Mercy Read Online Free PDF Page B

it?” Monk asked. “You want me to kill John’s wife, don’t you? Or was I mistaken?”
    “No, but . . .”
    “But what, Cameron? Does it bother you that I’m being blunt? I could use another word for murder if you want, but that won’t change what you’re hiring me to do.” He shrugged and then said, “I want more money.”
    “We’ve already made you a very rich man,” John pointed out.
    “Yes, you have.”
    “Listen, asshole, we agreed on a price,” Preston shouted, then looked over his shoulder to see if anyone had heard.
    “Yes, we did,” Monk replied. He seemed totally unaffected by the burst of anger. “But you didn’t explain what you wanted done, did you? Imagine my surprise when I talked to Dallas and found out the details.”
    “What did Dallas tell you?” Cameron wanted to know.
    “That there was a problem you all wanted eliminated. Now that I know what the problem is, I’m doubling the price. I think that’s quite reasonable. The risk is more substantial.”
    Silence followed the statement. Then Cameron said, “I’m tapped out. Where are we going to come up with the rest of the money?”
    “That’s my problem, not yours,” John said. He turned to Monk then. “I’ll even throw in an additional ten thousand if you’ll agree to wait until after the will is read to get paid.”
    Monk tilted his head. “An extra ten thousand. Sure, I’ll wait. I know where to find you. Now give me the details. I know who you want killed, so why don’t you tell me when, where, and how much you want her to suffer.”
    John was shaken. He cleared his throat, gulped down half a glass of beer, and whispered, “Oh, God, no. I don’t want her to suffer. She’s
been
suffering.”
    “She’s terminally ill,” Cameron explained.
    John nodded. “There isn’t any hope for her. I can’t stand to see her in so much pain. It’s . . . constant, never ending. I . . .” He was too emotionally distraught to continue.
    Cameron quickly took over. “When John started talking crazy about killing himself, we knew we had to do something to help.”
    Monk motioned him to be quiet as the waitress walked toward them. She placed another round of beers on the table and told them she’d be back in a minute to take their dinner orders.
    As soon as she walked away, Monk said, “Look, John. I didn’t realize your wife was sick. I guess I sounded a little cold. Sorry about that.”
    “Sorry enough to cut your price down?” Preston asked.
    “No, I’m not that sorry.”
    “So are you going to do it, or what?” John asked impatiently.
    “It’s intriguing,” Monk said. “I would actually be doing a good deed, wouldn’t I?”
    He asked for the particulars about the wife’s unfortunate condition and also wanted to know about the living situation inside the house. As John was answering his questions, Monk leaned forward and spread his hands in front of him. His fingernails were perfectly manicured, the pads smooth, callus free. He stared straight ahead, seemingly lost in thought, as if he were constructing the details of the job in his head.
    After John finished describing the floor plan, the alarm system, and the maids’ daily routine, he tensely waited for more questions.
    “So, the maid goes home each night. What about the housekeeper?”
    “Rosa . . . Rosa Vincetti is her name,” John said. “She stays until ten every night, except for Mondays, when I’m usually home so she can leave by six.”
    “Any friends or relatives I need to be concerned about?”
    John shook his head. “Catherine cut her friends off years ago. She doesn’t like visitors. She’s embarrassed about her . . . condition.”
    “What about relatives?”
    “There’s one uncle and a couple of cousins, but she’s all but severed ties with them. Says they’re white trash. The uncle calls once a month. She tries to be polite, but she doesn’t stay on the phone long. It tires her.”
    “Does this uncle ever stop by