Page 100 of Hard to Kill

Martin leans forward now. “How much trouble do you think I’m in?”

“How did he leave it with you the other night, when you thought your business with him had concluded?”

“He just told me that I’d hear from him if he was the one who ever needed a favor.”

Now I nod.

“He’s not after you, Martin. He’s after me, for reasons I don’t fully understand. At least not yet.”

“So what do I do now?”

“Do you still need his money?”

“I no longerwanthis money.”

“Then maybe you’re done with him.”

“And if I’m not?”

“I’m not sure what to tell you. Other than this is what happens when you lie down with dogs.”

I turn toward mine. “Sorry, Rip.”

Martin says, “You mean dogs like your current client.”

I smile quite genuinely now. “Touché,” I say. “That’s French, by the way.”

“What are you going to do about Licata? You obviously know that he’s dangerous.”

“So am I, Martin. You should know that as well as anyone.”

I stand.

“Mind if I take the couch for the night?” Martin asks.

I get out of my chair and walk over to him and lean down, gently kissing his cheek. His scent, even now, is one I remember, vividly.

“I used to love you so much, Martin,” I whisper.

He looks up at me, the affection in his eyes quite real.

“I love you,mon ange,” he says.

My angel. Blast from the past.

He starts to reach up to pull me closer to him.

I back away.

“Call an Uber,” I tell him.

SEVENTY-NINE

WHEN HE’S GONE AND I am finally and blessedly asleep, I dream again about my mother.

She is happy, surrounded by a whole flock of her hummingbirds. And I awaken smiling, a rare occurrence these days, the image of her and the birds still vivid as I make myself a cup of coffee and go down into my basement, which I keep almost pathetically neat, and find the box containing the hummingbird feeder my father once made for her.

The birds keep showing up in my dreams.