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“Raincoat is on the balcony. I came down from the roof.”
Hanley wiped fresh sweat from both his cheeks, then looked carefully at Court’s face. It was red, his forehead peeling. “You been sleeping in a tanning bed?”
“Something like that.”
“And now you’re here to stick a knife in my gut?”
Court looked around the room and sniffed the air. “If I wanted to kill you, I’d just sit back and wait for the fried chicken and hot sauce to do it.”
“Funny.”
“Why would I be here to kill you?”
Hanley replied, “I don’t know. Killers appear in people’s darkened houses on rainy nights. Normal people ring the fucking doorbell.”
“I’m not entirely normal.”
“Yeah? No shit.”
Hanley had recovered from his shock, more or less. He moved on to the freezer and grabbed the container of Crem Helado Chocolate Chip, adding a little bluster to his walk to compensate for the fact that he’d squealed like a little girl a few seconds earlier and was now about to eat dessert out of its carton.
“I guess congratulations are in order on your promotion,” Court said behind him.
“Officially speaking, it’s a demotion. Station chief to dep station chief. Still, I’d have taken a job plunging toilets at Bogotá station if it meant I’d get out of New Guinea.”
He ripped the lid off the ice cream like it was his enemy. “A couple of months ago I get orders to Colombia from out of the blue. I ask around, hear that Angela Lacy has intervened on my behalf.” Digging in with the spoon he said, “I knew better than to reach out and thank her, because I also knew she was up in New Jersey when everything went down there four months ago, which meant my new friend Angela Lacy had come into contact with my old friend, Court Gentry.”
“What makes you think I was involved in—”
“Violator,” Hanley interrupted. “Just stop. It’s me.”
Court said nothing.
“Anyway, I wondered why Lacy intervened, but I figured I should just shut the fuck up, get my happy ass to Colombia, and enjoy myself an empanada and a cerveza.”
“Sounds like you had yourself a solid plan.”
“Yeah…I did. Then you waltzed in. Why do I get the feeling life’s about to get pretty fucking complicated?”
“I won’t take much of your time.”
Hanley sat down at the kitchen table. “There’s one beer left in the fridge.”
“Not anymore, there’s not,” Court said, and he opened the refrigerator, took out a big bottle of Club Colombia, and popped the cap. After a swig, he sat down across the table from Hanley.
The bigger man ate a bite of ice cream, then said, “This is about the AI murders, I take it.”
“Yeah.”
“Heard about that shit in Mexico. Was that part of it?”
“Yes.”
Hanley nodded. “Was that you?”
“Not entirely, no.”
Hanley gave a little snicker and looked away. It was you, his expression seemed to be saying.
