Hit List by Lawrence Block Read Free Book Online Page B

out.”
    “Not right away,” he said. “Suppose somebody heard him drive in? They might come out to check. Or suppose he came to before the carbon monoxide level built up enough to keep him under?”
    “Or suppose the engine stalled.”
    “Also a possibility. I waited by the side of the car, and then I started to worry about how much exhaust I was breathing myself.”
    “ ‘Two Men Gassed in Suicide Pact.’ “
    “So I let myself out the side door and stood there for ten minutes. I don’t know what I would have done if I heard the engine cut out.”
    “Gone in and fixed it.”
    “Which is fine if it stalled, but suppose he came to and turned it off himself? And I rush in, and he’s sitting there with a gun in his hand?”
    “You left him the gun?”
    “Left it in his hand, and his hand in his lap. Like he was ready to shoot himself if the gas didn’t work, or if he got up the nerve.”
    “Cute.”
    “Well, they gave me the gun. I had to do something with it.”
    “Chekhov,” she said.
    “Check off what?”
    She rolled her eyes. “Anton Chekhov, Keller. The Russian writer. I’ll bet you anything he’s got his picture on a stamp.”
    “I know who he is,” he said. “I just misheard you, because I didn’t know we were having a literary discussion. He was a physician as well as a writer, and he wrote plays and short stories. What about him?”
    “He said if you show a gun in Act One, you’d better have it go off before the final curtain.” She frowned. “At least I think it was Chekhov. Maybe it was somebody else.”
    “Well, it didn’t go off,” he said, “but at least I found a use for it. He had it in his hand with his finger on the trigger, and he had a round in the chamber, and if they happen to look they’ll find traces of gun oil on his lips.”
    “Now that’s a nice touch.”
    “It’s great,” he agreed, “as long as there’s a body to examine, but what if he wakes up? He realizes he’s got a gun in his hand, and he looks up, and there I am.” He shrugged. “As jumpy as I was, I didn’t have a lot of trouble imagining it that way. But it didn’t happen.”
    “You checked him and he was nice and dead.”
    “I didn’t check. I gave him ten minutes with the engine running, and I figured that was enough. The engine wasn’t going to stall and he wasn’t going to wake up.”
    “And he evidently didn’t,” she said, motioning at the money. “And everybody’s happy.” She cocked her head. “Wouldn’t there be marks on his neck from the choke hold?”
    “Maybe. Would they even notice? He’s in a car, he’s got a hose hooked up, he’s holding a gun, his bloodstream’s bubbling over with carbon monoxide . . .”
    “If I found marks on his neck, Keller, I’d just figure he tried to hang himself earlier.”
    “Or choke himself to death with his own hands.”
    “Is that possible?”
    “Maybe for an advanced student of the martial arts.”
    “Ninja roulette,” she said.
    He said, “That guy I talked to, thought he was talking to Inside Edition ? I asked if there were any other colorful murders in town.”
    “Something worthy of national coverage.”
    “He told me more than I needed to know about some cocaine dealer who got gunned down a few days before I got to town, and about some poor sonofabitch who killed his terminally ill wife, called it in to 911, then shot himself before the cops could get there.”
    “Never a dull moment in Louisville.”
    “He didn’t even mention Hirschhorn. So I guess it’s going in the books as a suicide.”
    “Fine with me,” she said, “and the client’s happy, and we got paid, so I’m happy. And the business at the Super Duper wasn’t an attempt on your life . . .”
    “The Super 8.”
    “Whatever. It was a couple of cheaters suffering divine retribution.”
    “Or bad luck.”
    “Aren’t they the same thing? But here’s my question. Everybody else is happy. Why not you, Keller?”
    “I’m happy