Your one problem is that Hardy could get himself killed between now and when you need him. If that happens, be patient and get the best man you can for the job. I thought of killing Freddy and Mac myself but I wouldn’t get both of them, and it could make a lot of trouble for you.
So do it this way, love. It was all great with you, lots of fun and no-one really ever mattered to me except you. I want it to go on for you. I had to pull out a lot of cash to cover some things and people, but you hang on to the rest.
Goodbye, Marion
The signature was a bold scrawclass="underline" ‘John’.
I read it carefully, and read parts of it twice. Marion Singer got another Rothmans going; her eyes were wet and a muscle was jumping out of control on the left side of her face.
‘Well, it worked,’ I said.
‘Yes.’ She blew smoke awkwardly. ‘He was just the smartest man I ever knew. It worked perfectly.’
I remembered that Sandy Modesto, one of the ones who never really mattered, had used almost the same words about Singer.
‘But…?’ I said.
The hand holding the cigarette was shaking, and she looked every one of her fifty-plus years. ‘You won’t believe this. I can hardly believe it myself. But I’ve been told that John is in Bangkok. He was seen. He’s had plastic surgery. There’s a girl… Shit!’
She smashed out the cigarette. The ashtray hopped and sprayed ash and spent matches over her white suit. I grinned.
‘Don’t look like that! Hardy, don’t! I must know! I’ll pay you anything you ask to go to Bangkok. I’ll pay you fifty thousand dollars.’
‘No,’ I said.