Killer Move

Jane had taken hold of my arm. “This isn’t going to help,” she told me.

“Hey, Jane,” Janine said, popping another olive into her mouth. “Doesn’t he know yet? I assumed he just got the big reveal.”

“Know what?”

“I actually understand computers pretty well, Bill,” Janine said. “Better than you, probably. Funny, huh? Month back, Peter Grant popped into the office one day when you were out shoving your tongue up the ass of some poor client. Peter asked if I wanted to help play a joke. And I thought to myself, ‘What? Help trick the slick fucker who looks at me every day like he thinks I’m some fatso who’s not worth the time of day? And who never misses an opportunity to buddy up with his pretty, skinny-bitch colleague to patronize the hell out of me? Why on earth would I want to do that?’ ”

She winked. “I’m joking, of course, Billy-boy. I said yes right away.”

I was swallowing rapidly.

“I sent that joke from your account,” she said. “I set up the recorder to grab your Amazon password, too, and ordered the nudie book. Set up a few other things, too, which you probably don’t even know about yet. They’ll come home to roost sooner or later.”

Her face suddenly hardened. “Enjoy, shithead. But for now, buzz off. I’m hungry, and I’m ready to order now. I’ve waited a long time for this meal.”

I lunged at her, but Jane was faster. She yanked me away from the table, whispering the same thing over and over in my ear.

“Not worth it. Not worth it. This is not worth it.”

She dragged me out across the floor of the restaurant, ignoring my shouts and attempts to break free. She pushed me out the door and to the top of the stairs and kept on shoving until we were down at street level.

“Janine was in on it?” I yelled. “You know her?”

“I don’t know her,” Jane said. “But yes, she was a piece. I’m sorry. There’s nothing you can do about it now, and no good will come of trying.”

“Holy Christ,” I said. “Who else? Karren? Was Karren White in on this? Is that why she just happened to be undressing in front of the window that night? Is Karren sitting somewhere right now counting her money, too?”

“Not as far as I’m aware,” Jane said. She grabbed my shoulders and held me still, and her voice was low and clear. “I never had any contact with Ms. White. But here’s the point, Bill. The guy who took those pictures? He’s disappeared. That’s what Tony meant upstairs about other things going strange. This guy was called Brian. He was an old friend of mine. We even dated for a while. He’s ex-army, too, and he sure as hell knew how to look after himself. He vanished last night. He didn’t turn up to meet me where he was supposed to. I can’t get him on the phone. Someone has pulled the plug on this game at a higher level than the Thompsons have any clue about, and people are starting to fall off the board.”

“What do you mean, ‘higher level’?” I said. “They said it was just them. A club of rich fuckheads screwing with other people’s lives. Who else is there?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “Maybe Warner, maybe someone else. I don’t know. The Thompsons don’t know, either, and that’s why I am splitting right now. You want a lift out of town, I’ll do it. I owe you that much for having been a part of all this. But then I’m dust.”

“I’m not leaving town,” I said petulantly. “I live here. I’m going home.”

“I wouldn’t do anything predictable at this point.”

“Why? What the hell else can happen?”

She strode away up the sidewalk and I stormed after her. I didn’t care what else she did, but I wanted a lift back to where Hunter had left my car. In all the things I’d been told upstairs, only one had really stuck in my head as worth listening to. Marie’s advice.

Go home.

Jane impatiently gestured for me to hurry up. She trotted straight into the traffic, darting between the circulating cars. I started to run after her, shouting her name. I wasn’t sure why. I just needed to shout something. She headed into the park area in the middle, but a passing vehicle nearly took me out as I tried to follow—so I diverted to head around the parked cars instead, getting honked at all the way.

I got to the far side of the Circle before she did, and ran around the back of her pickup as she came out of the park, her keys already out.

But then I stopped.

“Get in,” she snapped, unlocking her door.

“Wait . . .”

“No,” she said. “I’m done here.”

I had seen something, however. I stepped back. I didn’t know whether the truck was hers or a rental, but it had seen some action in the last few weeks—not least in the breakneck drive through the woods at the far end of the key that morning. The rear end was dirty and dented. But there, in the dust, was a clean patch. Not so much a patch as a series of linked lines, letters, written the way passing jokers will sometimes scrawl CLEAN ME.

But that wasn’t what this said. It looked fresh, and it was just one word and it began with M.

“Don’t!” I shouted, just as she turned the ignition.