“You got that right.” He laughed a little, trying to show Charlie it really didn’t matter, then said, “So let’s concentrate on getting this guy back to Venezuela, then we’ll see what we can do about our own futures.”
Charlie nodded and they both turned and looked across the street, at the Martinez household as it eased into the evening ahead of them. Ramon Martinez would have absolutely no idea that this was his last night of freedom, that everything would change tomorrow.
Maybe Charlie was thinking along the same lines as he watched, because he said, “You think we’re in trouble?”
Dan smiled. It was a question he’d asked Dan many times over the years, and he always seemed reassured by Dan’s stock response, “Nothing we can’t handle.” Dan hadn’t always been as certain as he’d sounded, but it had always ended up being true.
“Nothing we can’t handle,” he said again now, and even without looking he knew Charlie was smiling too.
Chapter Three
It was another fine morning, the promise of heat later, and Dan and Charlie were parked part of the way along the side street, just around the block from the Martinez family’s apartment building.
Charlie was in the driver’s seat, and Dan had a city map opened out on the dash. They were facing away, but with the mirrors arranged to give them both a good view of the street behind them.
Dan spotted them first as they came around the corner, Martinez and his boy. They had that same relaxed attitude about them, as if nothing could possibly go wrong on this sunny autumnal morning, in this particular neighborhood.
“I see them,” said Charlie, responding to the subliminal change in Dan’s body language. He studied them in the mirror and added, “I’m glad it’s just a pickup.”
Dan nodded in agreement, although this was more typical of their work anyway—they picked them up, usually so that other people could kill them at leisure.
He slipped the gun under the map and waited. Martinez had become so comfortable living here that he didn’t seem to notice the car, and didn’t look uneasy even as Dan opened the door and stepped out.
Martinez saw the map and started to preempt him in Spanish, but fell silent in response to something he saw in Dan’s expression.
Dan glanced at the boy, then said, “Let’s not make this any more difficult than it needs to be, Mr. Martinez. Just get in the car.”
Martinez nodded. He was calm, but he’d probably inferred that any difficulty would involve his son in this, and he was clearly desperate to stop that from happening. He turned to the boy now and spoke rapid reassurance, and Dan picked up enough to know that he was explaining that he had to go with these men, that the boy was to go home.
Martinez climbed into the back seat of the car, but the boy stared at him, bewildered, and said, “Papa?”
The word sent a chill down Dan’s spine, memory spilling in on the back of it, but Martinez called back with cheery reassurance to the boy. Dan climbed in beside him and closed the door, and Charlie started the engine. He didn’t pull away though, and glanced at Dan in the rearview.
Dan looked out of the window. The boy was still standing there, confused rather than upset, but looking completely lost.
“Charlie, he’s right around the corner from his building—he’ll head back once we pull away.”
Charlie turned and said, “You can’t just leave him there.” Dan looked askance at him, an answer in itself, but Charlie persisted, saying, “Dan, he’s a little kid. Anything could happen to him.”
He wasn’t sure what his life had come to that Charlie Hamsun was now his conscience, but he shook his head and said, “Okay, watch Martinez and I’ll be back in a minute.” He turned to Martinez and said, “If you try anything while I’m gone I’ll kill you and your family.”
He handed his gun to Charlie, opened the door and climbed out. The boy immediately stepped back in fear but, once again, his father’s voice came cheerily, telling him to go with the man.
Dan started along the street and the boy fell in with him and put his hand in Dan’s. The touch of his warm little hand sent a jolt through him. Maybe it was because of what Charlie had said the day before, or because of the boy using that word, papa. Maybe it had just been playing on his mind since following them the previous morning.
He was younger than Dan’s boy would have been, maybe only five or six but, whether or not, the memory was as raw as ever. And just as raw, his anger with himself for feeling like this, certain in some way that he had not earned it. He pushed the thoughts away, smothered them, and thought only of the job, the here and now.
The boy let go of his hand as they reached the building, perhaps feeling he was on familiar ground again. And he pressed the buttons in the elevator and knocked on his own apartment door when they got there.