The Adjustment - By Scott Phillips Page 0,54
a good hostess making sure to quickly learn the habits of anyone who showed the slightest sign of becoming a regular source of money spent.
“Just one,” I said. “I’m Wayne, by the way.”
“I’m Vera. But you know that.”
“See you later,” I said, and gave her a happy glance over my shoulder as I went.
BEFORE I HEADED out on the night’s real business I headed up to my room to where I’d stashed Collins’s remaining supply of Hycodan. Ten pills seemed about right for a start, and I headed back down to the street and hightailed it for Lou’s.
A FEW MINUTES later I was standing outside the front of his building. I walked around the corner to examine the western facade; from the street there were no lights visible on the fifth floor. Once again there was no one to slip past at the front desk of the Stuckey Palace Hotel and Apartments, and I followed the path worn into the stairwell carpet up to the fifth floor. I’d brought a few things I thought might be useful for picking Lou’s lock, but to my considerable surprise found that he hadn’t locked his door. I looked around the apartment and found nothing of value; no doubt everything but his clothes had been pawned to feed his habit.
I turned out the lights again and sat down in Lou’s threadbare easy chair and picked at the loose threads on the armrests. I hoped he wouldn’t be too long; it wouldn’t do for Lou to come home and find his would-be killer asleep in his front room.
Around twelve-fifteen the door cracked open and Lou entered. “Hello, Og. Long time,” he said before he flicked the switch.
I had the revolver trained on his silhouette when the light came on. Lou was smiling.
“You robbed me, Lou. We were partners.”
“No honor among thieves, Ogden, isn’t that what they say?”
“Partners, Lou.”
“What can I say? I had a monkey on my back the size of King Kong and dope peddlers after my hide and Uncle Sam offered me a transfer and I took it.”
“Along with your money and mine.”
“I know.”
“And you still haven’t kicked. All this time and you’re still fixing, throwing all your money away.”
“Nope, I kicked two years ago, after I got discharged. Dishonorable. You know how fucking hard it was to get a dishonorable discharge in the middle of that war? Damned hard.”
“Doesn’t look much like you kicked.”
Another smile, rueful and without guile. There was forgiveness in it, fondness, even. “I did, though.”
“Don’t you want to know how I tracked you down?”
That smile again, patient and saintly. He looked seventy years old, and he was two years younger than I was. “Saw you last night at the casino, made damn sure you saw me.”
“You wanted me to follow you.”
“Yep. Came home an hour earlier than usual just so you’d know where to go.”
Just then it hit me that he might be planning something of his own, but that look in his eyes belied any such notion. “You thought you could talk me into letting you off?”
He sank down into the recently vacated easy chair, seemingly exhausted. “Not at all.”
“Then you know why I’m here.”
“Og, I ain’t hooked any more. I’m sick.”
“Sick how?”
“Cancer. Plus I got the sugar diabetes so bad you could take my piss and make wine out of it. Course with the kidney troubles I don’t produce much of that. One doc says I’m dead in three months, other one says I could last two years.”
“So you think I’m going to give you a pass because you’re sick.”
“Hell, no. I’m expecting you to kill me, just like you meant to.”
I stared at him and knew he was telling the truth. He winced from a sudden pain, clutched his side, a single shameful tear coursing down his stoic left cheek.
“I can’t take two years of this, can’t take three months even. Don’t have the balls to do it myself. Jesus Christ sent you to me, Og. You’re my angel of death.”
“No, I’m not,” I said, and I moved for the door. I nearly gave him the revolver and told him to be a man and do it himself, but in the end I just walked out the door without looking back, my revenge more severe than I’d pictured it and, curiously, less satisfying.
On my way through the lobby a poorly-shaven bald man called out to me. “All visitors must be announced,” he said, his voice high in pitch and adenoidal. In a better mood I