The Watcher

MANY THOUGHTS PASS THROUGH MY HEAD Simultaneously. I wonder how he managed to pull this off, how remarkably different he looks with just a change of hair style and color, how long he's known that David was alive.

The smile on his face broadens. "Welcome back, Anna," The Ghost says. "I've been waiting for you."

"I'll bet. So what happens now?"

He reaches across the seat and snags my bag with one hand. "We go back to the hospital. I know a back way out of this place, a service road. It will take a while for the police to figure out that Elvis has left the building. By that time, I'll have finished what I set out to do. The next time you and your partner visit this place, the circumstances will be different."

He says it like I should tremble at his words. But he doesn't wait to see if I am. He is confident that it could be no other way. He is used to inspiring fear. So, he turns away from me and starts the engine.

I have a number of options open to me. I can jump out of the car now, signal the police, and let them take care of him. I can reach across the seat and snap his neck the way I did Marta's. I can let him think he's won and allow him a few more minutes to gloat before I show him what fear really is.

He adjusts the rearview mirror to keep me in sight. It doesn't work, of course, and he gives up finally, mumbling that the damned mirror must be broken. He tells me to move over to the right side of the seat so he can see me as he drives.

"Would you like me to get into the front seat with you? You could keep a closer eye on me that way."

He reacts with surprise to the way I address him. He pulls the car over and reaches over the seat to backhand me. My head snaps back, and blood flows from a cut on my lip. I smile and touch the cut with my tongue, let the blood pool and lick at it. "Is that the best you can do?"

He doesn't answer. He's looking at me, wondering why I'm not acting the way he expects. His eyes don't reflect real curiosity, there'd have to be some shred of humanity for that. Idle, bored speculation is the most he can muster. "Do you know who I am?"

I laugh. "A not very good hit man who let a couple of bounty hunters walk off with his prize."

And the minute I say that, I remember. I snap my fingers. "Of course. San Francisco. You were in the bar. The silk suit. You followed David and Tuturo outside."

A muscle at the corner of his mouth twitches. "It shouldn't have happened. He was mine."

"Evidently not. Evidently David appealed to him more than you did."

"Stupid fag," he snaps. "I spent the entire night watching those perverts, waiting for Tony to leave so I could follow him, and your partner walks in and waltzes him right out. It was sickening. I should have killed them both in the bar."

"I guess you should have. Ruined your reputation so I hear."

That gets a snicker. "No one, especially not a couple of amateurs from this pathetic town, is going to trash my reputation. Christ, even the police chief wasn't smart enough to recognize his own driver."

"How'd you pull that off anyway?"

"Thank SWAT. All those cops walking around in armor and headgear. Cops who think they're untouchable because they carry big guns. Won't they be surprised when they return to headquarters and find one of their fellow officers with his throat cut, stuffed in his own locker? Serves the arrogant bastards right."

Well, I guess I won't have to kill him after all. He's signed his own death warrant and all I have to do now is deliver him up.

"Well, you've certainly thought of everything," I say cheerfully. "Made my day, in fact. Now, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. Your choice."

He shakes his head, frowning. "What the hell are you talking about? What choice?"

I guess that means we do it the hard way. I punch him with my fist so hard and so fast, his nose caves, his eyes close, the back of his head bounces off the steering wheel and he's out before his brain registers that he's been hit.

Man, that felt good. Not bad for an amateur.