She backed up ten feet to the kitchen table where she sat down.
“You’re not scared of me, are you?” he asked quietly.
“I’ve had less stressful moments, Gene.”
“I’m scared enough for the both of us, believe me.”
“Why?”
He stood up but kept his distance, anything so he wouldn’t appear menacing.
“I’ve killed people who were less a threat than me. Don’t think they’ll give two shits about taking me out.”
The phone started ringing. It was the burner phone.
Spicer looked at her to see what her reaction was but she remained seated at the table. She didn’t make a run for it. That was a good start.
He got the phone from the couch and answered. “Hello?”
Esther stood up and came within earshot. As far as he was concerned, she had earned the right to know what was going on so he let her listen in.
“You the fella who sent the e-mail?”
Spicer perked up at the southern accent. “Your voice, I know your voice. We’ve met, haven’t we?”
“If you are who I think you are, yes. You want to know what kind of deal you made with the devil?”
“Yes.”
“Then we have to meet. What I have to say is too valuable to say over open lines.”
“How soon can you be in Miami?”
The man hesitated and said, “Nine tomorrow night.”
Hesitation was good. That meant the man was thinking and not simply answering what Spicer wanted him to.
“Okay, meet me at the Salvador Sea Hotel, the outdoor bar. Order a blue drink, I’ll do the same.”
“This better not be a setup.”
“I can say the same about you.”
The line went dead and Spicer hung up.
Esther frowned. “Why Miami?”
“Because I know that city like the underside of my dick. Something goes bad, I can disappear in three and a half minutes.”
“The city will be crawling with cops.”
“Why?” he asked.
“That’s where Regis Ford will be holed up for election night.”
That gave him pause. Then he shrugged. “Doesn’t matter, I’m familiar with the place.”
“I hope you won’t disappear without saying goodbye.”
He looked at her and she seemed to have digested the information about him being a former hitman. He liked that she had an open mind.
“I’ll grab some sleep and leave early in the morning for the drive to Miami. You mind if I spend the night here? I’ll use the couch.”
She nodded.
There was a sound.
Kilmer bolted upright in his bed and scanned his room. He rubbed his eyes and waited. There, it happened again! It was a muted creaking sound. It was too gentle to be coming from outside, too gentle to be natural.
Or had working for the CIA for almost 40 years made him paranoid? Then again, knowing what he knew, everybody had a reason to be paranoid.
He got up and tiptoed through the dark house, trying to identify the noise. His first instinct was to get a weapon but the closest one was in the drawer in his study. He went downstairs and as he passed by the foyer he saw a shadow through the frosted glass of the front door.
He froze.
Had he been younger, he would have gotten into a fighting stance. He could have dived for a makeshift weapon — a coat hanger from the closet would have worked. But he was too old for this.
He was still considering what to do when the doorbell rang.
Maybe he had overreacted? Perhaps the noise had been someone’s car breaking down in front of his home and now they were looking for help. With a sigh of relief, he went to answer the door.
He found a young man on the porch. He looked tired and even high on weed.
“Mr. Kilmer?”
That’s when the old man realized the kid was holding a pizza box. His eyes widened, his jaw dropped.
“God, no…”
He slammed the door and hurried back toward the stairs. “Martha, call the police!”
Only he didn’t have time to say the entire sentence before realizing an intruder was already inside the house. Before the bullets entered his brain.
Chapter 22
The night was short and Spicer was just as tired when he woke up at sunrise. Conversely, adrenaline rushed through his veins because he knew the end was in sight. Even though he had an 12-hour drive ahead of him, he was about to get some answers and that alone gave him energy.
He took a quick shower, started getting dressed, and used his burner phone to make a call. He paced through Esther’s living room while he waited for an answer.
“Hello?”
“Martha, how’s is going? Is Doug still there? I need to talk to him.”
The woman’s voice broke. “Oh Gene. It’s terrible.”
Spicer stopped moving. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s terrible, Gene,” she repeated, choking up.
“What’s going on, Martha? Talk to me.”
“He’s dead. He’s gone, Gene.”
Although he was shocked by the news and wasn’t sure he could even understand what she was saying, Spicer forced himself to calm down. He knew from experience that when someone was about to be hysterical, the other person had to be stoic.
“What happened?” he asked calmly.
“I don’t know, there was a burglar, and then there was something about a wrong pizza delivery. I miss him so much.”
The pizza delivery diversion tactic. That told him everything he needed to know about who had killed his friend.
“Hang in there, Martha. I’ll see you in a few days.”
That was nothing else he could tell her. His muscles tensing up, his face morphed into anger and sadness at the same time. He could have thrown the phone against the wall but that wasn’t his style. No, he had to keep his rage bottled up, he had to focus it toward the correct people.
“Fucking bastards,” he mumbled as he coarsely wiped his eyes.
He hadn’t cried in over 20 years and he wasn’t about to start now. He had to finish this. One way or another people were going to die.
He finished getting dressed, wrath giving him determination, and he left the apartment. He headed to his place to pack up a few things but then as he reached the front door something occurred to him.
Sigma Division was cleaning house.
First, the professor, then Kilmer. Who else was causing trouble that they would want to get rid of? The answer was crystal clear as he put his hand on the doorknob. He glanced around but the hallway was empty. Still, something wasn’t right.
He was aware that he looked stupid standing in front of his door holding his keys and yet remaining immobile. His instincts told him he had to be on his guard and double-check everything.
He pocketed his keys and kneeled down to look under the door. Unfortunately, the weather stripping kept him from seeing inside the apartment. Nevertheless, he detected something out of the ordinary. It was a smell, something that just didn’t fit.
He got back up and rushed to Esther’s apartment. He returned inside and this time she was up and about, bringing her coffee to the kitchen table.
“Hey, what’s going on? I thought you’d be gone by now.”
He paid her no attention and went to the balcony. He unlocked the door, opened it, and stepped outside. He didn’t even bother closing the door again.
The air was freezing and he barely felt it. He stared at his own balcony which was hanging next door after a four-foot gap. Without hesitation, he climbed on top of the brick railing and leaped to the other balcony.
“Oh Jesus,” Esther yelped as she witnessed the stunt.
When he was in his own backyard, he pressed his face against the glass door, using his hands to shield his eyes from the light. He scanned the interior of his apartment, which wasn’t particularly easy because of the vertical blinds. They weren’t closed but they hindered his view all the same.