The Bricklayer

The Bricklayer

He took a swallow of his coffee. “I’m here for the same reason that you did your little storyÑto make the FBI pay.”

“If we want the same thing, do you really think a gun is necessary?”

“Unfortunately, yes. I’m here to provide you with the means of really damaging the FBI.”

“I don’t understand. How?”

“I’m sure you believe in what you did. That it’s critical to the well-being of the country to expose the FBI. And this has to be done no matter the cost. That is what you believe, isn’t it?”

“Sure, I guess.”

“See, we want the same thing. Only you’re going to have to make the ultimate sacrifice for yourÑor should I say, ourÑcause.”

“What, you think you’re going to kill me?”

“Unless you can find some way to kill me. But since I’m the only one in the room with a gun, I seriously doubt that.”

Her eyes locked onto him as her head tilted appraisingly. “You’re from the FBI, aren’t you? You were sent here to intimidate me. That’s what this is really about.”

He took the last drink of his coffee, tipping it up to ensure it was empty. Then, balancing the gun on his right leg and without taking his eyes from her, he pried the lid off the cup and set both down on the table next to him. With the gun back in his hand, he glanced at her, then carefully readjusted the cup’s position on the table. “Not really. Women like you are too irrational to ever be intimidated.”

“Women like me. You mean a bitch.” She threw her head back and laughed as though trying to embarrass him with his inability to show emotion. “This is Hollywood, moron. Without the bitches in the middle of everything, this town’s major export would be fat-free yogurt. From someone like you, ‘bitch’ is the ultimate compliment.”

“In that case, you’re the queen.”

“Damn right.”

Again his face mimicked laughter without a sound.

Glancing once more at the cup, he rotated the automatic slightly until the ejection port was exactly where he wanted it. “Personally, I would have chosen a different epitaph, but who am I to argue with royalty?”

He fired once, striking her in the middle of the upper lip. She fell back dead as the ejected casing from the automatic arced through the air and into the cardboard cup. He walked over to the body and placed a blue piece of paper on her chest. On it was written “Rubaco Pentad.” From his pocket he took a plastic bag containing a Q-tip and dabbed it in the blood that was trickling from her wound. Careful not to let it touch his skin, he resealed the bag.

He went back to the table, dropped the bagged swab into the paper cup, and pushed the lid back onto it. After looking around for any other trace evidence that might have been accidentally cast off, he slid the gun into its holster under his windbreaker and walked out.

From the book THE BRICKLAYER: A Novel by Noah Boyd. Copyright 2010 by Noah Boyd. Reprinted by permission of William Morrow, an Imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.