That’s How I Roll: A Novel (4 page)

Why be subtle when you don’t care what kind of tracks you leave? When the bigger bears were all done squeezing, there’d be nothing left but a tiny little lump.

Just big enough to stick that goodbye needle in.

hen you’re arrested for murder, you don’t have much to trade. The rule is, you have to trade
up
, like when a drug addict gives up his dealer. But if you’ve done
considerable
killing, talking about who paid you for those services might make the Law so happy that they’ll spare your life in exchange. Or even turn you loose.

But once you get down to murder for money, the Law’s not the only player at the table. No matter how high up those you talk to may stand, no matter what they promise, you know that even the
rumor
of you talking can end it all.

Once the Law has you like they had me, you
are
going to die.
There isn’t but one actual option left to you, only one thing you can still control. You get to decide who does the job.

If you make the Law do it, all they can kill is your body. Your spirit lives, and your reputation carries on.

When you die the right way, there’s no reason for anyone to seek vengeance on your loved ones.

Just the opposite, in fact.

he crime that finally brought me down made national news. But that was just because of the body count. National news doesn’t always bring in national Law.

All the killings had been in one state, so there was no way the Feds could just ram their way in and take over. That’s what the local Law kept telling themselves, anyway. They ran around saying “jurisdiction” to each other like it was a holy word … the way people in the movies hold up a cross to banish vampires.

That only works in the movies.

eeping the Feds out of our business, that’s like a religion around here. But if a federal agent gets killed—they
are
coming. Get in their way and, no matter how big you are, lawman or not, you’re nothing but a pile of hot asphalt waiting on the steamroller.

ll I could do was be patient. Deep inside, alone, watching the layers of protection I’d taken so many years to build up slowly come off.

I knew this would happen someday. I thought I was ready for it,
because I’d had so much practice. When I knew pain was coming, I could go someplace in my mind. Someplace else. From there, I could watch it happening, happening to me, but I didn’t feel it. I’d learned to do that as a child. Maybe not “learned,” because I hadn’t studied on it—one day, I realized it had just happened. After that, it always did.

And now it was happening again. I was watching what the big bears were watching. Only, this time, what they were watching was an illusion. They weren’t getting any closer to what they really wanted. But the closer they thought they were getting, the easier it was for me to keep checking steps off my list.

t seemed like everyone in the world wanted to talk to me. But even if they weren’t undercovers, they damn sure weren’t showing up because they cared about me.

And I surely didn’t need any “spokesman.” There was no shortage of volunteers for
that
job.

I didn’t worship “the media” the way most folks did. Longing for attention is for killers who
haven’t
been caught. Like that Zodiac sex fiend in California who kept sending letters to the papers. Or that Unabomber psycho who wanted to see his stupid “manifesto” in print. Now he has the rest of his life to read it.

I’m nothing like them. I’m not crazy. I never wrote taunting notes to the police; I never got a thrill out of what I did. I was just an assassin, good at my trade. Like any skilled workman, I charged a fair wage for my work, and I never expected payment in full until I finished each job to the customer’s satisfaction. Contract killers aren’t all the same. The only thing we have in common is that we all commit murder for money. Speaking for myself, it was
only
for the money.

But there’s more to this work than making people dead. The contracts always have other terms and conditions to them, and those hold forever. It didn’t matter if I was caught—as long as I
didn’t cross those lines, I was free to strike any deal for myself that I could.

Only I didn’t want a deal.

ust as the local bears got their first turn at me, the local boss bear—the District Attorney himself—took his before anyone else.

He came to the jail alone. Well, not really alone. He had a couple of assistants with him, and the Sheriff’s men were real close by all the time. They weren’t there to protect him; it was their job to bear witness to the act of Christian charity that the big boss was going to deliver.

When everybody was in place, he reached down and shook my hand.

“You’ll never face the death penalty in this county, Esau,” he said. “Folks around here, we all know what you’ve been through.”

He never specified on that, but he sure as Satan knew why I hadn’t stood up when he’d held out his hand.

I knew he would never try for the death penalty anyway. Not around here. Not for someone like me.

I’d read up on this, and I knew the defense could ask for a change of venue—that’s moving the trial to another part of the state. But if I had planned on actually putting up a defense, I’d’ve never let that happen. I knew what the DA knew—no matter who they picked for the jury, as long as it was from folks around here, they’d never vote to execute me.

They’d never vote to elect that DA again, either. They take insults like that real personal around here.

That’s why the words tumbled out of his mouth like a rolling bakery line of fresh lemon tarts, with a little strand of barbed wire hidden in each one.

I knew they’d come that way—you can’t use a harpoon when you’re fly-fishing.

But they kept using the wrong bait. I couldn’t come right out and tell them what to use, either. I did that and they’d all think I was the one holding the casting rod.

’d known this time was coming. I’d known it for many years. The only excuse I had for the hive not being fixed up just right was that I hadn’t planned on those other visitors—there wasn’t any reason to expect them.

The design did just what it was supposed to do: the more the bears dug at it, the stronger the hive got. Pull off one layer and the others would fold in on themselves, only wrapped much tighter. I was sure I’d made that honey armor-plated.

But, like I said, I hadn’t built it expecting the Feds. I had counted on never having to deal with them, because I’d been so careful to stay away from anything that might draw their attention.

It’s not like TV. This place could be home base for a dozen serial killers, and still the local Law would never call on the Feds for help. Around here, you could be anything from a U.S. marshal to a census taker; you’d still be a Fed.

Nobody likes the Feds. That goes back a long way, and its roots are deep.

But I shouldn’t have counted on all that to keep me safe.

tep Two kind of came by itself. Once the Feds took over, they acted just as smug and arrogant as you’d expect. Came straight out and said it, first words. Anything anyone in this whole state could do for me, the Feds could do better. A lot better.