Part 13 (2/2)
”No. Just a strong impression.”
”Where did it happen?”
”Someplace I know well.”
”Here?”
”Maybe...”
”At home?”
”Maybe.”
A fierce gust of wind boomed along the side of the highrise. The office windows vibrated behind the drapes.
”When will it happen?” she asked.
”Soon.”
”Tonight?”
”I can't be sure.”
”Tomorrow?”
”Possibly.”
”Sunday?”
”Not as late as that.”
”What are we going to do?”
20.
The lift stopped at the sixteenth floor.
Bollinger used the key to shut off the elevator before he stepped out of it. The cab would remain where it was, doors open, until he needed it again.
For the most part, the sixteenth floor was shrouded in darkness. An overhead fluorescent tube brightened the elevator alcove, but the only light in the corridor came from two dim red emergency exit bulbs, one at each end of the building.
Bollinger had antic.i.p.ated the darkness. He took a pencil flashlight from an inside coat pocket, flicked it on.
Ten small businesses maintained offices on the sixteenth floor, six to the right and four to the left of the elevators. He went to the right. Two suites down the hall he found a door that bore the words CRAGMONT IMPORTS.
He turned off the flashlight and put it away.
He took out the Walther PPK.
Christ, he thought, it's going so smoothly. So easily. As soon as he finished at Cragmont Imports, he could go after the primary targets. Harris first. Then the woman. If she was good-looking ... well, he was so far ahead of schedule now that he had an hour to spare. An hour for the woman if she rated it. He was ready for a woman, full of energy and appet.i.te and excitement. A woman, a table filled with good food, and a lot of fine whiskey. But mostly a woman. In an hour he could use her up, really use her up.
He tried the door to Cragmont Imports. It wasn't locked.
He walked into the reception lounge. The room was gloomy. The only light came from an adjacent office where the door was standing halfway open.
He went to the shaft of light, stood in it, listened to the men talking in the inner office. At last he pushed open the door and went inside.
They were sitting at a conference table that was piled high with papers and bound folders. They weren't wearing their suit jackets or their ties, and their s.h.i.+rt sleeves were rolled up; one was wearing a blue s.h.i.+rt, the other a white s.h.i.+rt. They saw the pistol at once, but they needed several seconds to adjust before they could raise their eyes to look at his face.
”This place smells like perfume,” Bollinger said.
They stared at him.
”Is one of you wearing perfume?”
”No,” said blue s.h.i.+rt. ”Perfume's one of the things we import.”
”Is one of you MacDonald?”
They looked at the gun, at each other, then at the gun again.
”MacDonald?” Bollinger asked.
The one in the blue s.h.i.+rt said, ”He's MacDonald.”
The one in the white s.h.i.+rt said, ”He's ”He's MacDonald.” MacDonald.”
”That's a lie,” said the one in the blue s.h.i.+rt.
”No, he's he's lying,” said the other. lying,” said the other.
”I don't know what you want with MacDonald,” said the one in the blue s.h.i.+rt. ”Just leave me out of it. Do what you have to do to him and go away.”
”Christ almighty!” said the one in the white s.h.i.+rt. ”I'm not not MacDonald! You want MacDonald! You want him, him, that son of a b.i.t.c.h there, not me!” that son of a b.i.t.c.h there, not me!”
Bollinger laughed. ”It doesn't matter. I'm also here t to get Mr. Ott.”
”Me?” said the one in the blue s.h.i.+rt. ”Who in the h.e.l.l would want me killed?” said the one in the blue s.h.i.+rt. ”Who in the h.e.l.l would want me killed?”
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