat situation?”
    “The what?”
    “How risky’s the job going to be? How many people up there, weapons, police nearby? It’s a lake house—are the other houses on Lake View occupied?”
    “It’ll be a piece of cake, Hart. Hardly any risk at all. The other places’ll be vacant. And only the two of them up there, the Feldmans. And no rangers in the park or cops around for miles.”
    “They have weapons?”
    “Are you kidding? They’re city people. She’s a lawyer, he’s a social worker.”
    “Just the Feldmans, nobody else? It’ll make a big difference.”
    “That’s my information. And it’s solid. Just the two of them.”
    “And nobody gets hurt?”
    “Absolutely not,” she had said. “I wouldn’t do this if there was a chance anybody’d get hurt.” Brenda-Michelle had smiled reassuringly.
    Lots of money, nobody hurt. Sounded good. Still, he’d said, “I’ll get back to you.”
    Hart had driven home and researched what she’d told him. Sitting at his computer, he’d laughed out loud. Sure enough, it was all true. And he was confident that no cops in the world would come up with a sting like this. They offered drugs, perped merchandise, funny money, but they didn’t suggest a caper out of a Nicolas Cage movie.
    Then came the big day. They’d driven up to Lake Mondac in the stolen Ford together. He, Compton Lewis and Michelle. The two men had broken in and, while they held the Feldmans at gunpoint, Michelle was supposed to come into the kitchen, tape up their hands and start interrogating them about the money. Instead of the duct tape, though, she was carrying a 9mm subcompact Glock. She’d walked past Hart and shot the couple point-blank.
    In the ringing silence that followed she turned around and walked into the living room like nothing had happened.
    Hart had stared at her, trying to figure it out.
    “The fuck did you do?” gasped Lewis, who’d been poking around in the fridge