The Destroyer 143 - Bad Dog by Warren Murphy

Author:Warren Murphy
Language: eng
Format: mobi
ISBN: 9780751560923
Publisher: Little, Brown Book Group
Published: 2016-09-28T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter 17

“It was lucky we heard him at all,” Remo explained. “And we may be wrong.”

Smith sounded less than assured. “Master Chiun heard this, too?”

“Not that’s he’s admitting. Look, the truck had to get on County Road HH North. Just tell me what’s the next good target in that direction.”

Smith was searching. At the next desk Mark Howard was doing his own rapid-fire data crunching as he listened in to the conversation.

“Tufted Convalescence is nearest.”

“Government supported,” Mark responded.

“So what?” Remo asked. On the phone he could hear Mark’s comment as well as he could hear a dog yip at three miles.

“Not worth investigating,” Smith explained.

“Not worth saving them because they’re a charity case?”

“Not worth assassinating if you’re working for the insurance industry,” Smith replied, obviously finding the topic a waste of his time.

“I see,” Remo said, although he didn’t.

“You’re not on a rescue mission, Remo.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Villanueva Retirement Facility,” Smith said.

“Or McCullan Oaks Center,” Mark added.

“Both possible targets,” Smith agreed, then looked across the desks to his assistant and said, “Mark?”

It was a test of the both of them. Harold Smith had already decided, in what little time he had, on which of the two targets was the most likely to be Mt. He wanted to know Mark Howard’s assessment—and why. It would test the decision-making of both men.

Harold Smith would analyze this crisis after the fact, critically and without emotion, to determine how well both of them had performed.

Mark Howard had an admirable success rate when it came to crisis decisions, but not as good as Smith’s.

“Villanueva.”

“Why?” Smith asked.

“Larger population of terminal patients, result of a wing closure and shifting of healthy patients to a sister facility in the next county.”

“Agreed. Remo?”

“What? I was supposed to make sense of all that?”

“Villanueva.”

“Congratulations. I’ll buy you a housewarming present. Does Mrs. Smitty like vanilla candles?”

“I’m not buying a new house. I’m talking about the Villanueva Retirement Facility, the next most likely target. Here are the directions.”

Remo listened, then announced, “That’s a long way for a close target. Is there a shortcut?”

Smith explained that there was not a shortcut, and hung up. He plotted the route, searched the police bands in the vicinity and kept himself busy. There was only so much that could be done for the time being.

“Uh-oh,” Mark Howard said.

“Yes?” Smith asked.

“Hold on a second.” Mark snatched up the phone and dialed a local number.

“Mark?” Smith asked.

“Have to call home.”

“Home?”

“It’s me,” Mark said. “Hi. Listen, would you do me a favor and look in the liquor cabinet?”

Smith was staring at him. Mark Howard tapped a button that put the conversation on the speaker. “What’s in there?”

“Not much,” said the voice of Sarah Slate. “That coconut rum stuff. The champagne. One wine bottle opener.”

“Booze. I mean, any more booze?”

“Uh, no, sweetie.”

“Oh. I thought I bought something today. I mean, I didn’t mean to buy it. But I think I bought it. And I didn’t even remember buying it until just now. But I didn’t.”

“Oh,” Sarah said. “The Scotch?”

“I bought Scotch?”

“It’s not in the cabinet.

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