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plus her clothes, plus smelling her perfume . . . I had to rest for a
moment and control my breathing.
And that s when he found me.
I felt the cold muzzle of the gun against the back of my neck.
It froze my whole body for a moment.
Toss the gun over there.
I did as I was told, and then was frisked from behind.
Walk into the living room.
I did so. I recognized the voice. I knew who was behind me.
Now turn around.
I turned around and was face to face with Leo Hoffer.
Sit down, he said. Take a load off. You look like you ve had
a heavy night.
349
Ian Rankin
It s been heavy. I sat down on the sofa, but I rested on its
edge, ready to spring up if I got the chance.
Get comfortable, he said. Go on, sit right back.
I sat right back. The sofa was like marshmallow. I knew it was
almost as good as restraints. I wasn t going anywhere in a hurry.
Yeah, it s a bitch, isn t it? Hoffer was saying. I sat in it ear-
lier on while I was figuring out what to do. Took me five fucking
minutes to get out of it. It s a regular Venus flytrap. So, Mr.
Wesley-Weston-West, what re you doing here?
The same as you probably.
Well, I hope you ve got some tools with you, because that
safe isn t budging.
He was pointing in the direction of the far wall. He d taken
down a large seascape painting to reveal a small wall safe. Even
from here I could see he d had a go at it. The wall all around it
was scraped and gouged, and the metal surface of the safe was
scratched and dented.
I can open it, I said.
That s good. Because I want to stick your head in it then
push my pistol up your ass.
That s class, Hoffer.
I ll tell you what class is. Class is leading me on this fucking
chase halfway across the world and back. That s so classy I m
going to blow you away.
I felt tired suddenly. I mean, dog-tired. There was no steam
left in me, no fight. I rubbed at my forehead.
I want a drink, I said.
Provost hasn t got a damned drop in the house. He reached
into his jacket and pulled out half a bottle. That s why I had to
go fetch this. He tossed the bottle onto the couch beside me. It
was Jim Beam, a couple of inches missing from the top. I un-
screwed the cap and took a good deep gulp. Afterward, I didn t
feel quite so tired.
How did you find me?
He came close enough to me to take back the bottle, then re-
treated again. He took a slug, keeping his eyes and his Smith &
Wesson 459 on me. He didn t bother recapping the bottle, but
left it on the mantelpiece.
350
Bleeding Hearts
Don t forget, I said, your prints are on that.
And yours, he said. I ll wipe it before I go. You look like
you re ready for another shot already.
But I shook my head. Any more and I ll fall asleep, no
offense.
He smiled. None taken. But I don t want you asleep. I ve
never killed a man while he s sleeping. In fact, I ve never killed
anyone, period, not even in anger, never mind anyone defense-
less. I m not like you, man. I don t kill the innocents. You fucked
up big when you hit Walkins s daughter.
I know.
Yeah, and I bet you still lose sleep over it. I bet you lose sleep
over all of them, man, all your victims. Well, I m going to enjoy
killing you.
Killing isn t as easy as you might think. Maybe you should
hide me away till your client can come and help. I m sure he
wouldn t mind firing off a round or two.
You re probably right, but then he hasn t worked for that
privilege the way I have. How did I find you? I didn t. You found
me. I was waiting outside to see who turned up. I was expecting
Provost or Kline.
You know Kline?
I ve met him.
He s dead.
I m pleased to hear it. He was about as evil a fuck as has ever
given me indigestion. I hate indigestion at breakfast, it stays with
me the rest of the day. Heartburn, you know.
I nodded. Provost s dead, too.
You ve been busy. So what the fuck was it all about?
I shrugged. Listen, I said, I want to thank you for some-
thing.
He narrowed his eyes. What?
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