Killing Floor (Page 115)

I looked up at her. I could see myself reflected in her glasses. I could see Picard’s huge bulk glowering in the booth behind me. I could just about feel his hand wrapping tight around the butt of his.38. I nodded at the woman.

"That’s the idea," I said. "A hell of a trip. The trip of a lifetime."

She didn’t know what to say to that.

"Well, you take care, OK?" she said.

I got up and left one of Charlie’s hundreds on the table for her. Maybe it was real, maybe it wasn’t. It would spend just the same. And I wanted to leave her a big tip. Eno was getting a dirty grand a week, but I didn’t know if he was passing much of it on. Probably not, looking at the guy.

"See you again, mister," the one with glasses said.

"Maybe," I said.

Picard pushed me out through the door. It was four o’clock. I hustled over the gravel to the Bentley. Picard followed me with his hand in his pocket. I slid in and fired it up. Eased out of the lot and scooted north up the old county road. Blasted the fourteen miles away in about twelve minutes.

Picard had made me use the Bentley. Not his own car. Had to be a reason for that. Not just because he wanted the extra legroom. Because it was a very distinctive car. Which meant there was going to be extra insurance. I looked in the mirror and picked up a plain sedan. About a hundred yards behind. Two guys in it. I shrugged to myself. Slowed and glanced left at the warehouses at the top of the county road. Swooped up the ramp and round the cloverleaf. Hit the highway going as fast as I dared. Time was crucial.

The road skirted us around the southeast corner of the Atlanta sprawl. I threaded through the interchanges. Headed due east on I-20. Cruised on, with the two guys in their plain sedan a hundred yards back, mile after mile.

"So where is he?" Picard asked me.

It was the first time he’d spoken since leaving the station house. I glanced across at him and shrugged.

"No idea," I said. "Best I can do is go find a friend of his in Augusta."

"Who’s this friend?" he said.

"Guy called Lennon," I said.

"In Augusta?" he said.

"Augusta," I said. "That’s where we’re going."

Picard grunted. We cruised on. The two guys stayed behind us.

"So who is this guy in Augusta?" Picard said. "Lennon?"

"Friend of Hubble’s," I said. "Like I told you."

"He doesn’t have a friend in Augusta," he said. "Don’t you think we check things like that?"

I shrugged. Didn’t reply.

"You better not be bullshitting, my friend," Picard said. "Kliner wouldn’t like that. It’ll make it worse for the woman. He’s got a cruel streak in him a mile wide. Believe me, I’ve seen him in action."

"Like when?" I said.

"Lots of times," he said. "Like Wednesday, at the airport. That woman, Molly Beth. Screamer, he enjoys that. Like Sunday. Up at the Morrison place."

"Kliner was there Sunday?" I said.

"He loved it," Picard said. "Him and his damn son. You did the world a favor, taking that kid out. You should have seen him on Sunday. We gave those two cops the day off. Didn’t seem right they should off their own chief. The Kliners and I stood in for them. The old man loved every minute of it. Cruel streak, a mile wide, like I said. You better make sure I get to make that call on time, or your woman friend’s in a lot of trouble."

I went quiet for a moment. I’d seen the Kliner kid on Sunday. He’d picked his stepmother up from the coffee shop. About ten thirty. He’d been staring at me. He’d been on his way back from dismembering the Morrisons.

"Did old man Kliner shoot my brother?" I asked Picard.

"Thursday night?" he said. "Sure. That’s his weapon, the.22 with the suppressor."

"And then the kid kicked him around?" I said.

Picard shrugged.

"The kid was berserk," he said. "Wrong in the head."

"And then Morrison was supposed to clean up?" I said.

"Supposed to," Picard grunted. "Asshole was supposed to burn the bodies in the car. But he couldn’t find Stoller’s body. So he just left both of them there."

"And Kliner killed eight guys in Louisiana, right?" I said.

Picard laughed.

"Eight they know about," he said. "That asshole Spirenza was on his back for a year. Looking for payments to a shooter. But there never was a shooter. Kliner did it all himself. Like a hobby, right?"

"You knew Kliner back then?" I said.

"I’ve always known Kliner," he said. "Got myself assigned as Spirenza’s Bureau liaison. Kept everything neat and tidy."

We drove on in silence for a mile or two. The two guys in the plain sedan kept station a hundred yards behind the Bentley. Then Picard looked at me.

"This guy Lennon?" he said. "He’s not another damn Treasury spook working for your brother, right?"

"Friend of Hubble’s," I said.

"Like hell," he said. "We checked, he’s got no friends in Augusta. Hell, he’s got no friends anywhere. He thought Kliner was his damn friend, giving him a job and all."

Picard started chuckling to himself in the passenger seat. His giant frame was shaking with mirth.

"Like Finlay thought you were his friend, right?" I said.

He shrugged.

"I tried to keep him away," he said. "I tried to warn him off. So what should I do? Get myself killed on his behalf?"

I didn’t answer that. We cruised on in silence. The plain sedan sat steady, a hundred yards back.

"We need gas," I said.

Picard craned over and peered at the needle. It was nudging the red.