The Hanged Man's Song

too fast and I had to slow her down. “What a rush,” she said. “What a rush.”

Chapter Fourteen
    >>> WE DROVE A HALF-MILE or so, taking it easy, watching for anything that was moving fast. Three or four minutes out, I turned LuEllen around and we went back into the neighborhood, looking for the Corolla. We didn’t find it, nor did we see Carp again. Life went on around the park—there were no cops, no people standing around scratching their heads. We both turned toward a running body, but it was a kid, having a good time. We’d given a gunfight, and nobody came.
    “Let’s go to a zoo or something,” LuEllen said. She was manic, her eyes sparkling, her cheeks pink. “Let’s go on a hike. Let’s gofor a run. Let’s do something. We gotta get out of that hotel room. I can’t think in there anymore.”
    “Maybe we could, uh . . .” I was struck by a thought.
    After a moment LuEllen said, “What?”
    I looked out the car window at a large woman in a poppy-orange blouse, leading, on a leash, a dog the size of a biscuit. “Just drive, don’t talk to me.”
    I kicked the seat back as far as it would go, put an arm over my eyes, and tried to work it out. Doing the numbers. Thinking about the tarot, about the King of Cups reversed. At some point LuEllen asked, “You all right?” I could feel the wheels bumping along the road, feel us rolling to a stop at a light—feel LuEllen looking at me.
    Five minutes, doing the numbers, and then LuEllen said, “C’mon, Kidd. What happened? You’re not having a stroke?”
    I exhaled, cranked the seat back upright, and looked out the window. We were at a little business intersection and I could see the Washington Monument ahead and off to the left, a white arrow against the blue sky. Nice day. “That motherfucker.”
    “Who?”
    “Carp is Lemon.”
    We sat halfway through a red light before she noticed. As we went through, she said, “Tell me.”
    “We get a note out of the blue—doesn’t have to be from Bobby, just has to be from somebody who knows Bobby is dead. Doesn’t demand contact, just allows us to make it on our terms, so that we feel safe. Guides us into Washington. John’s black and I’m white, and the two guys who went to his apartment . . .”
    “Black and white.”
    “And it was almost dark, and he was waiting for us, a black-and-white pair. He knew we’d be coming because he gave us the address, and he knew at that point that we weren’t from the government, because we’d responded to his e-mail. He knew we were Bobby’s pals because we told him so. He knew we’d check the address he gave us, to see if it was really Carp’s. We did. It’s the same technique he used to get Bobby. It’s like fly-fishing. You throw the fly out there, let it drift, wait for a strike.”
    “But he—”
    “Yeah. His big mistake—this must have really mind-fucked him—was that he didn’t know that there were two groups looking for him, that there were two black-and-white pairs. He must’ve thought that if two unknown people from Minnesota and wherever else got shot in a bad neighborhood, who could connect it to his apartment? But he kills a couple of government guys who were going to his apartment, so now . . .”
    “He’s screwed.”
    “Well. Maybe they can’t prove it. He was wearing that wig; he’ll have been reported as a blond.”
    She thought about it for a minute “And he didn’t know John was shot. . . .”
    “Right. He didn’t know that for sure. He was already running when he pulled the trigger. And if he slowed down when he realized he wasn’t being chased, and circled back and looked at the car, he would have seen John walking out and getting in with the rest of us. And that’s where he got the tag number off the car.”
    “Then, after the miss at his apartment, after he sees in thepaper that he got the wrong guys, he sets us up,” she finished. She thought about it for a moment and then said, “Ah, shit.”
    “Yeah. Maybe I’m wrong. But I’d say it’s at least ten to one that Carp and Lemon are the same guy.”
    “We were chumps.”
    “That’s not the major problem. I mean, we’re not dead, anyway. The major problem is, he contacted me. By name. He knows who I am.”
    I was looking at her, and she turned her head and I saw something like fear in her eyes. “That’s . . . doesn’t get any worse than that.”
    “Not this side of being dead. But we’ve gotta get back online. I can check