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He helped me get my bag onto my shoulder. Took a moment for me to adjust the extra weight with the crutches, but then I was ready.
Still I hesitated.
I wanted to ask him why he'd done it. Why he'd paid for the job. But if I did, I knew what he'd do. Shrug and repeat some variation on what he'd said back at the lodge: that what was bad for the business was bad for everyone in the business.
I didn't doubt that had figured into his motivation. Was there more?
I thought of Jack, paying Cooper when there'd been no offer of money in our "deal." Paying that kid at the casino for information he hadn't been able to give. Why bother? Because, to him, it had been the right thing to do.
As a hitman, he'd been in a position to stop Wilkes, and hire others to help. So he had. Why? Maybe just because it was the right thing to do.
"Gonna miss your flight," he said.
I wanted to say "forget the flight." I wanted to get out of this line, this airport, take him someplace and talk to him. Really talk to him. But as I looked into his eyes, so unreadable he might as well have been wearing shades, I knew it wouldn't be as simple as Evelyn said. "Ask him and he'll tell you" only applied to the superficial. For anything with any meaning--not just this but any of the questions I really wanted answers to--I wasn't getting them. Maybe not ever. Certainly not now.
Another moment's hesitation, then I said, "See you around?"
He nodded. "Of course."
And that, I supposed, was the best I could hope for. So I adjusted my bag, nodded a final good-bye and headed through the gate.
* * *
