onto them. I get you boys another round of beers?’
The diner’s front door opened, and Jackie Garner walked in.
‘Sure,’ I said. ‘And one extra for our friend who’s just come in.’
‘You think he’ll want to eat?’ asked the waitress. ‘Kitchen’s closing in five.’
‘He can share ours,’ said Angel. ‘There’ll be leftovers.’
Jackie didn’t want to eat, and was happy just to sip a beer. The kitchen closed, and gradually the crowd began to thin out, but nobody tried to hurry us along. We clinked our bottles, and toasted to luck, but Angel was right: luck rarely seemed to come our way.
Which was, indeed, why we had guns.
Across the road from the motel and diner stood an abandoned gas station-cum-general store, the pumps long since gone and the windows and front door of the store itself imperfectly boarded up. The back door had disappeared entirely, but the single piece of wood that had failed to deny access to it still remained, although unsecured, providing the illusion of closure.
Scattered inside were empty beer cans and bottles, a box of cheap wine that was still half full, and the odd used rubber. In one corner was a rat’s nest of blankets and towels, damp and moldy from the rain that had poured through the hole in the roof above, a consequence of a small fire that had also blackened the walls and left a smell of burning.
A firefly glow appeared in the darkness, its illumination growing quickly until it was entirely consumed by flame. The Collector put the match to his cigarette and stepped closer to the window. The lengths of wood used to block them were imperfectly nailed in place, and he could clearly see through them the four men drinking in the diner.
The Collector was torn. He was not used to experiencing anger or the desire for vengeance. Those whom he hunted had not sinned against him, and the pleasure that he took in removing them from the world was general, not personal. This was different. Someone close to him had been killed, and another injured. The most recent conversation with Eldritch’s physician had revealed that he was not recovering as quickly as might have been expected, even for a man of his advanced years, and his stay in hospital was likely to be extended. The physician suggested that the effects of shock and grief were greater threats than his physical wounds, but Eldritch had rejected offers of counseling or the attentions of a psychologist, and when the subject of a priest or pastor had been raised the patient had laughed for the first and only time since his admission.
Kill them. Kill them all.
But they were dangerous, and not only because they were armed. They knew of the Collector, and understood the threat that he posed. He had relearned a painful but valuable lesson from Becky Phipps about confronting someone who was anticipating an attack. He preferred to prey on the unarmed and unwary. He supposed that this might be regarded as cowardice in some quarters, but he saw it simply in terms of practicality. There was no reason to make his task any more difficult than it had to be and, when required, he was prepared to fight for his trophy, just as he had done with Phipps.
Bu he also wanted the rest of the list, and these men could lead him to it. He didn’t know where the Flores woman was hiding, and he could only hope that she had not already found the plane. If she had located it and secured her prize, he would have to hunt her down, and that would be time-consuming, and difficult. No, ideally these four men would do his work for him, and he would start killing after.
He watched them finish their drinks and leave the restaurant. They walked to their rooms in two pairs, Parker and Garner in front, the others behind. The Collector’s right hand slipped beneath his coat and found the hilt of a knife. He rested his fingers on it but did not draw it from its sheath. Beside it was his gun, fully loaded.
Three rooms, four men. It was risky, but not beyond his capabilities.
Kill them all.
But the list, the list . . .
48
The first sign that luck might not be going our way came when I woke up and went out to get coffee. In the parking lot was a shiny white SUV, obviously a rental, and leaning against it, already drinking a coffee of her own,