Exit Strategy Part 12

He barked a laugh. "Maybe, someday, if that changes, I will call you. Send me off in style."

I grinned, pressed against him and kissed his cheek. "It would be a pleasure."

As we stepped outside, Evelyn murmured, "Seems someone is quite the accomplished actor. Jack give you lessons?"

"Jack?"

"He doesn't seem the type, does he? Like you." A sly look my way, as if expecting a response. When I didn't comment, she continued. "Now, me? I bet you think I'd make a good actress."

"Probably."

She took out her keys and opened the car door. "Well, I'm not. I can't stand it, and no amount of practice makes it any easier." She slid into the driver's seat and waited for me to get in before continuing. "I just never could get the hang of being someone else. Nearly blew a job over it once."

She started the car and pulled from the lot. I expected the "story" to end there but, when she reached the main road, she continued.

"I had to hit a mark at a big party. I was about your age. Now I was never what you'd call pretty, but there are ways to make men forget that. Under the circ.u.mstances, what's the easiest way to make the hit?"

"Honeypot."

"Exactly. A little vroom-vroom-like you did in there-lure your mark away, then take him out while his brain's hiding in his trousers. So I bought the dress, put on my disguise, showed up at the party, got my first really good look at the old geezer and knew there wasn't a hope in h.e.l.l I could pull it off."

"Ugly?"

"Made Little Joe look like a fireman's calendar centerfold."

"So what'd you do?"

"Waited until he found a little morsel he liked, let her do the dirty work, then shot him while she was in the bathroom cleaning up afterward. Improvisation, Dee. That's what I'm good at-not acting. The point is, everyone has strengths. Jack can teach you some. I can teach you others. There's no need to limit yourself." She slid a look my way. "But remember I'm the one with the teaching experience. Jack's only ever played the pupil."

I nodded and said nothing.

By the time we made it to the jail where Volkv was being held, visiting hours would likely be over. Besides, this wasn't a "fly by the seat of your pants" type of mission. It would require planning.

As we switched places and I drove back to Evelyn's, she kept me amused with stories about Little Joe, none of which were complimentary and all of which wouldn't have been nearly so funny if I'd hadn't met the man.

"-nearly blew a year's worth of planning," Evelyn said. "And why? So he wouldn't have to pay for the G.o.dd.a.m.ned b.l.o.w. .j.o.b."

"Isn't that the same story he told us? The payroll heist?"

"Now you know why the man's stories are so boring. He takes out all the parts that make him look like a moron, which means there's no G.o.dd.a.m.ned story left. Between making things up and letting things slip...Volkv! Yes!"

Her sudden outburst nearly had me wearing my c.o.ke.

Evelyn waved an apology my way. "I've spent the last hour trying to figure out where I know the name Nicky Volkv from. Thinking about Joe's loose lips just reminded me. Volkv tried to turn pro after he left the Nikolaevs. His first hit, he screwed up big-time. Put a car bomb in the wrong car, killed a young couple."

"Sounds like Volkv and Kozlov would have hit it off well. Two Mafia incompetents."

"It's the mob. Competence is a recessive gene. That's what keeps us in business."

I changed lanes, carefully pa.s.sing a school bus. "You did mob work?"

Evelyn waggled her hand. "Fifty-fifty. For contract killers, mob hits are like office work-steady employment, decent pay...and boring as h.e.l.l. There's far more lucrative and interesting work out there." She glanced my way. "Even for someone with her own rules. Drug cartels, political a.s.sa.s.sinations..."

I said nothing. To Evelyn, I suppose this made sense. If I didn't mind killing thugs, why not just kill bigger ones? But that would take me places I didn't want to go.

Didn't want to go? Or wasn't ready to go?

I shook off the thought and concentrated on the road.

Evelyn sipped her coffee. "Do you like working for the Toma.s.sinis, Dee?"

"They treat me well. When they give me a mark, I check it out, and it's always exactly what they say it is. No tricks."

Evelyn gave a slow nod. "The Toma.s.sinis are good. A small, old-fashioned family. Not many of them left. They haven't changed much from back when I worked for them."

"Ah, so that's that's how you know Frank Toma.s.sini." how you know Frank Toma.s.sini."

Her eyes glinted. "It didn't seem strange to you that a Mafia don had no problem hiring a woman? You have me to thank for his enlightened employment policy and, believe me, it took some work to bring him around. I spent a year pretending I was a man before I told him. When I did, he fired me...until he had a job no one else could do."

"And hired you back."

"Frank always said I was the best d.a.m.ned hitman he had, which I was-and which is why he probably jumped at the chance to hire another woman."

"I guess I should say thanks."

She snorted. "You'll do better than that. You owe me, and I'm collecting."

"I'd owe owe you if you got me the job. You made it possible, but you didn't get it for me. That I did myself." you if you got me the job. You made it possible, but you didn't get it for me. That I did myself."

"True, which begs the question. How the h.e.l.l does a New York Mafia don find a Canadian girl living in the middle of the G.o.dd.a.m.ned forest, and recruit her as a contract killer?"

I let out a small smile. "Fate."

"That better not be all I'm getting. We have an hour left, and I expect to be entertained with a d.a.m.n good story, especially considering what I'm offering in return."

"Which is?"

Her gaze still on the windshield, she lifted her coffee cup to her lips, but not before letting an enigmatic smile slip out. "Questions answered, as I said. Specifically, one question for one question. A fair exchange of information, that mightiest of commodities."

"And what information will I get?"

The smile tweaked the corners of her lips. "That depends on you. On what you want to know. For now, give me your story."

I hesitated, but could see nothing in the tale that could satisfy more than idle curiosity. She could always find out through the Toma.s.sinis. Better for me to give it, and take something in return, some knowledge or skill I could use.

So I began. "The offer came through Frank's nephew, Paul..."

SIXTEEN.

As for how Paul wound up at my lodge, that I do do chalk up to fate. He'd come up with two of his cousins-also Toma.s.sini wiseguys-for deer hunting season. They'd checked into a lodge 50 kilometers from the Red Oak. But the place hadn't been up to Paul's standards, and someone had recommended mine. He came, he liked, he stayed...even if he had to do his actual hunting off the property. chalk up to fate. He'd come up with two of his cousins-also Toma.s.sini wiseguys-for deer hunting season. They'd checked into a lodge 50 kilometers from the Red Oak. But the place hadn't been up to Paul's standards, and someone had recommended mine. He came, he liked, he stayed...even if he had to do his actual hunting off the property.

I figured out that they were Mafiosi pretty fast, but Paul and his cousins were quiet, well-mannered guests-better than those with the corporate team-building getaway I was hosting at the time-so I didn't care. Deer season ended, and Paul booked a week for duck season. Then he reserved the deer season for next year. Paul's cousins kept their distance from their ex-cop host, but Paul and I hit it off well-not friends, but friendly.

By his fourth visit, I could see foreclosure on the horizon and was scrambling to push it off a little further, but had finally come to realize I was only postponing the inevitable. My second life was about to crash-not as spectacularly as the first-but all the more devastatingly. I'd kept my problems to myself...until Paul tried booking his next visit, and I had to admit the lodge might not still be around.

The next day, when I was out back chopping wood, he'd appeared, looking dapper and well groomed even in a lumber jacket and jeans.

"Got another axe?" he asked.

I wiped sweat from my cheek and shook my head. "Just the one. Wouldn't be good for liability."

"Let me take a turn." He flashed a grin. "Never know when axe-wielding might come in handy."

I handed him the axe and showed him how to use it.

"I'll grab the pieces as they fall," I said. "Just watch my fingers."

For a few minutes, he just cut wood, alternating between cursing and laughing. Guys like Paul swing moods like they swing axes, swiftly and decisively, the smiles no less sincere than the scowls.

"You want me to take over?" I asked.

A mock glower. "When I'm just getting the hang of it?" He swung and embedded the axe in the stump I used as a chopping block.

"Hate to see you lose the lodge, Nadia," he said. "You work your a.s.s off, and you've got a great setup here. It's the d.a.m.n economy. You just need a little cash, to get you past this."

I nodded and grabbed the split pieces.

He wiped his brow, then pulled the axe out of the stump. "We might be able to help each other out. I have a problem that needs a solution, and I'm thinking maybe you could help with that."

I felt his gaze on my back as I added the pieces to the woodpile. He waited until I turned, giving him my full attention.

"A couple of years back, we had this young man start work for us. My sister's brother-in-law's stepson. A tenuous connection but..." A shrug. "Still family."

He put another log on the stump.

"The kid's not with us six months and there's trouble. An a.s.sociate tells us he's been roughing up wh.o.r.es, paying them with bruises. My uncle's not happy but he thinks 'Who knows how the kid was raised? He just needs to be set straight.' So we set him straight. And it seemed to stop."

Paul swung the axe, shaving a sliver off the next log.

"Seemed to stop...until the kid's arrested for beating on a wh.o.r.e, and he's not just using his fists anymore. Almost killed the girl. So my uncle's furious, but still, the kid's family, just needs help to make better choices." to stop...until the kid's arrested for beating on a wh.o.r.e, and he's not just using his fists anymore. Almost killed the girl. So my uncle's furious, but still, the kid's family, just needs help to make better choices."

He swung again, taking off yet another slice.

"Kindling," I said when he swore.

I picked up the pieces.

"You know what's coming with this story, don't you?" he said.

"I've got a pretty good idea."

"We're kicking ourselves for not seeing it. To a cop or shrink it's probably obvious as h.e.l.l. But us? We're optimists. Always trying to see the good in people, their ability to change."

I didn't dare comment on that.

Paul continued. "So what happened, as you cops or shrinks might say, was your standard escalation of violence, and now we've got ourselves one dead wh.o.r.e and a kid who doesn't seem to understand what he did wrong. After all, he says, she was only a wh.o.r.e."

My hands tightened around the log I was holding.

"You and I both know it isn't going to stop at one. My uncle, he knows that, too. He wants the matter resolved." Paul put the axe down, headfirst, and leaned on the handle. "I'm thinking maybe you could help us with that."

It's a testament to my desperation that I even considered the offer. For all I knew, I was being set up. But at that point in my life, on the brink of losing everything, it was a chance I had to take.

When I finished, I drove for another five minutes before Evelyn reminded me that she now owed me an answer.

"I think I'll save mine," I said. "I don't know what you can do, what you can teach me. When I find something, I'll ask."

"Professional knowledge?" She put her empty coffee cup in the holder. "Stop being so d.a.m.ned polite. When I offered information, I meant an exchange in kind. Personal for personal."

"Something about you?"

"I suspect I don't interest you that much. I'm an old woman whose sole importance is how I can help solve this case and what I can do for you professionally, and I don't take any offense at that. But I'll bet there's someone you do do want to know more about." A small, unreadable smile. "Jack." want to know more about." A small, unreadable smile. "Jack."

I turned onto the off-ramp. "You're offering me personal information on Jack?"

"Nothing too too personal, of course. Ask me who he is or where he lives or how to find him when he doesn't want to be found, and I'll tell you to go to h.e.l.l. But I can't imagine you'd ask that, so the point is moot. What I can offer is some...smaller answers." personal, of course. Ask me who he is or where he lives or how to find him when he doesn't want to be found, and I'll tell you to go to h.e.l.l. But I can't imagine you'd ask that, so the point is moot. What I can offer is some...smaller answers."