Memory Man

“She deserves better? Shit, I don’t know why I even bothered. I could get better ass than Jenny Marks without even trying. And I wouldn’t have to listen to her baby talk.”

“Dumb shit? Baby talk? Really? Lady has a college degree.” Decker already had more than he needed, but he was starting to enjoy this.

“Actually, she’s not a dumb shit. She’s a freaking moron.”

Okay, fun is over.

Decker took the unsigned piece of paper and slid it into the envelope with the photos. He put them all away in his coat pocket.

“What the hell are you doing?” the man said incredulously.

In answer Decker pulled out a miniature digital recorder and hit play.

“I’m sure she’ll enjoy your description of her,” said Decker. “What kind of hamburger by the way? All beef? Organic? Or just freaking moronic?”

The man sat there looking stunned.

Decker put the recorder away and pushed the one-way ticket toward the guy. “We’ll let you keep this. Be sure your butt is on the plane. The next guy they send out will be even bigger than me, and it won’t just be your fingers he cracks. It’ll be you.”

The man said pitifully, “Are you telling me I get none of the money?”

Decker stood. “Like I said, what a genius you are.”

Chapter 4

Decker sat on his bed in his one room about the size of a prison cell. For dealing with clients he used a table in the dining room of the Residence Inn, where his monthly payment included a daily buffet breakfast. They were definitely losing money on him with that arrangement. He would just pick up entire plates of food from the buffet and carry them to his table. He could have used a backhoe instead of a fork.

He had gotten his check from Mr. Marks’s emissary. A buddy on the police force had recommended Decker to the rich guy to handle this delicate matter concerning his vapid daughter who was always falling in love with the wrong guy. He’d never met with the old man, only his reps. That was okay; he doubted Marks would have wanted him soiling his fancy furniture. They had met at the breakfast bar — two young jerks in thousand-dollar suits who declined to even sample the coffee. They were probably more into double espressos spit out from those shiny little machines manned by a barista. He could tell from their expressions that they knew exactly how good they had it and how not good Decker had it. He’d worn his best shirt to the meeting, meaning the other one.

Daddy Marks had authorized up to a hundred grand to get rid of the albatross around his little girl’s neck. After sizing up the con, Decker had told the reps he could get it done for a lot less. And he had. For the price of a one-way ticket, in fact. Chump change. You’d think Daddy Warbucks would have bonused him at least a percentage of the six-figure savings. But he stuck to the letter of their agreement and Decker just got his flat hourly rate, though he’d padded that considerably and made a nice payday for himself. Yet a percentage would have been good. Probably how the rich stayed rich. But it had been worth it, to see a con conned. And he figured Jenny Marks would be in the same boat in a few more months and he’d get called up again. Maybe he should ask Daddy Warbucks for a retainer.

He left his room and made his way to the dining area right off the inn’s lobby. It was early and he was the only one there other than eighty-year-old June, who was enjoying her golden years by shoveling greasy home fries onto a platter at the buffet stand.

After loading up his plate he sat down to eat at his usual table.

His first forkful was halfway to his mouth when he saw her come in.

She would be forty-two now, same age as he was. She looked older. Her job just did that to a person. It had done so to him.

He lowered his gaze and his fork and salted everything on his plate four times over, including the pancakes. He was hoping that a man of his considerable size could shrink to invisibility behind a wall of protein and carbs.

“Hello, Amos.”

Well, apparently not.

He shoved a forkful of congealed eggs, grits, bacon, home fries, and ketchup down his throat. He chewed with his mouth open, hoping that the sight would prompt her to hit a U-turn and go back to where she came from.

No such luck.

She sat down across from him. The table was small and she was small as well. But he was not. He was huge. He took up most of the table just by being there.

“How’re you doing?” she asked.

He stuffed more food into his mouth and smacked his lips together. He didn’t look up. What would have been the point? There was nothing that she could possibly say that he would want to hear.

She said, “I can wait this out, if that’s how you want to play it. I’ve got all the time in the world.”

He finally looked at her. She was stick-thin because of the cigarettes and the gum, which she always substituted for food and drink. He was probably having more food at this one meal than she put away in a month.