“But this is all conjecture, just some crazy idea of yours.”
“I hope so. God, I hope so,” he said fervently. His breath was warm, his gaze seductive and deep inside Marla felt the first stirrings of desire heat her blood. Oh, she couldn’t do this. Not again.
She pulled the handle and the door swung open. “Let’s go see the detective.”
“You blew it again! Jesus Christ, what kind of moron are you?” The voice on the other end of the wire was angry as hell. “How hard can it be to kill someone?”
He wanted to tell the bastard to go fuck himself. Standing in the phone booth, night starting to close around him, he wanted to reach through the damned wires and choke the fucker. “Listen, if you want Marla dead so bad, then just do it yourself,” he growled, knowing the prick was too chicken to get blood on his lily-white hands. A coward of the lowest order.
“We have a deal.”
“I know.” He calmed a little, his eyes narrowing on the traffic light at the corner where a couple of teenagers were straining against the leash of a big dog who seemed determined to bound into traffic. “I’ll take care of it.”
“No. Not now. It’s too risky. She’s starting to remember. And we’re running out of opportunities. Pretty soon everyone including the police will get suspicious.”
“I’ll do it tonight,” he promised, smiling at the note of panic in the other man’s voice. “I’ll take care of it tonight.”
“No . . . not at the house. Everyone’s on edge as it is. I’ll come up with a plan. We have to wait.”
“You’re the one who’s in the big hurry to have her dead.”
“And you’re not?”
His fingers sweated around the receiver. “As a matter of fact, I’d like to take my time. Stretch it out. Make her beg for mercy.”
“Shit. You’re sicker than I thought. But lay off for now. Until I work this out. We might have to wait until the old man kicks off. Then you can kill her. And I want you to make it neat. Don’t . . . don’t torture her.”
“What the hell do you care?” The bastard at the other end of the line was suffering from a twinge of conscience. Didn’t that beat all? He laughed and reached into the inner pocket of his jacket for his cigarettes. “And that’s why you hired me, isn’t it? Because I’m sick? And because I have the goods on you, my friend.”
“Let’s get one thing straight, okay? We’re not friends. We never have been, we never will be. This is just . . . business.”
He jabbed a filter tip between his lips. “What happened to blood is thicker than water?”
“It’s bullshit. You know it and I know it. Now just wait until I contact you, then you can do your job and you’ll get paid.”
“I’d better. Because if I don’t see the money, if you pull a fast one, I’ll give the police and the newspapers the true story. About you and all the sins you try so hard to hide. Everything that you’ve done is documented, amigo, everything. Including all that shit at Cahill House a while back. Your ass is as good as nailed. So don’t fuck with me.”
He slammed the receiver down and turned his collar against the wind rushing off the ocean. Sanctimonious prick. Just wait. He hiked down the hill a couple of blocks, ducked across the street in front of a cable car and walked along the boardwalk of Fisherman’s Wharf, blending in with the tourists who braved the chill of winter. His ankle still hurt on days like this, a painful reminder that he’d failed to kill Marla. He’d rectify that situation and soon.
Crab venders were hawking cold crab and hot chowder. Over the rush of traffic and the noise of tourists an occasional bark of a sea lion cut through the chill winter air.
Smoking, he slowed his steps as he walked behind an older Asian couple huddled against the wind. All the while he thought about Marla. The princess. Beautiful and rich. And the hottest cunt he’d ever had the pleasure to dip into.
He’d once fancied himself in love with her.
But then he’d always been a fool when it came to women. Right now she was spilling her guts to that stupid ass of a detective and she was with the brother. Was he the guy she was with last night? The guy whose face he couldn’t see in the darkened window? The guy touching her naked body for Christ’s sake? Or had it been her husband?
Either way, it got him horny.
He’d enjoy offing her, but he’d have to come up with another plan to kill her, one that was a little more personal. Yeah, that was it. Something . . . intimate and seductive and deadly. He didn’t give a shit what the rich bastard who’d ordered the hit asked for. This was his game and he wanted her to see his face before she died—let her know that he’d gotten his revenge. He imagined her eyes rounding in recognition, her lips trembling in fear, the way she would plead for mercy.
One more time baby, he thought, his cock growing hard at the inward vision of her fear. He flicked his half-smoked cigarette into the gutter and veered into one of the bars advertising cold beer and fish and chips. Settling onto a nicked bar stool, he ordered a draft and as he sized up the tiny waitress with the big tits, he wondered if there was any way he could fuck Marla before he killed her.
Chapter Fifteen
“So you still don’t remember why you were with Pamela Delacroix that night?” Paterno asked as he rocked back in his chair in his cramped, messy office. It was tight, stuffy and smelled of stale coffee.
“Not yet.” Marla looked him steadily in the eye. Perched on a chair on the other side of his cluttered desk, she added, “I don’t remember much about her, but I think it’s only a matter of time before it all comes back to me, and when it does, I’ll let you know.” She was trying not to sound irritated but couldn’t help herself. They’d been talking for over an hour, she’d signed a statement about the accident and was getting tired. Her mouth hurt like crazy and being grilled by the detective didn’t help her mood. Nick had remained silent for most of the interview, sitting next to her in an identical beat-up chair on one side of a messy desk while Anthony Paterno observed them both. Half glasses were