Page 83 of Witness 8

And going to the movies.

The up-lighting dimmed, sending the vast room into darkness. This screen was now a spaceship. A magical thing that could transport him to anywhere in this world, or out of it.

The screen came to life and the Paramount logo filled his heart.

His phone began to vibrate.

He raised his hand. Nothing happened at first. Then he waved it and the screen froze and died.

Mr. Christmas retrieved his phone from his jacket and took the call.

‘I’m just enjoying some thinking time,’ said Mr. Christmas. ‘I don’t wish to appear rude, but I thought I would just explain why I would like to keep this call short.’

‘Don’t you ever just say hi?’

‘Hi,’ said Mr. Christmas.

‘Forget it. Look, I’m just giving you a courtesy call. While you’re on the Flynn job. Seeing as how you’re in town, another job just came in and I thought you might want to double up.’

‘Is it an open contract?’

‘Closed. It’s a private party. And it pays a little better than the Flynn contract. Seventy-five, plus expenses.’

‘Interesting. It might be worthwhile to take an intellectual detour and cover my expenses for the whole trip. What’s the job?’

‘Recovery and closure.’

‘Tell me more.’

‘Our client wants his two hundred and fifty thousand dollars back. He paid it so he could trace his blackmailer, following the money trail. It’s a young woman called Ruby Johnson. Get the money back. Kill the girl.’

36

Eddie

I rode the subway to the courthouse, watching my back the whole time. You don’t survive as a con artist on these streets without eyes in the back of your head. I knew the basics. Altering my route. Criss-crossing streets. Stopping and doubling back. Watching my angles so I could catch glimpses of what was behind me reflected in the store windows, train windows and polished granite tiles as I made my way through the city.

I also couldn’t help but glance up, keeping watch for any windows that were ajar, and making sure I was never out in the open on the sidewalk. I kept pedestrians close by, matching their pace – keeping their bodies between me and those open windows.

Moving through Manhattan on the subways and sidewalks, you can see a thousand faces. Burning them into my memory, I had to make sure I didn’t see any of them again on a corner, or a platform, or on the stairs. Somewhere where they shouldn’t be. It was like bathing in people and paranoia. By the time I reached my destination, my brain was fried.

I called Lake. ‘Where are you?’

‘On West 74thStreet. Nobody has moved this morning. Bale and Ellis are still home.’

‘I just had an interesting conversation with a guy who says he knows you. His name is Mr. Christmas,’ I said.

Lake said nothing for a moment, then, ‘Has he taken the contract from Buchanan’s crew?’

‘He’s planning on taking out a few of his colleagues first. But, yeah, I think he will.’

‘Then he’s a dead man.’

‘He said you were chasing him when you got lured into that stash house.’

‘That’s right. And I came out alive. He’s on my list.’

‘Anything else you need to tell me about him?’