… except for the crotch tat that said, “Is it hot in here or is it just me?”
“I think I deserve more credit,” I said. “It’s not easy finding a body double for you. Not to mention the detailed inspections I have to make, you being so fussy about tattoos and such.”
“Yeah, well I agree that when it comes to hookers, you put everything you have into your work.”
Inside the van, tucked against the far corner, Monica had pulled her knees up to her chest. Tears streaked her cheeks, and her mouth formed words I couldn’t hear. She seemed to listen for a while and then she started crying softly.
“What do you think he’s saying to her?” Callie said.
I had no idea and hated myself for caring.
“This next body double,” Callie said. “Does she have a tattoo?”
“Jenine? I don’t know yet.”
“But you’re itching to find out.”
“My devotion to detail is legendary,” I said. “Timeless.”
“So is the clap,” Callie said.
Monica looked up at me through the window and nodded, and I opened the door. I heard her thank Victor and wondered what that meant. She handed the phone back to me. I put it to my ear.
“Creed,” I said.
“You know… what… to do,” Victor said.
I did know what to do, but I was curious about a couple of things. I asked Monica if she knew Victor.
“I know of him,” she said.
“How’s that?”
“Through my husband.”
I nodded. So Victor was killing her to punish the husband. At least that made some sense. I didn’t want to ask too many questions, though. Questions lead to answers, and answers lead to doubt, and doubt will ruin a good contract killer. I looked at Callie. She was about to explode, she wanted to know so badly.
“Tell me about Victor,” I said.
“I can’t. If I tell you, you’ll kill me.”
Callie and I exchanged a look. Callie couldn’t hold it back any longer; she had to speak. “This Victor guy, you’re saying he told you we’d let you go if you kept quiet about your conversation with him?”
Monica looked confused. “Is this a trick question?”
Callie looked at me in disbelief. “What a twisted fuck.”
“Hey, watch it,” I said. “You’re talking about our employer.”
We all sat there looking at each other for a minute. I could have forced it out of her, but I didn’t want to torture her. I could have threatened her into telling me, but that would require giving her false hope, and that didn’t feel right to me somehow. I decided to let the motive slide.
“Okay, Monica,” I said. “You didn’t tell us anything about your conversation with Victor or about your connection to him, so you did well. I won’t ask you again. But tell me this: why is his voice so weird?”
