Gun Machine

“I have always made a point of being aware of where and when to find you should it be necessary. You have a schedule for walking your dog—”

“My wife’s dog.”

“—your dog that has proved quite inflexible over the last two years. You are often visibly unhappy when doing so. You choose the Ramble, and at this time of night, because you believe the confluence to be inherently dangerous. This is why you are armed. Perhaps you think it helps keep you sharp after a day at your desk. Perhaps you’re looking for trouble.”

“If you’re here to kill me,” said Westover, “then, please, let’s get on with it. If you’re here to talk to me, then say something interesting. If you want my help with some situation, then stop fucking around and ask for it.”

The hunter smiled. Westover visibly, involuntarily shivered but kept his spine straight and his arms in preparatory position by his sides.

“You always did treat me with less overt deference than the others.”

Westover didn’t move.

“No response?” said the hunter, raising an amused eyebrow.

“Nothing you’d be interested in hearing. How bad is it, that you’ve had to contact me directly in the middle of the night?”

The hunter took a breath. “All the things I have done for you. All the work undertaken. Each of those acts has a thing associated with it. Each of those things was stored in a single special place. It was well secured, but, as I’m sure you know yourself, no security is perfect. The place was breached. The things within it are now in the possession of the police.”

Westover frowned, shook his head. “I swear, over the years you’ve only gotten more fucking schizophrenic. I have no idea what you’re even talking about.”

“Think about it,” the hunter whispered.

Westover did. The hunter could almost see Westover’s heart rise into his mouth. “Oh God. You’re crazier than I thought.”

“Is a man crazy for going to church? For tending the earth that gives him food?”

“All right. All right. I can’t do anything about that. I appreciate the warning. Tell me what you need to secure your silence. What can I get you? Plane ticket? Passport?”

The hunter’s hand was still in his bag. He judged Westover’s position. Westover, distracted as he was, remained ready for violence. “I am taking something from my bag. It is not a weapon.”

The hunter extracted the scrap of napkin he’d written on earlier, reached over, and passed it to Westover’s fingers.

“I want,” said the hunter, “to know who that car belongs to, and where the owner lives. That, I’m quite certain, is in your power. I have noticed, not always with pleasure, how broad the reach of your security company has gotten over the years.”

Westover looked at it. “Who is this?”

“A police detective, I believe. I want this information ready for me by this time tomorrow, at this place. I would have called you, but your telephone is no longer in service.”

“I change numbers regularly these days,” muttered Westover, still looking at the napkin. “A cop. Why are you talking to me about this? I’m not the one who—”

“I believe it would be more efficient for you to do this,” said the hunter. “I want to keep that man in reserve, for now. Also, I believe he would refuse me, and that would start us down a short and nasty road. Don’t you think?”

Westover nodded. “Okay. I can do that. Not as tricky as it used to be, in fact. What will you do with the information?”

“My ultimate goal would be recovery of as many of my tools as possible,” the hunter said. “I don’t wish to start all over again. But I will if I have to. Removal of this man may help disrupt the police process. Or it may just be a new beginning for me. So…I haven’t decided yet. Nor have I decided how it would be done. The information you find will help me with that too.”

“How?”

“I told you, Mr. Westover, back when we started down this path together. Never ask me about my methods. You don’t need to know. And I don’t want you to know. It is not for you.”

Westover pocketed the napkin. “All right,” he said once more. “Tomorrow night. You’ll have a name, an address, and whatever other details on the man I can have pulled. What happens then?”

The hunter took stock of Westover again for a few seconds. “Why don’t you have a dog walker?”

“What?”

“You’re a wealthy man, Mr. Westover. I know that very well. I did, after all, help that happen. And I’ve kept my eye on all of you, over the years. Also, I spend a lot of time here in Central Park, and I know full well that wealthy people in this city pay people to walk their dogs. So why don’t you have a dog walker? Is it just the illicit little thrill of the notion that one day someone will try to mug you and you’ll gun them down? Or is it something else?”

Westover shifted on his feet. “I want to know what happens then. I want to know what I personally have to protect against, and what I have to prepare for.”

“Answer me first.”

“It gets me away from my wife for a while. Simple as that. As to the other thing: I run a security company. I wouldn’t do that job well if I were not aware of my personal security.”