said.
I just wonder if it was totally necessary. From a business perspective, nothing more. .
We didn't need the chemist any longer, the woman said. At least half a dozen of our employees have been able to duplicate the process without fault. The product we gave Leroy Culvert tonight came from one of those batches and was taken by one employee who, let's just say, enjoyed it. .
Malloy nodded. You don't need to convince me. .
The woman approached Malloy until they were standing barely a foot apart.
We've known each other a long time. .
Yes, we have. .
We've both suffered great tragedies. .
Yes, we have. .
And what we're about to get under way will be the end of what began twenty years ago.
Your brother did not die in vain. .
I know he did not, Malloy said.
Everything that happened in Panama has led up to this. This wheel was set in motion a long time ago. The chemist was no longer needed, and he was a link to what happened in Panama. Nobody here knows who he is. He could have only hurt us from this point forward. A man's ability to create substances is not the same as his ability to witness calamity without sounding the alarm. I worry that the chemist could have come back to haunt us. .
And you may have been right, Malloy said. I understand why this was necessary. .
Trust within the organization had been shaken over the past few days, culminating in the death of Stephen Gaines. They did not see Gaines's defection coming. And that's what this night was about: tying up loose ends. She was right. Malloy knew this. He was still haunted by that day twenty years ago, the battle that had irreparably changed his life. Everything that happened then was leading up to now.
The Asian is next, the woman said.
He's waiting for us at the club, Malloy said.
What did you tell him? .
That he was getting a bump up. Title and salary. .
Was he excited? .
Like a little girl getting a pony. .
The woman smiled. Good. Then let's go. And let's make sure the Asian's body is in the water by the time the morning commute begins. .
Chapter 5.
Amanda Davies jolted upright in bed, her shirt coated in sweat, her shoulders heaving from the nightmare she'd just awoken from. It took her a moment to get her bearings, for the world to take shape. She swung her legs around the side of the bed, then looked back over her shoulder at Henry. He was fast asleep, not quite snoring but making that huuuunk' shhhhhhhh noise that either kept her awake or put her to sleep, depending on her mood.
Henry was splayed on his stomach, wearing nothing but a pair of loose-fitting boxers.
There was a hole in the right leg large enough for her to put her fist through. She'd pleaded with Henry to throw out any and all underwear that had any fabric detachments, but she could tell from his absent nod that he would do no such thing. It didn't bother her much, and truth be told, her scolding had much more in common with flirting than nagging. Their fights were few and far between, and any time temperatures seemed about to rise, a well-timed kiss or an I love you quashed it.
Amanda preferred it that way.
Her head pounded, and she quietly went into the kitchen to find a drink. The Brita pitcher was empty, and she didn't feel like waiting for warm, filtered water. Instead, she pulled out a large container of fruit punch Gatorade and took a healthy pull. She wiped her mouth and took another. Then she put it back in the fridge, closed the door gently and sat down on the living-room couch.
She flicked on the television and muted it. A few reruns, some horrific looking jewelry being hawked on QVC, some late-night soft core porn, and a movie or two that she'd seen before and liked. Then she shut the TV off. She wasn't really in the mood to watch, but she didn't want to get back into bed while her heart was still beating fast.
She couldn't remember the dream. Strange. She used to keep lengthy journals of just about everything that took place in
John R. Little and Mark Allan Gunnells
Sean Thomas Fisher, Esmeralda Morin