First Thrills - Lee Child [82]
“Bet you’re glad it’s a long drive down from Little Liver.”
“You could say that.”
He grins and quaffs ale. “He arrived back in Newcastle this morning.” The place is only a quarter full, and even though the mopes around us all seem to be concentrating on the nipples on stage, I still feel like I got Argus eyes staring at my back. I’d hoped for one more day.
“Thanks. What do I owe you?”
“You live to see next week, you can buy me a steak.”
I walk down to my garage. Another risk, but one I’ve calculated. I can see from half a block away that the padlock is on the ground. I lower my head and turn, head back the way I came. In that instant, lead hits into the wall beside me, right about where my head would be if I was of average height. I break into a run without looking to see who’s shooting. I hear more gunfire, pretty damned brazen in broad daylight, but it’s not like Felony Flats sports a neighborhood watch. As I move, I pull out my cell and thumb the power. I’m not worried about GPS now, and in any case once I make my call I won’t need the phone any more.
I turn at the next corner and run flat out. A bullet tears through my jacket under my arm as I lift the phone and press the only speed dial number I have programmed, a number Dahlia wouldn’t be happy to know I’m calling. I zig left into the street in front of a taxi, horn blaring. I hear footsteps behind me as the phone rings in my ear.
“I’m hot,” I huff when the call connects.
“Where?”
“West pickup, and make it now.”
I drop the phone as I turn into an alley mid-block. Two hundred feet, straight shot. Dangerous, but necessary. One of my pursuers yells, “Where you think you’re going, munchkin!” The voice echoes against brick. My hands are starting to shake.
A vehicle appears at the opposite end of the alley, a black van. The side door opens as I break out across the sidewalk, a helmeted man in black Kevlar waves me in. Another bullet cracks past my ear as I tumble inside. The driver hits the accelerator. For a split instant as the van surges off, I can see back into the alley. Two guys, no one I recognize. Their eyes bulge, though with anger or surprise I don’t know.
Takes me a minute to get my breath, then I say, “Who got the truck?”
“Your girlfriend did, but those were Frank’s boys on you back there.”
I know Dahlia will stay on me. She can’t take a chance Frank’s goons won’t make me talk before they plant me, so she’s gotta plant me first. And I’d hate to disappoint so enchanting a lady.
VII
I decide on an upscale noodle joint on Breadcrumb Boulevard, the nice end of the strip. I’m eating a mixed stir fry as she sits down across from me. The satisfied smirk on her face tells the tale.
“What’s doing, Dahl? You here to bring me my money?”
“I don’t think so, Stilt,” Her expression makes me think of a rat with a chicken egg. “That’s right. I know who you are.”
What can I say? The convicts and lowlifes I deal with are hardly an imaginative lot when it comes to street monikers.
Her indigo eyes have gone black, but when she grins, her teeth are so white I can read the menu by them. “I have a car outside. We’re going for a ride.”
I spear a shrimp with my fork and wave it at her. “Can I finish my dinner first?”
“Don’t be a smart ass. And don’t try anything funny either. I got guys at the front and back. All I gotta do is . . .”
Her voice trails off because I’m shaking my head, sad little smile on my face. Apparently Dahlia believed me when I told her I work alone.
“Your old man’s soldiers are going to have a hard time doing your bidding from the back of a patrol car.” I reach up to my ear and pull out the ear piece receiver, show it to her. “Weapons charge at the least, since we both know they got no permits for those ice cold gats they’re packing.” I inhale a noodle. “Other charges too, once we get to digging.”
Dahlia is looking at me like I’m a dingleberry hanging off her tampon. I guess I can’t blame her. “Who the hell are you?” she says.
“You said you know who I am. Stilt, remember? Though