Killer Move - Michael Marshall [104]
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
The door at the bottom of the little staircase was shut. I grabbed at the handle, yanking it, had started kicking and punching out at it before I realized I was losing control. Jane moved me aside, almost gently, and undid the catch. I tugged the door open and stormed across the restaurant. It had gotten much busier in the time I’d spent listening to Tony Thompson justify more than twenty years of breaking lives, and I bodychecked a waiter without realizing he was even there, upending a full tray of drinks and appetizers. He started to get on my case, but I shoved him out of the way, knocking him backward into a table of four.
I was halfway to the door to the outside when something—someone—caught my eye. There was a couple sitting over on the left, a two-top well positioned near one of the nice long windows that looked down onto the leafy side street. The woman had her back to me. I didn’t know the guy opposite her, a chunky guy in shorts and a Bermuda shirt, big fat face and goatee beard, staring down at his menu as if it was in Sanskrit. I knew the woman, however, even from behind. I knew even before I heard her let out a big, weird laugh.
I started moving toward them. I heard Jane say something, but ignored it.
“Hey,” I said when I got to the table.
Janine looked up. She was wearing a print dress that actually looked okay, and well out of her price range. Her hair had been done since I’d seen her that morning.
“Well, hey, Bill. How’s tricks?”
I had no answer to that. “I don’t think you ever met my husband.” She indicated her dinner date. “Oli, this is Bill Moore. You know. My ‘boss.’ ”
“S’up,” he said, nodding.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“Having dinner, of course,” Janine said, selecting a juicy olive from the bowl in the middle of their table. The movement was dainty, precise. “Oli’s going to take the rib eye, I bet. I’m pretty sure I’m headed for the swordfish. But as regards appetizers, I’m not sure. Going to take my time working that out.” She smiled at me again, with an odd, gloating expression. “But hey—you’ve been here a couple times, right? What would you recommend? From your wealth of experience?”
“What the fuck are you doing here?” I asked again, more loudly. Diners at nearby tables turned. “There’s no way you can afford this place. We even discussed it.”
“I got paid,” she said, and the smug contentment ratcheted up yet another notch. “Really I should be thanking you, I guess.”
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