Killers of a Certain Age(36)

I put the case on the floor and stepped out of the way while I flicked the front open with one finger. Whatever was inside stayed there, and I turned my attention to Akiko and Mary Alice, who were sitting at the table, hand in hand. Helen and Natalie grabbed chairs and looked expectantly at me while I looked expectantly at Mary Alice.

“You want to explain?” I suggested.

Mary Alice might have played it for embarrassment or defiance. She split the difference, lifting her chin but blushing heavily as she talked. “I called her. When you were picking up the rental car at the Birmingham airport. Don’t look at me like that—I borrowed a cell phone from a very nice woman who was waiting at baggage claim.”

“They could have tapped your home phone,” I reminded her.

Mary Alice turned on me. “Don’t you dare give me shit about this, Billie. I took all the necessary precautions and I gave her precise instructions on how to make sure she was clean of a tail.”

“Yeah,” Akiko said happily. “I’m a natural at this spy shit.”

“Spy?” I asked politely. I gave Mary Alice a meaningful look.

She turned forty shades of puce and looked at her wife. “I think I have some explaining to do.”

“Is this where you tell me you’re not a spy?” Akiko asked, still smiling.

“I’m not,” Mary Alice said.

Akiko laughed. “That’s just what a spy would say.”

“We’re not spies,” I said flatly. “None of us.”

For the first time her smile faltered. She turned back to Mary Alice. “Then what are you?”

“Assassins,” Natalie blurted out.

Akiko made a sound that started out as a laugh but got stuck halfway out and ended up a sort of gargle. “Are you shitting me?”

“No, dear,” Helen said. “We are most definitely not shitting you.”

It might have been Helen’s genteel voice forming the profanity that convinced Akiko. She squeezed Mary Alice’s hand. “Babe?”

“It’s true. We’re assassins. We were recruited in 1979. We work for a small international organization that is extra-governmental.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means our organization is outside of government,” Mary Alice began.

“I know what the word ‘extra-governmental’ means—don’t you dare patronize me,” Akiko said, dropping her hand. “I’m asking, what does it mean? Who do you kill?”

“Arms dealers, sex traffickers, the occasional dictator, cult leaders, corrupt judges. Basically not very nice people,” Mary Alice replied.

“The organization started out killing Nazis, if that helps,” Helen offered.

“But it’s been a while since we’ve found one,” Natalie added. “So, it’s mostly the folks Mary Alice just listed. Plus drug traffickers. And pirates—we’ve gotten really into pirates lately.”

“But you kill them?” Akiko’s voice rose as she stood. “Excuse me if I need a minute to process this.” She closed the cat carrier and hefted it onto her hip. “Where’s my room?”

“I’ll show you,” Helen said quickly. She led Akiko away to the sound of shrieks from the cat carrier.

“Well, that went better than I expected,” Mary Alice said finally.

“Did it?” I asked.

“Oh yeah. If she were really mad, she’d have taken the cat and checked into the Marriott.”





CHAPTER FOURTEEN



The day of the meet-up with Sweeney, I was up before dawn, but Mary Alice beat me to it. She was in the kitchen, frying up apple-stuffed French toast on the hot plate to go with the bacon she’d cooked in the microwave. She looked luminous, like the blood was humming just under her skin, and I knew what had her lit up inside—anticipation. Whichever way the meeting with Sweeney went, we were one step closer to being finished with this and getting back to our lives.

At least, that’s what I suspected she was thinking. Nobody was talking much at that point. Akiko—still giving Mary Alice the silent treatment—went to a secret vampire speakeasy on Bourbon Street with Minka while the rest of us were busy preparing for the meeting. Mary Alice fixed plates for Helen and Natalie and the four of us went over the plan again until it was time to dress. It was early—hours before we expected Sweeney—but the point was to be in place, making ourselves part of the atmosphere of Jackson Square.

We slipped out separately to take our positions. Helen had made reservations at Muriel’s, the restaurant that sat diagonally off the north corner of the square, insisting upon a balcony table in a prime location. She’d gone in person to secure the booking, slipping a fifty to the hostess with a sob story about it being her first wedding anniversary after her husband’s death. It was bullshit, of course, but it was good bullshit, just authentic enough for Helen to manage a few watery gulps as she told the story. The hostess promised to seat her there for a late lunch, which Helen intended to spin out with several slow courses and an off-the-menu soufflé for dessert.

From her perch at the small round table, she’d have a perfect view of the entire paved stretch in front of the cathedral. I’d provided her with a pistol, checking the sights myself. I hoped she wouldn’t need it, especially at that range, but there was no way to disguise a rifle. At the far end of the paved area, Mary Alice settled herself against the iron railing separating the green space of the square from the more commercial area. She had found a secondhand cello in a junk shop and had restrung and polished and tuned it until it sounded halfway decent. She’d have preferred a viola, but they were thin on the ground. She set an upturned silk top hat at her feet, displaying the shredded scarlet silk lining and dropping in a few coins to give passersby a hint.