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Koch had a newspaper spread out on the bed and was field-cleaning his Walther PPK 9mm semiautomatic pistol.
“Any plans for that?” Bayer said as he locked the door behind him.
“Just maintenance. When I’m finished, we can go over the plans for New York.”
Bayer walked over to the duffels and starting digging in the nearest one.
Koch glanced up from his gun. “Need something?”
Bayer stopped digging and looked back at Koch.
“Cash. I literally spent my last dime paying the restaurant bill.”
“What? I gave you almost three hundred dollars two days ago.”
“Right. And I spent it.”
“On what, for chrissake?”
“There was all that gas on the drive up,” he said. “And on food….”
And—damn, he won’t like it—on Mary.
Koch angrily jabbed his right index finger at him. “And on that goddamned hooker!”
Bayer stared at him. “I said she has a name.” He shook his head. “I paid her. So what? We have plenty more money.”
Koch made a short, snide laugh.
“Not for that we don’t. I control the funds, you may recall.”
Bayer glared at him.
Damn him!
I need that cash.
But…not right away. At least I have a few days to figure this out.
He pulled his Walther from his pocket and Koch’s eyes grew wide.
Huh?
Oh, now that’s interesting.
So I scare you, do I?
Bayer looked down at his pistol. He pushed the thumb button at the top of the grip on the left side of the frame. That released the magazine and it dropped out of the handle. He pulled back the slide to eject the 9mm round that was in the throat, then spread out newspaper on his bed and began disassembling the weapon.
“Hand me that oil, will you?” Bayer said.
[ THREE ]
New York Public Library
Fifth Avenue at Forty-second Street
New York City, New York
