Erin barreled into him and grabbed him. "Are you all right?"
The anxiety in her voice made him smile. "Miles got pounded pretty bad, but he's on his feet," he told her. "Nothing to worry about."
"Nothing to worry about? Nine against three? Is that what you call nothing to worry about? God, Connor! It happened so fast!"
He tried to put his arms around her, but she jerked away. "You didn't tell me that was going to happen!" she shouted.
"You didn't say one word about fighting with him! You said 'talk,' remember? Don't you ever, ever do that to me again, Connor McCloud! Do you hear me?"
"He started it," Connor protested. "And I didn't—"
"Don't even try!" she yelled. "Just shut up!"
He tried kissing her, but she was having none of it. "Look, babe," he soothed. "Why don't you go on back to the car and look after your mom and Cindy while we have a talk with Billy?"
"Let the little lady go and be good behind the scenes while the big manly men do their big manly thing, hmm?"
Erin's eyes were afire with anger. God, she was so red-hot when she was mad. It was making him hard just looking at her.
"Hey," Davy called. "You can spare yourself this argument, Con. Miles clobbered him." Davy crouched over Billy, touched his throat with his fingertip, peeked under his eyelids. "He's out of it for a while."
The rat-faced blonde ran over to Billy and flung herself across his limp form. "You killed Billy!" she shrilled. "Fuckin' murderers!"
Connor rubbed his aching leg, and visualized a cigarette with a sharp pang of longing. "Nobody's killed anybody, nor will they," he said wearily. "I guess we just have to wait for him to come around."
"The police will be here any minute," Erin said.
"Police?" Connor gaped, appalled. "What do you mean, police?"
Erin held up his cell phone. "Of course, the police!" she said tartly. "What do you expect? Nine guys attack you all at once, and what am I supposed to do? Twiddle my thumbs? Wave pom poms?"
"You were supposed to let me deal with it!" he snarled. "I don't want to talk to the police! The police cannot help me right now!"
"That's just tough!" she shot back. "You scared me to death! Now deal with the consequences!"
He glanced at Sean and Davy. "Let's get the fuck out of here. We can hunt down Billy some other time."
Sean turned to address the crowd of gawkers gathering around them. "Public service announcement, everybody! The cops will be here any minute, so start thinking about your witness statements now!"
The crowd melted away like magic.
The back door of the Cadillac was open, and Barbara Riggs was half in, half out, eyes frozen wide. He handed her his cane. "Would you throw that into the back window for me, Mrs. Riggs?" he asked. "Let's get going. I'm sure you want to get Cindy home."
He got into the car, and waited for the back door to swing shut It did not. He followed Erin's startled gaze, and jerked his head around.
Barbara Riggs was marching across the parking lot, clutching his cane like a club. The evening, which could never have been called normal to begin with, was about to take a turn for the seriously weird.
"Which car is Billy's?" Barbara demanded.
Miles daubed at the fresh flow of blood from his nose with his gory sleeve and pointed across the lot, to where a low-slung silver Jaguar glowed softly in the dark, like a phosphorescent sea creature.
Connor ran to stop her, but it was too late. She lifted his cane high over her head and whipped it down over the Jag's windshield with admirable force. The glass crunched and sagged. Fault lines shivered through the entire gleaming surface. Crash, a blow to the other side of the windshield. Smash, out went the right headlight; crash, tinkle, there went the left. Driver's side window, smash. She whipped the cane down and managed to make a pretty decent dent in the roof. The white purse dangled and swung over her arm with each movement.
There was an awful, ponderous inevitability to it, like watching a wrecking ball taking down a brick building. She was drawing another crowd, too. It wasn't every day that you saw a middle-aged lady in a pale pink pantsuit bashing a hundred-thousand-dollar car to garbage.
"What's her problem?" a big, swag-bellied biker type asked him.
Connor shrugged helplessly. "He owes her money."
Pop, crash, crunch, the mayhem went on and on, until Erin's anxious voice penetrated the noise. "Mom? Mom! Listen to me, Mom!"
Barbara looked up, tears streaming down her face. "That son of a bitch hit my baby!"
"I know he did, Mom, but she's going to be OK. And the guys beat him up for you already, didn't you see?"
"Good," Barbara said viciously. Erin winced and covered her ears as the cane whistled down and shattered the back window. She put her arms around her mother's shoulders and hurried her back toward the car. Barbara went along without argument, the forgotten cane dragging behind her. The black rubber tip bumped over the asphalt.
Miles grinned through his gore. "You're a goddess, Mrs. Riggs!"
"I'm sure this is all very therapeutic, but can we leave?" Sean asked.
"Yeah, let's move. You and Miles come to my house," Davy said. "We need to clean that kid up. Hey, Con. I slipped one of Seth's beacons into Billy's cigarettes while your mother-in-law was trashing the Jag. We can track him down tomorrow, so take it easy tonight. If you can." Davy's sympathetic eyes flicked over to Connor's car, packed chock full of problematic Riggs females. "Good luck with them. And watch your back with Erin's mom. The woman is not to be fucked with."
"Yeah. Believe me, I've noticed," Connor grumbled.
This time Connor pried the cane out of Barbara's clammy grip with his own hands, closed the car door on her, and threw the cane into the trunk where it could do no more damage.
He pulled the car out onto the street and braced himself for absolutely anything.
"Mom?" Cindy quavered. "Are you wigging out on me?"
Barbara pulled Cindy into her arms. "Oh, no, baby. Not at all."
"I think you're going to be just fine, Mrs. Riggs," he said. "You certainly seem to have no problems expressing your anger."
Their eyes met in the rearview mirror. "You'd better start calling me Barbara, Connor," she said coolly. "I might as well get used to it."
"Gee. Thanks so much," he muttered.
"I really do feel much better," Barbara said, in a wondering voice. "Better than I have in ages."
"Oh, sure you do," Connor grunted. "Nothing like a little reckless destruction of private property to brighten up your mood."
Barbara blinked rapidly. "Oh, my. Do you think he might prosecute me? Oh dear. Wouldn't that be funny? If I had to send Eddie a letter… sorry, honey, but I can't make it in to see you on visiting day… I'm in jail, too! I'm a p-p-public menace!"
"That's not funny, Mom." Erin's voice sounded strangled.
"I know it's not, sweetie pie. So why are we laughing?"
All three of the women started laughing. Then they started bawling. Then it was a terrible mess. Connor just kept his head down, and his mouth shut, and drove the goddamn car.
This contract made Rolf Hauer very uneasy.
There was nothing wrong with the business end of things. The pay was excellent, the contact had been discreet and professional, the down payment had been delivered to Marseilles in American dollars, as promised. No problems at all there. Everything was in perfect order.
It was the details of this hit that bothered him. A list of nitpicking, grisly details, any of which, if not followed to the letter, rendered the contract null and void. Rolf prided himself on his professionalism, but if there was one thing this business had taught him, it was that there were always surprises. An artist needed room to improvise. There was no room in this job for improvisation. This one was skintight.