Eight Million Ways To Die

"That's the one. Why did she get killed? To throw you off the track? Except you weren't on the track to begin with."

"No."

"Then why? You think the first killing turned the killer nuts?

Triggered something in him that made him want to do it again?"

"I think that's part of it," I said. "Nobody would do a second butcher job like that unless he enjoyed the first one. I don't know if he had sex with either of his victims, but the kick he got out of the killings had to be sexual."

"So he just picked up Cookie for the hell of it?"

Bryna blanched again. It was bad enough hearing about someone who got killed for being the wrong person's girl- friend. It was even worse hearing about a girl getting killed at random.

"No," I said, "Cookie was killed for a specific reason. The killer went looking for her and passed up a batch of other streetwalkers until he found her. Cookie was family."

"Family? Whose family?"

"The boyfriend's."

"He had two sweeties, this jeweler? A call girl and a transvestite hustler?"

"Cookie wasn't his sweetie. Cookie was his brother."

"Cookie—"

"Cookie Blue started life as Mark Blaustein. Mark had an older brother named Adrian who went into the jewelry business. Adrian Blaustein had a girlfriend named Kim and some business associates from Colombia."

"So Cookie and Kim were connected."

"They had to be connected. I'm sure they never met each other. I don't think Mark and Adrian had any contact in recent years. That may explain why it took the killer so long to find Cookie. But I knew there had to be some kind of link. I told someone earlier that they were sisters under the skin. That wasn't far off. They were almost sisters-in-law."

He thought about this, then told Bryna to give us a few moments alone. This time I didn't interfere. She left the table and Danny Boy motioned to the waitress. He ordered vodka for himself and asked me what I wanted.

"Nothing right now," I said.

When she brought back the vodka he took a careful little sip and set the glass down. "You've been to

the cops," he said.

"No cops."

"Why not?"

"Just didn't get around to it yet."

"You had to come here instead."

"That's right."

"I can keep my mouth shut, Matt, but Bryna the Vagina wouldn't know how. She thinks unexpressed thoughts build up inside your head and explode your skull, and she's not taking any chances. Anyway, you were talking loud enough for half the room to pick up on what you were saying."

"I know that."

"I figured you did. What do you want?"

"I want the killer to know what I know."

"That shouldn't take long."

"I want you to pass it on, Danny Boy. I'm leaving here, I'm walking back to my neighborhood. I'll probably spend a couple of hours in Armstrong's. Then I'll walk around the corner to my room."

"You're gonna get killed, Matt."

"This fucker only kills girls," I said.

"Cookie was only half a girl. Maybe he's working his way up to men."

"Maybe."

"You want him to make a move on you."

"Looks that way, doesn't it?"

"Looks to me as though you're crazy, Matt. I tried to head you off the minute you came over here. Tried to cool you down some."

"I know."

"It's probably too late now. Whether I pass it on or not."

"It was too late before then. I was uptown before I came down here. You know a man named Royal Waldron?"

"Sure, I know Royal."

"He and I talked some. Royal's been known to do a little business with some fellows from Colombia."

"He would," Danny Boy said. "The business he's in."

"So they probably already know. But you could pass it on anyway, just for insurance."

"Insurance," he said. "What's the opposite of life insurance?"

"I don't know."

"Death insurance. They may be waiting outside for you right now, Matt."

"It's possible."

"Why don't you go pick up the phone and call the cops? They could send a car and you go somewhere and make a statement. Let the bastards earn their money."

"I want the killer," I said. "I want him one-on-one."

"You're not Latin. Where'd you get this macho hangup?"

"Just pass the word, Danny Boy."

"Sit down a minute." He leaned forward, dropped his voice. "You don't want to walk out of here without a piece. Just sit here a minute and I'll get you something."

"I don't need a gun."

"No, of course not. Who needs one? You can take his machete away from him and make him eat it.

Then break both his legs and leave him in an alley."

"Something like that."

"Will you let me get you a gun?" His eyes searched mine. "You've already got one," he said. "On you, right now. Haven't you?"

"I don't need a gun," I said.

And I didn't. On the way out of the Top Knot I put my hand in my pocket and felt the butt and barrel of the little .32. Who needed it? A little gun like that doesn't have a whole lot of stopping power anyway.

Especially when you can't make yourself squeeze the trigger.

I went outside. It was still raining but no harder than before. I tugged the brim of my hat and took a good look around.

The Mercury sedan was parked on the other side of the street. I recognized it by its crimped fenders.

While I was standing there the driver started the engine.