Collision

“Get out of there. Now. Get Teach to my place. I’ll text directions to your phone.”

“But Pilgrim’s still-”

“Do what I tell you or I’ll forfeit your payment.”

Maybe I’ll just keep the woman, see how you like that, he thought in a blistering rage. But no. Sam Hector would be an extremely dangerous enemy to have. Better to deliver the woman. Get his money. Then see if there was any way to use Hector to find this Pilgrim bastard again.

Jackie drove until he saw the sign for I-35 and found an entrance ramp, heading toward Dallas, four hours north. Leaving the town now where his brother had died, and for the first time he wondered what would happen to Nicky’s body, where it would be buried, how he could ever get it home to Northern Ireland. He suspected he couldn’t. He started to tremble, not with grief. With rage.

Today wasn’t supposed to be this way.

Several blocks to the west a Volvo station wagon worked past the crowds.

13

“Pain is nothing,” Pilgrim muttered in agony. “Pain is a friend. If you don’t feel pain you’re dead.” He repeated it like a mantra.

“Pain says you need a doctor.” Ben drove west on Sixth Street, heading out of downtown, watching his rearview, trying to make sure he wasn’t being followed. He made a sharp turn, headed north for a few blocks, then turned east again. Brackenridge Hospital was on East Fifteenth Street-he could be there in a few minutes.

“No doctor. No hospital.” Pilgrim gritted his teeth.

“Don’t be a dumb-ass. You’re hurt.”

“No. I’m lucky. Haven’t ever been shot before. Haven’t ever fallen from a building. What a fricking day.”

“I’m taking you to a hospital.”

“No. Can’t go. We’ll be right back where we started. You’ll be in custody and I’ll be…”

“Where?”

“Hurts too bad to talk. Keep driving.” Pilgrim pressed his fist hard against his shoulder. “A federal agent pulled a gun on you and a killer had your name in his pocket and another killer just tried to shoot your head off. You might want to stay under the radar.”

“I’m still taking you to a hospital.”

“If you want to stay alive, get us to Dallas. If I pass out, get me into a motel, cheap, get a first aid kit.”

“First aid. For a bullet wound.”

“And a tool to dig the bullet out. Don’t forget that.”

“I’m not digging a bullet out of you. Get real.” He turned into the Brackenridge Hospital parking lot, the emergency sign a beacon.

Pilgrim grabbed the wheel. “No. I am begging you. Please. If you bring me here, we’re both dead men.”

Ben hesitated as he started to pull into the overhang by the entrance.

“We’re guaranteed dead. We have to get to Dallas.”

“Why do we go to Dallas?”

“Because the matchbook I found on the gunman is from a Dallas restaurant; Barker betrayed me and his driver’s license address is in Dallas. Those are my only leads.” And then he added: “The guard I knocked out had a Hector Global ID in his pocket. The back of the ID badge gave an address near Dallas.”

Ben tightened his grip on the wheel. “The guards weren’t Homeland agents?”

“Nope. So I’m thinking this Hector company’s connected to this whole mess.”

Ben swallowed. “Sam Hector, he owns Hector Global, he’s a client of mine. He’s one of my closest friends. He wouldn’t be involved in anything illicit or illegal. I spoke with him not three hours ago.. .”

Pilgrim stared at him. “Awful big coincidence. Our friend Kidwell should have Homeland agents working as his guards-not hired guns.”

Two paramedics came out, began to walk toward the Volvo.

“We can’t stay here, Ben, please. Drive!”

“Hector Global must have a contract with Kidwell’s group… Sam can help us, can tell us what the hell’s going on…”

“Maybe.” Pilgrim leaned against the door, putting pressure on his shoulder wound. “If he’s really your friend, okay, let’s ask him for help. But not here. Get us to Dallas, Ben, please.”

A car behind them honked and Ben pulled back out into the lot, past the paramedics. He turned east onto Fifteenth Street, then headed north onto I-35, toward Dallas.

“That’s the first smart move I’ve seen you make.”

“I’m only doing this because… Kidwell implied…” Ben swallowed. “Two years ago my wife was killed. Murdered. On our honeymoon. Shot to death. It was a random thing.”

“Damn. That sucks. Sorry.”

In its odd, awkward way it was one of the most sincere expressions of sympathy he’d gotten. Most people said nothing more than I’m sorry. A few shared horrors like At least she didn’t suffer or You’re young, you’ll marry again. And some said nothing, which was somehow worse, as though Emily had never existed. “Kidwell suggested I’d had her killed. Like I had a history with hired killers like Nicky Lynch.”

Pilgrim watched the road spill past, breathing in rhythm to control the pain. Several minutes passed.

Ben broke the silence. “Let me call Sam. Hector Global’s a huge company. Sam might not even know he’s got people working for Kidwell. He could tell us who Kidwell is.”

Pilgrim twisted slightly in the seat. “I’ll make you a deal, Ben.”

“I’m listening.”

“I can help you clear your name, Ben. But only if you help me.”