He watched the typed messages scroll up the screen and, with each, his hands gripped the chair arms tighter. He’d logged in for a quick check before he dropped off his next letter at the courier’s. In it, he forewarned the Feds of his next night-time strike—an overnight train to California. He’d even provided the train number. That should be fun, and hopefully more challenging than the opera house. On the way he’d make his daytime hit. He hadn’t worked out the location or the specifics yet, but he knew what he wanted: a young working-class male. And it was probably time for another visible minority.

But now he was reading something that had sent all thoughts of his plan from his head. The big news on the boards? Little Joe Nikolaev was dead. He wanted to believe the timing was coincidental, but a smart man assumes connections exist until he can prove otherwise.

Rumor had it that Little Joe opened his mouth once too often. One of tonight’s posters claimed to know a middleman who’d been approached by Little Joe about a job just a few days earlier. Sounded like wannabe bullshit…until he read the next lines.

REDRUM: LJ wanted him to whack two broads. First thing I thought was: whores. LJ buys himself some company, blabs too much pillow talk, wants them offed. No big deal. Only one of them was old enough to be my grandma. The other was younger but, still, doesn’t sound like whores to me.

He stared at those lines, watched them jiggle up the screen, pushed by the flurry of responses that came after them.

Evelyn.

His fingers dug into the chair arms. Now the pieces clattered into place. Rumors of hitmen on his trail. Jack showing up at the opera house, with a young female partner on his arm—Jack, who never took partners. A young woman and an old lady show up at Little Joe’s, asking questions that put a price on their heads.

Evelyn, the goddess of destruction, always looking for disciples to sacrifice on the altar of her ego. Evelyn and her schemes, endless schemes, sucking you in, then tossing you aside when something new and shiny caught her eye.

A snap of her wrist and she’d yanked her favorite hound back to her side, foisted her new acolyte on him, then set the pair on his trail.

He could be wrong. There were plenty of assumptions in that argument. But a careful man took action before action was required. If Jack was on his trail, and if Evelyn knew about the Nikolaev connection, then he had a tap to shut off…before it leaked.

He looked at the letter. Could he still do it? Not that particular train, but he’d find another. He wasn’t about to let Evelyn spoil his plans.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

THIRTY-SIX