As it turned out, there was no need for me to be worried about offending her delicate sensibilities. The polecat whipped her pistol right across my nose, snapping it out of place. She followed up with another crack, this time to my temples, then jabbed her knee into my gut. She knew how to put her weight behind it, too. I collapsed to the floor, not knowing what to start complaining about first. I felt gunmetal slip between my teeth and push against the back of my tongue.
This was not good.
Trying to form words around the business end of her pistol, I managed to say: “Before you blow my brains out, can I ask who you are?” It came out with less clarity then I'd hoped for.
“Shhh,” she said. “Not a word."
“Sowwy,” I said, before I could catch myself. Whatever this was about, I sincerely hoped Amy was long out of earshot. There was still a chance I could explain away my odd behavior from a few moments ago. It would be a bit tougher to explain this.
“Where are your keys?"
“Ugh-ufh,” I mumbled.
She took the pistol out of my mouth and point it at my Adam's apple. I took the opportunity to swish my tongue around. Uck. The taste of gunmetal was hard to lose.
“I'm not going to die in my own apartment. I pay too much rent for something like that.” If my assailant came here to kill me, it would have happened already. Whoever this was clearly wanted to talk.
“You can feel this gun in your neck, right?"
“Yes, I can. Look, spit it out. I haven't got all night."
I heard her sigh. Not to sound sexist or anything-I know women today have this whole “libber” thing happening, but the fact remains I know how to diffuse a hostile female. It was the affectionate ones I had trouble with.
“Alright, Paul. I came here to talk."
Did I call this one, or what?
“Okay. Talk."
“Not here.” She nudged the gun into my head. “Over there. On the fire escape."
I walked over and through the door like a compliant puppy. Then I turned to face the woman. Of course. The murderess, Leah Farrell. I hadn't had the chance to fully study her during our recent encounter in the middle of Market Street. She was a handsome woman, despite beady eyes and lips that were a shade too thin.
“You know why I'm here. I want to know the new score. If you can satisfy me, I'll let you continue breathing for a while."
“Ooh, let me satisfy you,” I said.
Leah didn't seem to enjoy the crack. “Who's the bimbo?"
“Now that's not nice."
She poked the gun into my throat again. “Answer, please."
“She's nobody. She's a neighbor who's got the hots for yours truly."
“Hmm. I'd bet she would be real disappointed to discover you're screwing another chick."
“And who would that be?"
“Don't play dumb, Paul. Ray told me everything. Of course, everything up to a point. That's why I'm here. I want to know how the two of you did it. Most importantly, I need to know if you two got authorization from the Man."
Now I had no choice but to play dumb. Authorization? The Man, once again? I can only assume “the two” she was referring to was myself and Susannah Winston. Here was my chance to figure out the connection. If I didn't receive a bullet in the head first.
“Yes,” I bluffed. “We had authorization."
Leah's face collapsed like a condemned building. “I can't be-lieve it! All this time… What was the deal? He give you double what he promised Ray?” I noticed her pistol arm droop a bit. Keep her going, keep her going.
“I don't know. What did he promise Ray?"
“Far above the standard. He said it was almost too good to be true."
“Come on. How much?"
She looked at me and spat it out. “Half a million."
I whistled. Probably not the coolest thing to do, under the circumstances.
“What?” she asked. “They offer you the same thing?"
Had to think fast. Why would I whistle if my own fee was double?
“No, they didn't,” I said. “My offer was generous, but certainly not one million dollars."
“I don't understand it,” Leah said. “Why all this hassle to bump Ray out of the picture? He was nothing."
“You too seem to be getting along famously."
“I'm a babysitter. You should know that.” Then, logic must have set in. “Wait… wait… this still doesn't fit. Why did you fake your own death, only to meet up with Ray's tramp later?"
Now I was completely flummoxed. I could barely keep up with the conversation as it was, let alone try to fake a rationale for something I obviously didn't do. Did Brad fake his death? Of course not. He was dead when I found him. The idea was ridiculous. Yet, this was the course I steered myself into, and I was stuck driving it. That is, if I didn't want to arrange accommodations in the Brain Hotel for a hot spinning bullet.
I tried the usual way out: abrupt subject change. “Don't call her that."
“Are you going to tell me different? Come on, you don't think Ray was the first to have the little cooze. Besides, does Lana know you're diddling the girl next door?"
“Girl next door” obviously meant Amy; Leah must seen us together, waited for her to leave, then sprung on me like a viper. But who the hell was “Lana"? I took a chance and closed my eyes for a second. The Brain Hotel lobby fizzled into view. I ran to the front desk and snatched the courtesy phone from its receiver. “Paging Paul After,” I said. “Paul, we've got a Grade-A situation here, boy. Request immediate assistance. And I mean pronto, Tonto."
When I opened my eyes, I found Leah studying me way too carefully.
“Maybe it's you who's falling apart, tough guy,” she said. “You don't look too sure of anything."
“I'm in more control than you could ever hope for,” I said. That was good. Bravado. Keep her guessing.
Meanwhile, during a long blink: “Paul! Damn it, Paul, get down here now!"
“Which one are you fucking? Miss Sweetness and Light, or the Vegas slut?” She accented the word “light” by poking the pistol into my head.
“This isn't about sex. This is about Ray."
“Finally, we're talking business. So tell me. How is this about Ray?"
“Ray's done some very bad things, Leah. Some people want to see him pay."
“What, because he ripped off the Man? Is that what you're going to tell me? Because forget it. He's already told me about it, and it's nothing. Repeat-nada. He wouldn't have him killed over something as stupid as a slot machine jiltz. Try again."
Bluffing my way through a conversation was never my forte. Which is not exactly something to be proud of, considering my line of work.
“No, I'm not talking about the slots. Something worse."
“Well, what?"
I didn't say anything. I closed my eyes.
As if through divine intervention, Paul came walking into the Brain Hotel lobby at that exact moment. He looked sleepy. “You wanted me for something?"
I vigorously nodded my head up and down. I couldn't say anything for fear it would be mimicked by my lips in the real world, and confuse the hell out of Leah. Instead, I gestured with my arms: Take my body, please. Paul shot me a dubious look, then walked through the lobby doors anyway.
In the real world, Leah saw my eyes open back up.
Paul felt the gun at this throat. His first thought was broadcast loud and clear in the lobby: You're a real asshole, Del.
Well? Leah asked, jabbing the pistol forward.
I ran to the front desk and snatched the microphone. “Okay,” I rushed. “Explain what Ray Loogan could have done to deserve a hit. She thinks you and your client double-crossed them at some point."