Hit List by Lawrence Block

Author:Lawrence Block
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub, azw3, pdf
Tags: Mystery, Humour, Mystery & Detective, General, Suspense, Thrillers, Fiction, Thriller
ISBN: 9780061030994
Publisher: HarperTorch
Published: 2002-02-05T08:00:00+00:00

Seventeen

* * *

“It’s been a while,” Maggie Griscomb said.

They were in her loft on Crosby Street. Keller’s clothes were neatly folded on the couch, while Maggie’s lay in a black heap on the floor. Music played on her stereo, something weird and electronic. Keller couldn’t guess what the instruments were, let alone why they were being played like that.

“I thought you weren’t going to call me anymore,” she said. “And then you did. And here you are.”

Here he was, in her bed, his perspiration evaporating beneath the overhead fan.

“I was out of town,” he said.

“I know.”

“How?” He turned to face her, worked to keep the alarm from showing on his face or in his voice. “That I was out of town,” he said. “How did you know that?”

“You told me.”

“I told you?”

“Two hours ago,” she said, “or whenever it was that you called. ‘Hi, it’s me, I was out of town.’ “

“Oh.”

“Or words to that effect. Does it all come back to you now?”

“Sure,” he said. “I was confused there for a minute, that’s all.”

“Addled by lovemaking.”

“Must be.”

She rolled over on her side, propped her pointed chin on his chest. “You thought I was checking up on you,” she said.

“No.”

“Sure you did. You thought I meant I already knew you were out of town, before you told me.”

That was what he’d thought, all right. And that was why alarm bells had gone off.

“But I didn’t,” she said, “or I wouldn’t have thought our superficial relationship was coming to an end. ‘He’ll call when he gets back to town,’ I would have thought.”

Maybe it was the music, he thought. If they played it in a movie, you’d be waiting for something to happen. Something scary, if it was that kind of picture. Something unexpected, whatever kind of picture it was.

“Or maybe not,” she said. Her eyes were so close to his that it was impossible to read them, or even to look into them without getting a headache. He wanted to close his own eyes, but could you do that when someone was staring into them like that? Wouldn’t it be impolite?

“I almost called you, Keller. A few days ago. You never gave me your number.”

“You never asked for it.”

“No. But I’ve got Caller ID on my phone, and I’ve got your number. Or I used to.”

“You lost it?”

“I looked it up, when I almost called you. And I decided calling you was no way to maintain a superficial relationship. So I burned up your phone number.”

“Burned it up?”

“Well, no. Tore it into little tiny scraps and threw them out the window like confetti. Which I guess is what they were, because confetti’s just little scraps of paper, isn’t it?”

His mind filled with the image of a squad of police technicians, piecing together tiny scraps of paper, deliberately assembling a tiny jigsaw puzzle until his telephone number reappeared.

“You’re losing interest,” she said. “Admit it—the only reason you called me tonight was you felt like having sex.”

He opened his mouth, prepared to deny the charge, then stopped and frowned.

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