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FORTY-THREE
It was a five-hour trip and we didn't have time to stop for lunch, so we grabbed sandwiches on the way. We were almost to West Virginia when we had to pull into a gas station to fill up, and for Jack to use the washroom. I eyed the attached convenience store, considered getting some candy for the stakeout. But I had a more important use for the time alone with Evelyn.
I waited until Jack headed into the store to prepay for gas, then shifted into the middle of the seat, so I could lean forward and talk to her on the front passenger side.
"So, I suppose after what happened today you'll be rescinding that 'offer' you made?"
"Because you held me at gunpoint?" She smiled. "I consider it a
logical and important step in a developing relationship with any good student. I'm sure I'll give you cause to do it again and, if I don't, then you're not the sort of hit-woman I'd care to mentor."
"Ah."
As I eased back into my seat, she peered under the headrest at me. "Is that disappointment I hear? Don't tell me you're hoping I'll retract the offer, save you from having to make the decision. I expected better of you, Dee." Her gaze studied mine, then she smiled. "Or, I suppose, this was just a good excuse for bringing up the matter, since I haven't done so myself."
"Just checking. Seeing whether it still stood."
"It does and, as you haven't said no, I presumed you're still considering it, which is good enough for me. If that offer doesn't suit your tastes, I can get others. Someone with your talent is wasted on Mafia punks."
When I said nothing, she tilted her head, gaze boring into mine. "I'm giving you a chance to really quench that thirst, Nadia. Take out people who even I'll agree have lost the right to walk on this planet."
I didn't miss the switch from Dee to Nadia. A calculated reminder of how much she knew about me. If I called her on it, though, she'd only claim a slip of the tongue, so I said, as evenly as possible, "I'm not a vigilante."
"So you've said."
I turned my gaze to the window, watching Jack start pumping the gas, then looked back at Evelyn. "What would you get from it?"
"A cut, of course. Money is always good." She eased back in her seat, gaze returning to the windshield. "When I got into this life, I only wanted three things. Money, power and respect. A girl like you, comes from a nice middle-class background, born after the so-called sexual revolution, gets a good education, takes on a man's job. I'm sure it wasn't as easy as we might hope, but it was possible. These days, girls don't know what it is to want those things and know you've got a snowball's chance in hell of getting them. I fought like you couldn't imagine and got everything I wanted. But it wasn't enough."
A long pause as she watched Jack fill the tank.
She continued. "They say that man gains immortality through his children. I don't have any. Never wanted them. What I do have are students. I take raw clay and I fashion something remarkable."
"That's what you want to do with me. Make me better."
A laugh so sharp it startled me. "Oh, you don't like that idea, do you? You can play the cool professional, act like you don't give a shit what anyone thinks, but you've got your share of ego, of ambition. You're just good at hiding it. Reminds me of someone else." Her gaze slid to Jack, now walking to the bathroom. "What I can make you, Nadia, isn't better. It's famous. Legendary. Reach the point where you can do exactly the kind of work you want and nothing else."
I stared out the window, watching Jack as he returned.
"He's still with me, isn't he?" Evelyn said, as if reading my thoughts. "I haven't damaged him. Haven't made him anything he didn't want to be. Jack doesn't hang around because he feels obligated. He wouldn't do that and you know it. So if I'm good enough for him..."
Jack dipped his head, peering into the car, gaze shooting to Evelyn, as if he could see us watching him and talking.
"I'll let you think about it, Dee," she murmured. "Take all the time you need."
For over an hour, I'd been standing in front of a fifth-story window, watching the parade route fill. To pass the time, I mentally ran through ballistics tables, recalculating the distance, velocity, trajectory, wind drift, making sure I had everything right.
I'd have rather been in one of the taller office buildings down the street, but if there were SWAT team snipers here, that's where they'd be. And even if there weren't, the Feds would be checking out the best perches in case Wilkes was trying for a sniper shot himself. So I had to make do with one that was third rate.
Having to take the shot standing didn't make the situation any better. The higher up you get, the less stable you are. Ideally, I'd be on my stomach. Given that the window was four feet off the ground, lying down wasn't an option. So, as any good sniping manual would tell you, I should have used the materials at hand to create a level and sturdy four-foot-high platform. Works great, if you're on a SWAT team...not so great when you're a professional killer who can't leave any trace and may have to abandon your perch at a moment's notice.
So I'd shoot standing, as I usually did. Not only was it the least steady position, it was the hardest to hold for an extended period. Since I used it the most often, though, I'd trained for it, doing most of my practice upright--the offhand position. To alleviate some of the unsteadiness, I used a sling. A dark-colored loop of nylon, the sling attached to a swivel at the end of the gun stock, near the barrel. I put my left arm through the opposite end of the loop and pulled the keeper along the strap until the loop was snug against my biceps.
At this distance, it was possible--if unlikely--that someone on the parade route could look up and see a silhouette in the window. To reduce the risk, I wore a brimmed hat, beaten into a shapeless lump, so my head wasn't a rounded dome. Mosquito netting over the front of the hat darkened my face and helped it blend in with my black clothing. I'd also draped a larger swatch of netting over the window, to further darken and blur my silhouette. For the window itself, I'd cut out a pane. Breaking glass makes noise. Lifting the sash looks suspicious. If you see a closed window, you assume all the panes of glass are there.
I could see Evelyn's hat weaving through the crowd. It was pink and old-ladyish. For Evelyn, I'm sure that was a fashion torture on par with my push-up bra, and judging by the look she'd given me when I found it for her, I was in for some serious payback. But it made her easy to track, and that's all that mattered.
