He took two things from his pocket—a page from Helter Skelter and a dollar bill. He bent to put the page in her pocket, then stopped. Did he really need this calling card anymore? No. The Feds would know it was him—the act itself was proof enough. So he kept the page, but dropped the dollar bill, letting it flutter down onto the dead woman.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

THIRTY-ONE

When we reached Little Joe’s retirement home, Jack parked in the side lot; the one reserved for overflow guests. The regular lot was almost empty, so I didn’t know why he chose that one.

To get to the place, we had to take a path through a patch of woods. Jack was at the trail’s edge before he realized I wasn’t behind him. He waved—as if I might not have understood that I was supposed to follow. When I didn’t move, he walked back to the car. I rolled down my window.

“I like my life, Jack. Sure, it’s a little screwy, but I’d really like to keep it for a while longer. Going in there, after the last time, doesn’t seem the best way to prolong my term on this earth.”

He opened the car door. I didn’t move.

“You trust me?” he asked.

“Sure, but—”

“Then get out. I’m going to fix this.”

“That fix doesn’t involve prematurely ending the life of a Mafia don’s brother, does it?”

A look. That’s all he gave me. Just a look.

I threw up my hands. “Well, I had to ask. The last time I had a run-in with Little Joe, it ended with body disposal, and I like to be prepared.”

He headed for the home.

There were three people at the front desk—a nurse, a receptionist and a young man who looked like an orderly. They were so engrossed in their conversation they didn’t notice us come in.

“—think he’ll do it?” the receptionist was saying.

“Of course he will. He has to. Otherwise, no one will take him seriously.” The orderly glanced at the wall clock. “Right now, someone, somewhere is enjoying the last few minutes of their life.”

“Someone, somewhere is always enjoying the last few minutes of their life,” the nurse snapped. “Hundreds of people will die in the next ten minutes, and if we start panicking over that one, we’re giving him exactly what he wants.”

The Helter Skelter killer. What else would they be talking about as the clock hands hit noon, reminding me that no matter how close we got, it would be too late for at least one person.

My throat tightened, breath catching, as if the oxygen content in the room had plummeted. Jack’s hand tightened on my elbow.

“We’re here to see Joe Nikolaev,” he said with a standard midwestern accent.