Part 4 (2/2)
He pushed past Will to shove the door open.
”See you around, Archer.” Miranda winked.
”Later.” Will smiled and followed her out the door.
They did not speak until they were back in the car.
”He's better than I expected,” Will said.
”We're better. Right now he thinks he's got the edge. Did you see that smug look?” She turned the key in the ignition, let the car idle. ”So I think we'll just sit here for a few minutes and give him a little something to think about.”
She fished her cell phone from her bag and rolled down the window, the phone in her left hand. ”Let him think we're really on to something-which we will be, once we start to get to him.”
She pretended to speak into the phone instead of to her companion.
”Okay.” She made a show of dropping the phone into her bag. ”Now he thinks we just reported to someone, so he's going to be a little more nervous about leaving home.”
”You didn't buy that I-haven't-been-outside-these-four-walls-in-weeks routine, either, eh?”
”Are you kidding? He's twenty years old; he's been locked up for months. I noticed a bar about a quarter mile from the trailer park. I'll bet that's where he hangs out.”
Miranda put the car in reverse and backed out of the small parking pad, then took off slowly down the wide black-topped road.
”Maybe we should stop back this evening and see.”
”Maybe we should.”
Will turned to look at the bar in question as they sped past.
”Looks like a biker bar I used to hang out in, once upon a time.”
”A biker bar? Were you undercover?”
”No, this was before I came to the Bureau.”
She frowned. Biker bar? Mr. Conservative from the Heartland of America Will Fletcher?
He smiled with satisfaction. ”Thought you knew all there was to know, did you?”
Vowing not to ask, she bit her lip, and hit the gas.
Archer stood in the tiny bathroom and peered through the curtains, watching until the Spyder backed up and drove off.
What the h.e.l.l was that all about?
Had Vince Giordano given him up? Had he?
No, no, that wouldn't happen. He and Vince and Curt, they had this pact. Vince would never . . .
But even if he had, so what? It was his word against mine. And he's a convicted killer. An admitted murderer. Sure, sure, Vince could have said something. Maybe he did. But who the h.e.l.l can prove it? They got nothing to tie me to Vince. Nothing at all.
He thought about Vince's last victims. Two of the three had connections to Archer. And the last intended victim, Amanda Crosby, well, okay, Archer had served time for stalking her.
But what does that prove? Maybe Vince saw her and maybe he sorta flipped for her, too. She's pretty hot, isn't she? Who wouldn't want her?
And Curtis, well, he's stone dead, isn't he? He ain't talking to no one.
It was then that Archer realized he'd started to sweat.
Hey, come on. No big deal. They got nothing on me, and I ain't killed no one.
”And guess what, Vince?” he said aloud as he went back into the kitchen for a beer. ”I ain't going to kill no one.”
He paused, contemplating the irony of having Miranda Cahill show up at his door. He'd thought he was hallucinating when he first read the name on the identification she'd held up. The old spider and fly thing crossed his mind, but he pushed right past that. For one thing, it didn't matter who she was, since he wasn't gonna do nothing to no one. For another, there was that big guy with her.
”But hey, Vince, you and Curt, you did your thing, I respect that. But I am out, and I am staying out. Ain't no one knows about the game, and as far as I'm concerned, this game is over. Curt is dead, and you are never going to see the light of day, old buddy. There ain't no reason for me to kill n.o.body. Ain't no one who cares whether I do or not. Except maybe you, Vince. And we both know where you are, don't we?”
He tipped his beer in the general direction of the county prison where Vince Giordano sat in his little cell, laughed, and took a sip. He thought about the three people who had made his life so miserable. The three people who were responsible for his spending these past months behind bars. The three people Vince Giordano had agreed to take out for him.
Two of the three were now dead, thanks to good old Vince.
That the third was still out there, well, two out of three ain't bad. He could live with that. Archer's anger was gone now, his life was going to move ahead, and he was never, ever going to look back. Not on Amanda Crosby, not on Vince Giordano or Curtis Alan Channing. Not on the game he himself had proposed that cold February morning.
”Game over.” He raised the bottle in a toast to his absent companions. ”I win.”
CHAPTER FOUR.
”So, what do you think?” Will asked as he looked around the dimly lit bar where he and Miranda had just finished dinner.
”What do I think about what?” Miranda frowned. ”The three pieces of greasy fried chicken I just ate? I think I'm going to be sick.”
”I don't recall anyone force-feeding you. And I don't recall you ever turning your nose up at fried food in the past.”
”Yeah, well, maybe I've gotten a little more discriminating.”
He laughed, and she made a face at him.
”What time do you suppose he'll show up?” she asked. ”If this is, in fact, his watering hole.”
”This is it, all right.” Will glanced around. ”Close to home-critical when a guy has no wheels-and there's a fair share of single ladies. All regulars, judging from the conversations I overheard around the bar while I was waiting for our beer. This is the neighborhood hangout. This would be his place.”
”So the next question would be, is this his night?”
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