Myron Bolitar 6 - The Final Detail by Coben Harlan

Author:Coben, Harlan
Language: eng
Format: epub

Myron Bolitar 6 - The Final Detail

CHAPTER 20

Back at the of­fice My­ron strapped on the Ul­tra Slim phone head­set and start­ed mak­ing phone calls. Very Jer­ry Maguire. Not just in ap­pear­ance but in the fact that clients were aban­don­ing him left and right. And he hadn't even writ­ten a mis­sion state­ment.

Win called. “News­pa­per Tail's name is Wayne Tu­nis. He lives in Stat­en Is­land and works in con­struc­tion. He placed one call to a John Mc­Clain, telling him that he had been spot­ted. That's it. They're pret­ty care­ful.”

“So we don't yet know who hired him?”

“That would be cor­rect.”

“When in doubt,” My­ron said, “we should go with the ob­vi­ous choice.”

“Young FJ?”

“Who else? He's been fol­low­ing me for months.”

“Course of ac­tion?”

“I'd like to get him off my back.”

“May I rec­om­mend a well-​placed bul­let through the back of the skull?”

“We've got enough prob­lems with­out adding one more.”

“Fine. Course of ac­tion?”

“We con­front him.”

“He usu­al­ly hangs out at a Star­bucks on Forty-​ninth Street,” Win said.

“Star­bucks?”

“The old mob espres­so bars have gone the way of leisure suits and dis­co mu­sic.”

“Both of them are com­ing back.”

“No,” Win said, “bizarre mu­ta­tions of them are com­ing back.”

“Like cof­fee bars in place of espres­so bars?”

“Then you un­der­stand.”

“So let's pay FJ a vis­it”

“Give me twen­ty min­utes,” Win said be­fore hang­ing up.

As soon as My­ron hit the dis­con­nect, Big Cyn­di buzzed his line.

“Mr. Boli­tar?”

“Yes?”

“A Miss or Mr. Thrill is on the phone,” Big Cyn­di said.

My­ron closed his eyes. “You mean from last night?”

“Un­less you know some­one else named Thrill, Mr. Boli­tar.”

“Take a mes­sage.”

“Both her words and tone sug­gest ur­gen­cy, Mr. Boli­tar.”

Sug­gest ur­gen­cy? “Fine. Patch her—or him— through.”

“Yes, Mr. Boli­tar.”

There was a click.

“My­ron?”

“Uh, yeah, hi, Thrill.”

“That was some ex­it you made last night, big fel­la,” Thrill said. “You re­al­ly know how to im­press a girl.”

“Yeah, I usu­al­ly don't jump through a plate glass win­dow un­til the sec­ond date.”

“So how come you haven't called me?”

“I've been re­al­ly busy.”

“I'm down­stairs,” Thrill said. “Tell the guard to let me up.”

“It's not a good time. Like I said be­fore—”

“Men rarely say no to Thrill. I must be los­ing my touch.”

“It's not that,” he said. “It's just that the tim­ing is all wrong.”

“My­ron, my name isn't re­al­ly Thrill.”

“I hate to burst your bub­ble, but I kin­da sus­pect­ed it read some­thing else on your birth cer­tifi­cate.”

“No, that's not what I mean. Look, let me up. We need to talk about last night. About some­thing that hap­pened af­ter you left.”

So he shrugged and called down to the guard at the front desk and told him to let up any­one iden­ti­fy­ing them­selves as Thrill. The guard was puz­zled but said okay. The head­set was still strapped on so My­ron speed-​di­aled a sports ap­par­el com­pa­ny. Be­fore dash­ing to the Caribbean, My­ron had been on the verge of land­ing a sneak­er deal for a track and field client with said com­pa­ny. But now he was be­ing put on hold. An as­sis­tant to an as­sis­tant fi­nal­ly came on the line. My­ron asked him about the deal. It had fall­en through, he was told. Why? he asked.

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