Hit List

dog.”
    “It’s a fairly unusual name for a human being,” Keller said. “As far as I know it’s only been used once. Was this the only picture they could come up with?”
    “What’s the matter with it? Nice clear shot, and I’m here to tell you it looks just like the man.”
    “Nice that you could get them to pose for you.”
    “It’s from a Christmas card. Musta been taken during the summer, though. How they’re dressed, and the background. You know where I bet this was taken? He’s got a summer place out by McNeely Lake.”
    Wherever that was.
    “So it woulda been taken in the summer, which’d make it what, fifteen months old? He still looks the same, so what’s the problem?”
    “It shows the whole family.”
    “Right,” the man said. “Oh, I see where you’re going. No, it’s just him, Walter Hirschhorn. Just the man himself.”
    That was Keller’s understanding, but it was good to have it confirmed. Still, he’d have been happier with a solo headshot of Hirschhorn, eyes narrowed and mouth set in a line. Not surrounded by his nearest and dearest, all of them with fixed smiles.
    He didn’t much like the way this felt. Hadn’t liked it since he walked off the plane.
    “I don’t know if you’ll want it,” the man was saying, “but there’s a piece in the glove box.”
    A piece of what, Keller wondered, and then realized what the man meant. “Along with the registration,” he said.
    “Except the piece ain’t registered. It’s a nice little twenty-two auto with a spare clip, not that you’re gonna need it. The clip, I mean. Whether you need the piece altogether is not for me to say.”
    “Well,” Keller said.
    “That’s what you guys like, isn’t it? A twenty-two?”
    If you shot a man in the head with a .22, the slug would generally stay within the skull, bouncing around in there, doing no good to the skull’s owner. The small-calibre weapon was supposed to be more accurate, and had less recoil, and would presumably be the weapon of choice for an assassin who prided himself in his artistry.
    Keller didn’t spend much time thinking about guns. When he had to use one, he chose whatever was at hand. Why make it complicated? It was like photography. You could learn all about f-stops and shutter speeds, or you could pick up a Japanese camera and just point and shoot.
    “Just use it and lose it,” the man was saying. “Or if you don’t use it just leave it in the glove box. Otherwise it goes in a Dumpster or down a storm drain, but why am I telling you this? You’re the man.” He pursed his lips and whistled without making a sound. “I have to say I envy a man like you.”
    “Oh?”
    “You ride into town, do what you do, and ride on out. Well, fly on out, but you get the picture. In and out with no hassles, no complications, no dealing with the same assholes day in and day out.”
    You dealt with different ones every time, Keller thought. Was that supposed to be better?
    “But I couldn’t do it. Could I pull a trigger? Maybe I could. Maybe I already done that, one time or another. But your way is different, isn’t it?”
    Was it?
    The man didn’t wait for an answer. “By the baggage claim,” he said, “you didn’t see me right away. You were headed for one of the other guys.”
    “I couldn’t make out the sign he was holding,” Keller said. “The letters were all jammed together. And I had the sense that he was waiting for somebody.”
    “They’re all of them waiting for somebody. Point is, I was watching you, before you took notice of me. And I pictured myself living the life you lead. I mean, what do I know about your life? But based on my own ideas of it. And I realized something.”
    “Oh?”
    “It’s just not for me,” the man said. “I couldn’t do it.”
    * * *
    It cost Keller eight dollars to get his car out of the long-term lot, which struck him as reasonable enough. He got on the interstate going south, got off at Eastern Parkway, and found a place to have coffee and a sandwich. It called itself a family restaurant, which was a term Keller had never entirely understood. It seemed to embody low prices, Middle American food, and a casual atmosphere, but where did family come into the picture? There were no families there this afternoon, just single diners.
    Like Keller himself, sitting in a booth and studying his map. He had no trouble finding Hirschhorn’s downtown office (on Fourth Street between Main and Jefferson, just a few blocks