Kill Me if You Can - James Patterson [25]
“No problem,” Marta said. “I’m Giselle.”
“Who sent you, Giselle?”
“A friend.”
“My best reference,” Ira said. “If I ever meet this Mr. A. Friend, I’d love to buy him a beer. What can I do for you?”
“I’ve got a husband who can’t keep his dick in his pants, but if you can’t get in and out of a tub, I doubt you can do anything for me. My problem requires someone with a lot more muscle.”
“We have a division of labor at Acme Industries,” Ira said. “Brains and brawn. I’m brains.”
“I hate to disappoint you, Ira,” Marta said, “but I already have brains. What I’m looking for is someone strong enough to toss a hundred and ten pounds of shit off a roof.”
“I’m guessing the husband with the wandering dick weighs more than one ten,” Ira said, “but I wouldn’t be surprised if he had a hard-bodied little mistress about that size.”
“Well, I was surprised, Ira. And now I’m going to surprise them. Yes or no, is this something you know how to handle?”
“Absolutely. Do you want your husband roughed up as well?”
Marta laughed. “I could rough the dumb bastard up. I could also bash his head in with a cast-iron skillet when he’s sleeping. But I’d rather see the look on his face when he finds out that his little office-manager–slash-whore did a swan dive off a building.”
“No problem. I have several candidates who can handle the job.”
“I don’t want several. I want one. The best man you have.”
“I can give you second best,” Ira said. “But my number-one man doesn’t do matrimonial.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“He gets top dollar for hunting down hard-core dirtbags. He doesn’t believe in killing some pretty little thing just because she’s banging your old man.”
“A killer with a conscience. How noble. What’s his name—Don Quixote?”
“They call him the Ghost.”
“And you’re sure he’s good?” Marta said.
“Nobody better.”
“Excellent,” Marta said. “He sounds like just the man I’ve been looking for.”
Chapter 28
“I think I would really like to meet this Ghost fellow,” Marta said. “Tell me about him.”
Ira stroked the stubble-covered rolls of fat that were his chins. “Let’s see, what can I tell you about the Ghost?” he said. “He likes candlelit dinners, long walks on the beach, outdoor concerts at Tanglewood, and doing the New York Times Sunday crossword puzzle in bed with a smart, sensuous woman. Someone like you, Giselle.”
He shoved a handful of Doritos in his mouth.
Marta stiffened. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“C’mon, Marta, do you think I’m stupid?” Ira said, Cool Ranch crumbs blowing out of his mouth. “I have a database of millions of voiceprints, and I have yours from half a dozen phone calls. Somebody buzzes me from downstairs, I check the voice for a match. I’m flattered you would visit. My clients usually come here, but my operatives almost never come to the office. It’s dull as hell around here on Take Your Daughter to Work Day. What do you want with the Ghost?”
“We’re working on the same job.”
“What job?” Ira said. “Zelvas is dead. Finished.”
“Not finished,” Marta said. “The diamonds that Zelvas stole from the Syndicate got stolen from him.”
“I know,” Ira said. “Chukov sent me a picture of some guy nabbing the stones out of a locker. I passed it along to the Ghost. You want a copy of that?”
“I have it. Chukov hired me as backup. Sorry about trying to con you, but since the Ghost and I are on the same side, I thought you could connect us.”
“I couldn’t even if I wanted to,” he said. “He contacts me. But it’s a pleasure to meet you in person. Forgive me if I don’t stand up.”
“Did you ever meet the Ghost in person?” Marta asked.
“No, ma’am. He’s got a policy. Nobody gets to see him. That way, nobody knows what he looks like.”
She unsnapped the clasp on her black leather Bottega Veneta shoulder bag and removed her Glock 38 semiautomatic. The light .45-caliber pistol fit comfortably in her hand, and its ten-round magazine gave her a soul-satisfying feeling of power.
“Funny thing,” she