Billy Summers

Hoff smiles. Probably it’s charming when he’s on his game but he’s not on it now. He’s in a room with a paid killer. That’s part of it but not all of it. This is a man who feels the walls closing in, and Billy doesn’t think it’s because Hoff suspects he might be played for a patsy. He should know but he doesn’t. Maybe he can’t conceive of it, the way Billy can’t conceive of black holes far out in space as actual real things.

‘It’d be okay. You’re a writer, after all. Socially, you’re in my zone.’

Whatever that means, Billy thinks. ‘Wouldn’t be good later. For you. You could answer any questions, say you had no idea what I was really doing here, but it’d be better if the questions never got asked.’

‘But we’re good, Billy, right?’

‘It’s Dave. You need to get used to that so you don’t slip up. And sure, we’re good, why wouldn’t we be?’ Billy gives him the wide-eyed dumb self look.

It works. This time Hoff’s grin is marginally more charming, because his tongue doesn’t come out to slurp his lips in the middle of it. ‘Dave now and forever. I won’t forget again. You’re sure you don’t need anything? Because, hey, I own the Carmike Cinema at the Southgate Mall, nine screens, got IMAX coming in next year. I could get you a pass, if you—’

‘That would be great.’

‘Terrific. I’ll bring it around this aftern—’

‘Why don’t you mail it? Here, or to the address on Evergreen Street. You’ve got it, right?’

‘Sure, yeah. Your agent gave it to me. All the big pictures play in the summer, you know.’

Billy nods as if he can’t wait to go see a bunch of actors in supersuits.

‘And listen, Dave, I’ve got an in at an escort service. Very nice girls, very discreet. I’d be happy to—’

‘Better not. Low profile, remember?’ He opens the door. Hoff isn’t just trouble, Hoff is an accident waiting to happen.

‘Irv Dean treating you all right?’

The security guard who works days in the lobby. ‘Yeah. He and I match for buck scratch-off tickets sometimes.’

Hoff laughs too loudly, then looks over his shoulder again for people who might overhear. Billy wonders if Colin White and the other staff members of Business Solutions have Ken Hoff on their call list. Probably not. The people Ken is in debt to – and he is in debt, Billy is sure of it – don’t call you on the phone. At a certain point they just come to your house, drown your dog in the swimming pool, and break your fingers on the hand that doesn’t write the checks.

‘Good, that’s good. And Steve Broder?’ Off Billy’s blank look: ‘Building manager.’

‘Haven’t even seen him,’ Billy says. ‘Listen, Ken, thanks for stopping by.’ Billy puts an arm around the shoulders of the man’s wrinkled shirt, escorts him into the hall, and turns him toward the elevators.

‘You bet. And I’ll be johnny on the spot with that item.’

‘I know you will be.’

Hoff starts down the hall, but just when Billy thinks he’s rid of him, Hoff comes back. No hiding the desperation in those eyes now. He speaks low. ‘We’re really good, right? I mean, if I did anything to offend you, or piss you off, I apologize.’

‘Really good,’ Billy says. Thinking, This guy could blow. And if he does, it won’t be Nick Majarian on ground zero. It’ll be me.

‘Because I need this,’ Hoff says. Still speaking low. Smelling of Certs and booze and Creed cologne. ‘It’s like I’m a quarterback and my receivers are covered but then a slot opens up, opens like magic, and I – you know, I—’

In the middle of this strangled metaphor the door to the lawyers’ office down the hall opens. Jim Albright steps out, headed for the bathroom. He sees Billy and lifts a hand. Billy lifts his in return.

‘I get it,’ Billy says. ‘Everything’s going to be fine.’ And because he can think of nothing else, ‘Touchdown ahead.’

Hoff brightens. ‘Third and goal!’ he says. He grabs Billy’s hand, gives it a brisk shake, then heads down the hall, trying to look jaunty.

Billy watches him until he steps into the elevator car and disappears from view. Maybe I should just run, he thinks. Buy a beater as Dalton Smith and run.

But he knows he won’t, and the pending million-five is only half of the reason. What’s waiting for him in the office/conference room is the other half. Maybe more than half. What Billy most wants to do isn’t play Monopoly or drink beer with Don Jensen or go to bed with Phil Stanhope or shoot Joel Allen. What he most wants to do is write. He sits down and powers up the laptop. Opens the document he’s been working on and falls into the past.

CHAPTER 7

1

I went over to him and said to myself I might have to shoot him again. If I had to I would. He was my mother’s boyfriend but he was wrong. He looked dead but I had to make sure so I lick my hand good and wet and kneeled down beside him. I put my wet hand in front of his mouth and nose so I could feel if there was still any breath in him. There wasn’t so then I knew for sure he was dead.