“You haven’t answered my question. And unless you answer it, you can just go call the sheriff, because you ain’t getting one red cent from me.”
Romanello hesitated, but then his greed won out over his better judgment. “I went there to kill you,” he said simply.
She slowly let go of his wrist after giving it one more intense ratchet. He took a minute to rub the circulation back in.
“Why?” LuAnn demanded fiercely.
“I don’t ask questions. I just do what I’m paid to do.”
“Who told you to kill me?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know.” She reached for his wrist again, but this time he was ready for her and jerked it out of danger. “I’m telling you I don’t know. My clients don’t just drop by and have coffee and chat about who they want me to take out. I got a call, I got half the money up front. Half when the job was done. All through the mail.”
“I’m still alive.”
“That’s right. But only because I got called off.”
“By who?”
“By whoever hired me.”
“When did you get the call?”
“I was in your trailer. I saw you get out of the car and take off. I went to my car and got the call then. Around ten-fifteen.”
LuAnn sat back as the truth dawned on her: Jackson. So that’s how he took care of those who refused to go along.
When she didn’t say anything, Romanello leaned forward. “So now that I’ve answered all your questions, why don’t we discuss the arrangements for our little deal?”
LuAnn stared at him for a full minute before speaking. “If I find out you’re lying to me, you won’t like it one bit.”
“You know, somebody who kills for a living usually strikes a little more fear into people than what you’re showing,” he said, his dark eyes flickering at her. He partially unzipped his jacket again so that the butt of the 9- mm was once more visible. “Don’t push it!” His tone was menacing.
LuAnn glanced at the pistol with contempt before settling her eyes back on his. “I growed up surrounded by crazy people, Mr. Rainbow. Rednecks getting drunk and pointing twelve-gauge shotguns in people’s faces and then pulling the trigger just for fun, or cutting somebody up so bad their momma wouldn’t have knowed them and then betting on how long they’d take to bleed to death. Then there was the black boy who ended up in a lake with his throat slashed and his private parts gone, ’cause somebody thought he was too uppity hanging around a white girl. I’m pretty sure my daddy had something to do with that, not that the police down there gave a damn. So your little gun and your big man bullshit don’t mean crap to me. Let’s just get this over with and then you can get the hell out of my life.”
The danger in the depths of Romanello’s eyes rapidly dissipated. “All right,” he said quietly, zipping his jacket back up.
Chapter fifteen
A half hour later Romanello and LuAnn exited the deli. LuAnn climbed into a cab and headed back to her hotel where, to follow through on her cover story to Charlie, she would spend the next several hours at the beauty salon. Romanello walked down the street in the opposite direction, silently whistling to himself. Today had been a very good day. The arrangements he had made with LuAnn weren’t a hundred percent foolproof, but his gut told him she would honor the deal she had made. If the first installment of the money wasn’t in his account by close of business two days from now, then he would be on the phone to the police in Rikersville. She would pay, Romanello was sure of that. Why bring all that grief on yourself?
Since he was in a festive mood, he decided to stop and buy a bottle of Chianti on the way to his apartment. His thoughts were already focused on the mansion he would buy in some faraway land to replace it. He had earned good money over the years exterminating human beings, but he had to be careful in how he spent it or where he kept it. The last thing he wanted was the IRS knocking on his door asking to see his W-2s. Now that problem was behind him. Instant, massive wealth allowed one to soar beyond the reach of the Revenue boys, and everyone else. Yes, it had been a great day, Romanello concluded.
Not finding a cab handy, he opted for the subway. It was very crowded and he could barely find standing room in one of the train cars. He rode the subway for a number of stops before pushing through the masses and once again hitting the street. He turned the key in his door, closed and locked it, and walked into the kitchen to drop off the bottle. He was about to take off his jacket and pour himself a glass of Chianti when someone knocked at the door. He squinted through the peephole. The brown uniform of the UPS man filled his line of vision.
“What’s up?” he asked through the door.
“Got a delivery for an Anthony Romanello, this address.” The UPS man was busily scanning the package, an eight-by-eleven-inch container that bulged out at the center.
Romanello opened the door.
“You Anthony Romanello?”
He nodded.
“Just sign right here, please.” He handed Romanello a pen attached to what looked to be an electronic clipboard.
“You’re not trying to serve me with legal papers, are you?” Romanello grinned as he signed for the package.
“They couldn’t pay me enough to do that,” the UPS man replied. “My brother-in-law used to be a process server up in Detroit. After he was shot the second time, he went to work driving a bakery truck. Here you go. Have a good one.”
Romanello closed the door and felt the contents of the package through the thin cardboard. A smile broke across his lips. The second installment on his LuAnn Tyler hit. He had been told of the possibility of being called off. But his employer had assured him that the rest of the money would be forthcoming regardless. The smile froze on his face as it suddenly struck him that the payment should have been mailed to his post office box. Nobody was supposed to know where he lived. Or his real name.
He whirled around at the sound behind him.
Jackson emerged from the shadows of the living room. Dressed as immaculately as when he had interviewed LuAnn, Jackson leaned against the doorway to the kitchen and looked Romanello up and down behind a pair of dark glasses. Jackson’s hair was streaked with gray and a neatly trimmed beard covered his chin. His cheeks were large and puffy, the ears red and flattened-looking, both the result of carefully designed latex molds.
“Who the hell are you and how did you get in here?”
In response, Jackson pointed one gloved hand at the package. “Open it.”
“What?” Romanello growled back.
“Count the money and make certain it’s all there. Don’t worry, you won’t hurt my feelings by doing so.”
“Look—”
Jackson slipped off the glasses and his eyes bored into Romanello. “Open it.” The voice was barely above a whisper and spoken in an entirely nonthreatening manner that made Romanello wonder why he was shivering inside. After all, he had murdered six people in premeditated fashion over the span of the last three years. Nobody intimidated him.
He quickly ripped open the package and the contents spilled out. Romanello watched as the cut-up newspaper drifted to the floor.
“Is this supposed to be funny? If it is, I’m not laughing.” He glowered at Jackson.
Jackson shook his head sadly. “As soon as I hung up with you I knew my little slip over the phone would prove to be serious. I made mention of LuAnn Tyler and money, and money, as you well know, makes people do strange things.”
“What exactly are you talking about?”
“Mr. Romanello, you were hired to perform a job for me. Once that task was called off, your participation in my affairs was at an end. Or let me rephrase that: Your participation in my affairs was supposed to be at an end.”