Hit Man - Lawrence Block [4]
“The phone number on the flyer. I tried it last night. They never heard of a Mr. Gordon.”
“So you knew last night. Of course you could have made a mistake on the number.”
Engleman shook his head. “I wasn’t going on memory. I kept an extra copy of the flyer and dialed the number right off it. No Mr. Gordon and no lost dog. Anyway, I think I knew before then. I think I knew the minute you walked in the door.”
“Let’s get that coffee,” Keller said.
They went into a place called the Rainbow Diner and had coffee at a table on the side. Engleman added artificial sweetener to his and stirred it long enough to dissolve marble chips. He had been an accountant back east, working for the man Keller had called in White Plains. When the feds were trying to make a RICO case against Engleman’s boss, Engleman was a logical place to apply pressure. He wasn’t really a criminal, he hadn’t done much of anything, and they told him he was going to prison unless he rolled over and testified. If he did what they said, they’d give him a new name and move him someplace safe. If not, he could talk to his wife once a month through a wire screen and have ten years to get used to it.
“How did you find me?” he wanted to know. “Somebody leaked it in Washington?”
Keller shook his head. “Freak thing,” he said. “Somebody saw you on the street, recognized you, followed you home.”
“Here in Roseburg?”
“I don’t think so. Were you out of town a week or so ago?”
“Oh, God,” Engleman said. “We went down to San Francisco for the weekend.”
“That sounds right.”
“I thought it was safe. I don’t even know anybody in San Francisco, I was never there in my life. It was her birthday, we figured nothing could be safer. I don’t know a soul there.”
“Somebody knew you.”
“And followed me back here?”
“I don’t even know. Maybe they got your plate and had somebody run it. Maybe they checked your registration at the hotel. What’s the difference?”
“No difference.”
Engleman picked up his coffee and stared into the cup. Keller said, “You knew last night. You’re in that program. Isn’t there someone you’re supposed to call?”
“There’s someone,” Engleman said. He put his cup down. “It’s not that great a program,” he said. “It’s great when they’re telling you about it, but the execution leaves a lot to be desired.”
“I’ve heard that,” Keller said.
“Anyway, I didn’t call anybody. What are they going to do? Say they stake my place out, the house and the print shop, and they pick you up. Even if they make something stick against you, what good does it do me? We’ll still have to move again because the guy’ll just send somebody else, right?”
“I suppose so.”
“Well, I’m not moving anymore. They moved us three times and I don’t even know why. I think it’s automatic, part of the program, they move you a few times during the first year or two. This is the first place we’ve really settled in since we left, and we’re starting to make money at Quik Print, and I like it. I like the town and I like the business. I don’t want to move.”
“The town seems nice.”
“It is,” Engleman said. “It’s better than I thought it would be.”
“And you didn’t want to develop another accounting practice?”
“Never,” Engleman said. “I had enough of that, believe me. Look what it got me.”
“You wouldn’t necessarily have to work for crooks.”
“How do you know who’s a crook and who isn’t? Anyway, I don’t want any kind of work where I’m always looking at the inside of somebody else’s business. I’d rather have my own little business, work there side by side with my wife. We’re right there on the street and you can look in the front window and see us. You need stationery, you need business cards, you need invoice forms, I’ll print ’em for you.”
“How did you learn the business?”
“It’s a franchise kind of thing, a turnkey operation. Anybody could learn it in twenty minutes.”
“No kidding?”
“Oh, yeah. Anybody.”
Keller drank some of his coffee. He asked if Engleman had said anything to his wife and learned that he hadn’t. “That’s good,” he said. “Don’t say anything. I’m this guy, weighing some business