Page 153 of South of Nowhere

Apparently, this was not a joke.

68.

“You’re really hungry?”

“Hungry? Yes.”

“It’s not part of the act?”

“No.”

Several hours after the scavenger hunt behind the motel, Shaw and Starr were at Maureen’s, a bar and grill in Fort Pleasant. The inconsequential remains of what had been a fine hamburger sat in front of Colter Shaw.

“I thought you were just ordering to, you know, look normal.”

“Hm.”

Yes, hewashungry. When the waitress had come by, Shaw had suddenly realized he had eaten nothing that day.

An iced tea sat before Starr, with no food. And she wasn’t sipping.

Under other circumstances customers here would have been treated to a view of the Never Summer as it coursed past, across the street, but presently it was a tepid stream.

He offered Starr his plate. “Fries?”

She glanced at them as if they were insects in a collection jar. “Don’t see how you can eat at a time like this.”

He didn’t recite his father’s words:

Never forego sustenance or restroom breaks when you have the chance.

He ate a half dozen fries. He’d salted liberally.

Starr asked, “Are there a lot of people like them?”

“Them?”

“Waylon Foley, Alisette Lark? What would you call them? Hit people but more than that. Like hitstrategists.”

A good expression. He’d hold on to it.

“No. Most killers for hire are dim. They advertise on Craigslist.”

“You’re kidding.”

“And they’re genuinely surprised when the wife hiring them to kill her husband turns out to be FBI. But who we were dealing with? Targeted demo work, fall guys, misdirection, costumes, stolen government plates. That’s rare.”

She grimaced. “And there’s collateral damage too. Redding, Ed Gutiérrez. Anybody in the path of the flood.”

“All still good?” He was facing the window, his preferred location in any public establishment. That revenge-minded enemy thing.

Starr scanned the interior of the restaurant. “Yep.” Then she ventured some tea. She said reflectively, “I always figured my first homicide case would’ve been one of those stupid ones. Mr. X takes out Mrs. X for nagging, or Mrs. X takeshimout because he belted her one too many times after his second six-pack. Professionals? In Hinowah?” She clicked her tongue.

“You called it,” Shaw pointed out. “The shovel man with the empty pockets and nice aftershave. When all is said and done, you should do a podcast about it.”

“Ilistento pods. I don’tdopods. You think this is going to work?”

“No way of knowing. You can only run numbers if you have all the facts.”

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