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Charles considered the situation very quickly.
No real problem. There or here. There's nobody on the roof, and if he sees me, he doesn't know me.
He pulled the door open and, as quietly as he could, quickly ran up the stairs to the roof. He pulled the stairwell door open.
Lover Boy was right there, leaning against the concrete blocks of the stairwell, like he was waiting for somebody.
"Long walk up here," Charles said, smiling at him.
"You said it," Anthony J. DeZego said.
Charles walked ten feet past Anthony J. DeZego, turned around suddenly, raised the shotgun to his shoulder, and blew off the top of Anthony J. DeZego's head.
DeZego fell backward against the concrete blocks of the stairwell and slumped to the ground.
There was a sound like a run-over dog.
Charles looked around the roof. In the middle of the vehicular passageway was a young woman, her eyes wide, both of her hands pressed against her mouth, making run-over-dog noises.
Charles raised the Remington and fired. She went down like a rock.
The goddamned broad in the goddamned Mercedes! She didn't go downstairs. She sat there and fixed her fucking hair or something!
Charles went to Anthony J. DeZego's corpse and took the Caddy keys from his pocket.
I better do her again, to make sure she's dead.
There was the sound of tires squealing. Another car was coming up.
And since there's no room on the fourth floor, he'II be coming up here! Damn!
Charles went into the stairwell and down to the fourth floor. He opened the door a crack, saw nothing, and then pushed it open wide enough to get through.
He went to DeZego's Cadillac, unlocked the door, put the Remington on the floor, and got behind the wheel. He started the engine and drove down the vehicular ramp. He stopped at the barrier, put the window down, handed the attendant a five-dollar bill and the claim check, waited for his change, and then for the barrier to be lifted.
Then he drove out onto the street and turned left. He looked in the rearview mirror and saw the Pontiac pull away from the curb and start to follow him.
****
"Damn, here we are already," Matt Payne said as he turned the Porsche into the Penn Services Parking Garage behind the BellevueStratford Hotel in downtown Philadelphia.
"How time flies," Amanda said, mocking him gently.
He stopped to get a ticket from a dispensing machine and then drove inside. He drove slowly, hoping to find a space on a lower floor. There were none. He searched the second level, and then the third and fourth. They finally emerged on the roof.
Matt stepped hard on the brakes. The Porsche shuddered and skidded to a stop, throwing Amanda against the dashboard.
"My God!" she exclaimed.
"Stay here," Matt Payne ordered firmly.
"What is it?" Amanda asked.
He didn't answer. He got out of the Porsche and ran across the rooftop parking lot. Amanda saw him drop to one knee, and then for the first time saw that a girl was lying facedown, on the roadway between lines of parked cars.
She pushed open her door and got out and ran to him.
"What happened?" Amanda asked.
