Chapter 26

Avery gave me a kiss on the cheek and left the deli. I told myself again that everything would be okay.


Albany, 1990

“You’re going to be fine,” I told Mrs. Parker.

She pissed me off. I wanted to tell her to quit complaining about her rotten life and shitty husband; her nonsense bothered me. But she was a paying customer and, I’d heard this somewhere, the customer’s always right. I tried to show some respect; after all, my customer was Lorraine Parker, the governor’s wife.

Mr. and Mrs. Parker were lousy parents. They paid nannies and butlers to raise their only child, Nikki, and then acted surprised that she grew up hostile. They’d hoped to end up with an Ivy League graduate who’d settle down with a doctor or lawyer and continue the cycle. Instead, they wound up with an Ecstasy addict who liked “rich Spics”. As expected, the governor and his wife were irate.

Nikki Parker was in a heap of trouble. Since Mrs. Parker started withholding her allowance, Nikki had been sold to a drug dealer in Rochester. He held Nikki against her will, starved and whipped her according to Mrs. Parker’s sources, and Nikki couldn’t escape.

“My husband won’t do a thing because he says it’ll hurt his political career.” Mrs. Parker lit her fourth cigarette in an hour. “It’s up to me. Chico, that’s the Spic’s name, is having a party tonight. He’ll leave Nikki upstairs alone or maybe with one of his bodyguards. Just kill Chico and anyone who gets in your way. Make sure you get Nikki out of there.”

“I’ll do my best, Mrs. Parker,” I said.

“Oh, and Olivia?”

“Yes?”

“Make sure Chico suffers.”

I tried not to roll my eyes.

Later that night, I showed up at the party and watched Nikki prance around on Chico’s arm. She looked happy and content, far from the prisoner her parents described. At twenty years of age, I had little experience with this sort of work and felt overwhelmed. I made my way to the door when Avery Archer walked in and nearly took my breath away.

I’d seen Avery around and knew he was a big shot. He didn’t notice me at first, preoccupied with Chico. They acted like old friends but that had to be impossible. Chico, however rich and impressive in Rochester, was nowhere close to Avery’s league. Besides, Avery didn’t hang around drug dealers. He killed them.

When Avery saw me, his violet eyes seemed to twinkle. He looked out at the party guests and back at me again. He did this several times. Young and naïve, I couldn’t take my eyes off him.

Then he winked.

I casually walked out the front door and took the first flight home. I never told anyone in my circle that I had seen Avery that night. Not even when Chico’s body was found floating in the Hudson River later that month. Avery paid me a visit, almost a year later, and suggested we combine forces.

Best move I ever made.




I stood in my bedroom staring at the tin box. The arguments for and against picking it up were compelling: How much trouble awaited me?

Trying to rationalize a curiosity, I knew deep down that Max would perform a search and rescue before letting me fry.

“To hell with it.” I put on my headset.

Reception in the city never worked well, so I walked out to my balcony and listened for Max’s voice. Instead, I heard Billy Joel. I sat down and stared at the buildings while listening to Piano Man along with Max. I imagined him lying in bed, either at home in Washington or on the road, maybe reading the paper or taking a nap.

After an hour of easy listening, the music began again.

He must have the CD player on a continuous loop.

I got up, stretched a bit, and stopped. I looked up at the sky and casually around at all the buildings. After a second or two, I felt calm enough to take a deep breath and swallow.

Then I walked inside, threw down the headset and grabbed my gun.

With my back against the wall, I peered out of the window and looked at him. He took pictures in my direction, too old and obvious to be one of Max’s men. If the FBI were photographing me, they’d be blocks away and I’d never catch sight of them.

I ducked and ran over to the kitchen where I could get a better view. He continued to take pictures, smiling and waving like a fool. After a few minutes, a woman joined him. She took his camera and photographed a few more buildings and birds before they both walked back into the building.

“Tourists.” I took my finger off the trigger.

I’d check it out to be sure, but only out-of-towners would find dirty buildings and pigeons interesting.

I kicked the tin box.

“Get me out of here before I kill someone.”

I took a nap, but not before locking every door and window. Tight.