Day Two
July 22, 1952
Tuesday Morning
With no good way to abduct the little-nobody-waitress target at the moment, River headed back home to the rail spur to find January scrubbed up and looking pretty damn nice. She handed him a sealed envelope and said, “This was taped on the outside of the door.”
“Did you see who put it there?”
“No, why?”
“Just curious.”
Inside was a short, sweet message: “You missed the deadline. Contract is rescinded.”
River tore it in half, then another half and another, and threw it on the ground.
“What’s wrong?”
River heard the words coming out of January’s mouth but his brain was on too much fire to process them.
“What’s wrong?” she repeated.
“Later,” he said.
His body was already in motion, trotting for the car.
January was suddenly running at his side.
“Let me come with you.”
“No.”
“River-”
He swung her to a stop and held her at arms length. “Stay here.”
“But-”
“I’ll explain when I get back,” he said. “Right now it’s best if no one sees your face.”
“Why?”
He kissed her.
“Just trust me,” he said. “Stay here ’till I get back.”
Then he was in the car and gone.
He pointed the front end downtown, paying just enough attention to traffic to not bend someone’s fender.
Worst-case scenarios pounded through his brain.
He’d never had a contract rescinded before.
This was bad.
Bad.
Bad.
Bad.
Bad.
Bad.
It might even be the end.
Not just the end of his tenure but the end of his life. If they weren’t going to use him anymore, why would they let him keep breathing? What was the upside?
There wasn’t one.
He’d be a lot less risky six feet under in a wooden box. Let the spiders crawl over his face.
How would they take him out?
A cowardly bullet from the distance?
A knife in the back?
A rope around the neck?
More importantly, when would it come?
Tonight?
Yeah.
It would be tonight.
He could feel it moving in like an ugly black sky.
One thing was clear, crystal clear, crystal clear beyond belief, namely he’d been a fool for working all these years without knowing who he was working for. He should have never let the money lure him in. That would never happen again, guaranteed.
He parked a block down the street and headed to Alexa Blank’s restaurant at a brisk pace.
Through the window he saw her.
She was in a white dress and a black apron carrying two plates of food to a table.
He opened the door, stepped inside and took a seat in the corner booth.
She smiled at him and said, “Be right there.”
“No rush.”