by K. W. Jeter
Which just went to show how sharp he still was. He remembered stuff like that, filing little details away inside his head. I’d spotted the tremor in his hand – actually, I’d noticed it before – but his mind was still sharp as ever.
Or at least I hoped it still was.
With his thumb, he wiped a grease spot from his other wrist. “How’d you get in?”
“Your landlady,” I said. “She remembered me, too. From before.”
“She’s got a good memory.” He nodded appreciatively. “Good as mine.”
“So how you been?”
“All right.” He gave a shrug. “Overworked.”
“Yeah, and underpaid.”
“I’ve been saving,” said Curt. “For retirement.”
That was something he and I had talked about – not just the last time I’d been around to see him, but before that. Truth of the matter was, this kind of job didn’t really pay all that well. I don’t mean bodyguard work – that was what they called people like Curt and the rest of his crew, but they did other stuff for their boss. Working for somebody like Falcone – sorry, Fal-kun – you wound up doing other things with the gun you always carried. Things that other guys, who worked for other people like Falcon, tried to do to you. A big part of your job was just making sure that you were the one who was still alive at the end of the day.
Given the hazards involved, you might’ve thought that the job would pay more. But unless you were at the absolute top – like Falcon – you got screwed.
Or maybe an in-demand freelancer like my late partner Cole – he’d been the one who’d gotten me into this stupid business. Most of what I knew about killing people came from him. And the rest wasn’t worth squat. He’d gotten paid pretty well – I knew for a fact, because before I’d gotten into the killing thing, I’d actually been the company accountant who cut the checks to pay him. For services rendered to our old boss McIntyre. Killing him had been my first job of this type. Cole and I had worked on it together.
But he was dead now – like I said, kind of an occupational hazard – so now I had to figure all the rest out on my own. Like how to make a living doing this.
“Retirement, huh?” I raised an eyebrow. “That’ll be the day.”
One thing that I’d already learned – from Curt, even though it’d been nothing that he’d said out loud to me – was that I didn’t want to end up like him. An old guy in a crummy apartment. That, I had already – I was hoping to get to the point where I could move me and my brother Donnie to someplace nicer. And after that – a long time after, when I was as old as Curt – maybe there’d be enough set aside in my SEP-IRA account so I wouldn’t have to do this crap any longer. Right now, there was only a hundred bucks in the retirement account. I hadn’t added any more money since I’d started it up, but at least it was there for me to think about. Maybe if I declared my .357, plus the other lethal gear I used for my new career, as business expenses, then maybe I’d be able to sock away a bit more. The IRS really could give small businessmen like me more of a break.
Right now, I could tell that Curt was kind of tired. Given what I already knew about the stuff that had gone down today, that was completely understandable.
“Still shooting that thirty-eight?” I nodded toward the gun on the table.
“We’re used to each other.”
Another awkward moment went by. I made enough room amid the crusted dishes on the table to set my elbows down and prop my face in my hands.
“So.” His turn this time. “What the hell happened out there in Albany?”
“Nothing good.” I didn’t want to go into details right now. Plus I didn’t know how much Curt already knew. “Those people were jerks. That Moretti guy . . .” I shook my head. “And his checks kept bouncing. And that was after he screwed me down to the bone on my rates.”
“I told you,” said Curt. “I’ve done that freelancer stuff. Long time ago. You go low-ball – I mean, really low-ball – then people just don’t respect you anymore. Or your work. You would’ve been better off trying to get hired on regular.”
“Yeah, I should’ve listened to you.” Old guys always like it when you say that to them. Like it validates their continued existence on the planet. But he’d had a point. “I don’t get it,” I said aloud. “What’s the point of shopping around for a bargain when you want somebody killed? It’s like that panel van you used to see driving around, with the sign that said Cheapest Botox in Town. Sure, like what could go wrong? Stuff’s only frickin’ poison.”
“You’ll never need that.” He gave me a little smile. “You’re so pretty.”
“Glad you think so.” I had my hair loose rather than tied back, but it was kind of flat from my motorcycle helmet. Plus, with my jeans and leather jacket, I figured I probably looked a little hard right now. Some guys like that, though.
“Anyway,” said Curt, “Chinese girls tend to age well.”
I wasn’t going to bother pointing out – again – the difference between Chinese and Korean. What was the point of becoming an old fart like him, if you couldn’t get things like that wrong? As long as you got the important stuff right.
“Super,” I said. “Something to look forward to.”
“Sorry the gig didn’t work out. Maybe I could ask Mr. Falcon to give you another chance. Maybe at one of his other branch operations.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
My smile puzzled him.
“Why not?”
“Don’t you know why I came here?”
“I don’t know,” said Curt. “Maybe you wanted to ask me to give you another chance.”
There was a little history between him and me. Not all of it good. That was mainly my fault. Hooking up with his operations – not with him and the others around Falcon, but just as extra security out of town – that had been one of my first gigs after Cole had gotten killed. I might have screwed things up, at least a little bit, there at Moretti’s place. My beginner’s luck must’ve run out when Cole and I had been working at killing McIntyre.
“Like I said before. That’ll be the day.” I shook my head. “That’s not it. You’re way off.”
“Okay. So what is it?”
“Mr. Falcon didn’t tell you?” I leaned across the table toward him. “I’m the new guy. On your crew.”
Curt didn’t say anything. He just gazed back at me in silence . . .
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Kim Oh 1: Real Dangerous Girl
Kim Oh 2: Real Dangerous Job
Kim Oh 3: Real Dangerous People
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