Killer Move by Michael Marshall Read Free Book Online Page A

sticking to your desk is a sign not of diligence but of inertia. I took a notepad with me and jotted down every single little glitch, snag, and imperfection I could find.
    T wo hours later I was sitting outside The Breakers’ market with an iced coffee and a head full of half-formed plans, when I saw Karren’s car coming round the circle. She parked, saw me, hesitated, then walked over.
    “Thanks for picking up on the Warner meeting,” I said. “Glad you were there to do it.”
    She glared down at me, then reached into her little briefcase and pulled out a pad. She ripped off the top few pages and dropped them on the table.
    I leaned forward and peered at them. Notes on a house, in Karren’s tidy hand.
    “He . . .” She bit her lip.
    “Yes?”
    “He thanked me for taking the time to come out,” she said coldly. “And said that he looked forward to dealing with you over the actual sale.”
    I leaned back, being careful not to allow any hint of expression to make it to my face. “That sucks,” I said, reaching for my phone. “You want me to give him a call? Put him straight on what century we’re living in?”
    “Fuck you,” Karren said, and stormed away.
    I managed to hold back the laughter until she was back in the office, but it was hard.
    Boy, it was hard.
    I ’d just climbed into the car at the end of the day when my cell rang.
    “Mr. Bill Moore?”
    The voice was young, female, professional.
    “That would be me. How can I help?”
    “I’m Melania—David Warner’s assistant.”
    Melania? Was that even a real name? “What can I do for you, Melania?”
    “Mr. Warner was a little disappointed that you weren’t able to make the meeting today.”
    “Whoa,” I said. “Let’s hit pause. Not my bad, okay? He called the office—after I had told him my cell was the best way of getting hold of me—and said he wanted a meeting right away. He agreed to meet with my colleague. Who he managed to alienate more than a little, if you want to know.”
    I didn’t give a crap about Warner having pissed off Karren (and had savored the idea more than once in the meantime, as a matter of fact), but you have to make it clear to other people’s minions that you’re not down on their level, and are not available to be bossed around.
    There was a slight pause. “He can be that way.”
    “Yep. It’s how they roll,” I said, making my tone a little more friendly, implying that men (and women) of a certain age, and of a certain wealth, seem to think that their possessions act like spells, empowering them to behave toward others without fear of resistance or reprisal, most of the time.
    She understood what I was saying.
    “And we love them for it.” Her voice sounded a little warmer now, too. “Okay, well, the bullet point is that Mr. Warner would like to pursue matters. Could you meet with him at nine this evening?”
    “Nine? That’s kind of late.”
    “I know. He has a dinner engagement ahead of that. But he really wants to get the ball rolling.”
    I was tired, and the wine hangover had come home to roost, despite a few fistfuls of aspirin. Steph would be mildly pissed at the late notice, too, more as a matter of form than because it would materially inconvenience her. An eight-million-dollar house is an eight-million-dollar house, however, as I believe it points out in the Bible somewhere.
    “No problem,” I said. I noted down the address of the property when she reeled it off. Then I called my wife and told her I wasn’t going to be back until late.
    “What’s up?”
    “Remember I told you about a guy I met in Krank’s? Couple, three weeks back? Might be wanting to sell a house on the key?”
    “No,” she said. “It must have slipped my mind.”
    “Well, I did. And he does. Wants to talk about it this evening. I’m going to take the meeting. Wouldn’t normally, but it’s a big house. Could go up to ten mil.”
    “Can’t Karren do it? She’s single, right? Surely she can take the