Hit List - Lawrence Block [3]
The motel was a Super 8. Keller went for nonsmoking, rear of the building, first floor.
“No choice on beds,” the clerk said. “All the units are the same. Two double beds.”
“That still gives me a choice.”
“How do you figure that?”
“I can choose which bed to sleep in.”
“Clear-cut choice,” the clerk said. “First thing you’ll do is drop your suitcase on one of the beds.”
“So?”
“So sleep in the other one. You’ll have more room.”
There were, as promised, two double beds in Room 147. Keller considered them in turn before setting his bag on top of the dresser.
Keeping his options open, he thought.
From a pay phone, he called Dot in White Plains. He said, “Refresh my memory. Didn’t you say something about an accident?”
“Or natural causes,” she said, “though who’s to say what’s a natural cause in this day and age? Outside of choking to death on an organic carrot, I’d say you’re about as natural a cause of death as there is.”
“They provided a gun.”
“Oh?”
“A twenty-two auto, because that’s the kind guys like me prefer.”
“That’s a far cry from an organic carrot.”
“ ‘Use it and lose it.’ “
“Catchy,” Dot said. “Sounds like a failure to communicate, doesn’t it? Guy who furnished the gun didn’t know it was supposed to be natural.”
“Leaving us where? Does it still have to be natural?”
“It never had to, Keller. It was just a preference, but they gave you a gun, so I’d say they’ve got no kick coming if you use it.”
“And lose it.”
“In that order. Customer satisfaction’s always a plus, so if you can arrange for him to have a heart attack or get his throat torn out by the family dog, I’d say go for it. On the other hand—“
“How did you know about the dog?”
“What dog?”
“The one you just mentioned.”
“It was just an expression, Keller. I don’t know if he has a dog. I don’t know for sure if he’s got a heart, but—“
“It’s a golden retriever.”
“Oh?”
“Named Powhatan.”
“Well, it’s all news to me, Keller, and not the most fascinating news I ever heard, either. Where is all of this coming from?”
He explained about the photo on the Christmas card.
“What a jerk,” she said. “He couldn’t find a head and shoulders shot, the kind the papers run when you get a promotion or they arrest you for embezzlement? My God, the people you have to work with. Be grateful you were spared the annual Christmas letter, or you’d know how Aunt Mary’s doing great since she got her appendix transplant and little Timmy got his first tattoo.”
“Little Jason.”
“God, you know the kids’ names? Well, they wouldn’t put the dog’s name on the card and leave the kids off, would they? What a mess.”
“The guy was holding a sign. ‘Archibald.’ “
“At least they got that part right.”
“And I said that’s me, and he said, ‘Richard Archibald?’ “
“So.”
“You told me they said Nathan.”
“Come to think of it, they did. They screw that up too, huh?”
“Not exactly. It was a test, to make sure I wasn’t some smartass looking for a free ride.”
“So if you forgot the first name, or just didn’t want to make waves . . .”
“He’d have figured me for a phony and told me to get lost.”
“This gets better and better,” she said. “Look, do you want to forget the whole thing? I can tell you’re getting a bad feeling about it. Just come on home and we’ll tell them to shit in their hat.”
“Well, I’m already here,” he said. “It could turn out to be easy. And I don’t know about you, but I can use the money.”
“I can always find a use for it,” she said, “even if all I use it for is to hold on to. The dollars have to be someplace, and White Plains is as good a place as any for them.”
“That sounds like something he would have said.”
“He probably did.”
They were referring to the old man, for whom they had both worked, Dot living with him and running his household, Keller doing what he did. The old man was gone now—his mind had gone first, little by little, and then his body went all at once—but things went on essentially unchanged. Dot took the phone calls, set the fees, made the arrangements, and disbursed the money. Keller went out there, checked out the