"Robert," I said. "Would you prefer Rob or Bob?"
The man only glared up at me.
"Bert, then," I continued. "You look like a Bert to me. So, Bert, not exactly a story you can barter for beer at the legion hall, is it?"
"You made me, didn't you?" he said, eyes on mine, voice as calm as if we were indeed discussing this at the legion.
"A takedown in a prison parking lot? In front of witnesses?" Evelyn shook her head. "Amateur hour."
"I could have done it," he said.
"But you didn't. You fucked up. Having a mark make you before you even get within firing distance? Unbelievable." Evelyn stepped forward, eyes trained on his. "But you didn't have all the facts, did you? You didn't know she was a pro."
"Pro?" Bert squinted at me. "She's a hitwoman?"
"No," Evelyn said. "You just got your ass kicked by the Avon lady."
His squint narrowed to a slit. "He told me she was a con artist." A sharp twist of the lips. "Paying me five grand to off a pro? Fuck, I deserve twenty for this."
"For what?" Evelyn said. "You didn't kill her."
Bert shrugged his brows as if he hadn't abandoned the hope of collecting.
"And for me?" Evelyn said.
"Two."
"Two grand? Two--"
I stepped forward, cutting her off. "Who hired you?"
Evelyn waved me back. We stared each other down for a few seconds, then I rolled my shoulders and moved beside Bert, gun at the ready. I'd already taken the muscle role. Too late to change my mind now.
"Who hired you?" she asked.
"I want to make a deal," he said.
"Do I look like Monty Hall? Here's your deal: either you tell me or you never leave this motel room."
His gaze shifted from Evelyn to me. "Look, if you're a pro, you know the score. If I go blabbing on my employer, my life ain't worth shit."
"And if you don't, it ain't worth shit, either," I said.
He turned his attention to Evelyn.
"You've got to understand," he said. "This isn't some nobody I'm dealing with--"
"Isn't it?" she said, taking a seat on the bed. "Perhaps he was a somebody once, but now he's a toothless old lion desperate not to cut his last years short. That's why he called you, isn't it?"
I glanced sharply at Evelyn, but her gaze was riveted on the hitman.
"You know then," he said. "So why are you asking me?"
"For confirmation."
"Yeah, it was Little Joe Nikolaev. He said you two went to see him yesterday and he let something slip. Something big. I don't know what it was, but he said if Boris heard, that was it. He'd shut him up for good."
So that was what this was about? That old hit Little Joe had let slip, the details of which I'd already forgotten?