Page 55 of Hard to Kill

“One was named Edmund McKenzie,” he says.

I sit up a little straighter.

“The other?”

“Bobby Salvatore.”

Jimmy’s right.

The world just keeps getting smaller.

And perhaps more dangerous.

“Martin,” I say. “You suddenly have my undivided attention.”

Another smile. “I didn’t have it before?”

“Finish the story, Martin.” It’s a tone I’m sure he remembers along with everything else from our marriage.

“Allen Reese said something odd: that Mr. Salvatore was his bookie. I couldn’t tell whether he was joking or not.”

“He likely wasn’t joking.”

“So it was even more of an eclectic group than I first thought,” Martin says.

Quietly Ben Kalinsky says, “You have no idea.”

“Before Mr. Salvatore left, I asked if he was really Allen’s bookie.”

“What did he say?”

“He said problems were his specialty,” Martin says. “I asked if that meant solving them or creating them. He smiled and said, ‘Both.’”

FORTY-FOUR

Jimmy

HIS FACE IS BURNING, bleeding he’s sure from the shattered windshield. But there’s no time to check.

He’s just happy nothing has hit him in the eyes, and that he can still see.

He’s below the dashboard when a second bullet comes thudding into the leather behind the steering wheel.

No point in calling 911. Pinned down and taking fire, Jimmy knows he’s outnumbered and maybe outgunned and tries to figure out how not to remain a sitting goddamn duck.

The third shot doesn’t come, at least not right away.

Maybe she’s waiting to see if he’s been hit.

Or for him to show himself again.

For all Jimmy knows, she’s in the dunes, circling around and closing in on the Jetta right now.

Jimmy doesn’t know if Wolk has a gun of his own or is just hunched down below his own dashboard, waiting for the woman to finish the job.

Not knowing where the shooter is, Jimmy unlatches the passenger door, usingitfor cover now. Then he’s the one rising up from behind it, firing one shot, then another, and then two more after that, not aiming at anything in particular. He can’tsee the woman. He’s just providing cover for himself, even as he’s blinded by the Corolla’s high beams.

Now the woman fires again and hits the door.