Without remorse - Tom Clancy [98]
'Here you go.' She handed over a glass.
'Thank you. What did your husband do?'
'He worked for the Commerce Department for forty-two years. We were going to move to Florida, but then he got sick so now I'm going alone. My sister lives in Fort Pierce, she's a widow too, her husband was a policeman ...' Her voice trailed off as the cat came in to examine the new visitor. That seemed to invigorate Mrs Boyd. 'I'm moving down there next week. The house is already sold, have to get out next Thursday. I sold it to a nice young doctor.'
'I hope you like it down there, ma'am. How much do you want for the car?'
'I can't drive anymore because of my eyes, cataracts. People have to drive me everywhere I go. My grandson says it's worth one thousand five hundred dollars.'
Your grandson must be a lawyer to be that greedy, Kelly thought. 'How about twelve hundred? I can pay cash.'
'Cash?' Her eyes became fey again.
'Yes, ma'am.'
'Then you can have the car.' She held out her hand and Kelly took it carefully.
'Do you have the paperwork?' It made Kelly feel guilty that she had to get up again, this time heading upstairs, slowly, holding on to the banister while Kelly took out his wallet and counted off twelve crisp bills.
It should have taken only another ten minutes, but instead it was thirty. Kelly had already checked up on how to do the mechanics of a title transfer, and besides, he wasn't going to do all of that. The auto-insurance policy was tucked into the same cardboard envelope as the title, in the name of Kenneth W. Boyd. Kelly promised to take care of that for her, and the tags, too, of course. But it turned out that all the cash made Mrs Boyd nervous, and so Kelly helped her fill out a deposit ticket, and then drove her to her bank, where she could drop it into the night depository. Then he stopped off at the supermarket for milk and cat food before bringing her home and walking her to the door again.
'Thank you for the car, Mrs Boyd,' he said in parting.
'What are you going to use it for?'
'Business.' Kelly smiled and left.
At quarter of nine that night, two cars pulled into the service area on Interstate 95. The one in front was a Dodge Dart and the one behind it a red Plymouth Roadrunner. Roughly fifty feet apart, they picked a half-full area north of Maryland House, a rest stop set in the median of the John F. Kennedy Highway, offering full restaurant services along with gas and oil - good coffee, but, understandably, no alcoholic beverages. The Dart took a few meandering turns in the parking lot, finally stopping three spaces from a white Oldsmobile with Pennsylvania tags and a brown vinyl top. The Roadrunner took a space in the next row. A woman got out and walked towards the brick restaurant, a path that took her past the Olds.
'Hey, baby,' a man said. The woman stopped and took a few steps towards the vinyl-topped automobile. The man was Caucasian, with long but neatly combed black hair and an open-necked white shirt.
'Henry sent me,' she said.
'I know.' He reached out to stroke her face, a gesture which she did not resist. He looked around a little before moving his hand downwards. 'You have what I want, baby?'
'Yes.' She smiled. It was a forced, uneasy smile, frightened but not embarrassed. Doris was months beyond embarrassment.
'Nice tits,' the man said with no emotional content at all in his voice. 'Get the stuff.'
Doris walked back to her car, as though she'd forgotten something. She returned with a large purse, almost a small duffel, really. As she walked past the Olds, the man's hand reached out and took it. Doris proceeded into the building, returning a minute later holding a can of soda, her eyes on the Roadrunner, hoping that she'd done everything right. The Olds had its motor running, and the driver blew her a kiss, to which she responded with a wan smile.
'That was easy enough,' Henry Tucker said, fifty yards away, at the outdoor eating area on the other side of the building.
'Good stuff?' another man asked Tony Piaggi. The three of them sat at the same table, 'enjoying' the