Page 46 of Paranoia

Tass spoke in soothing tones. His Spanish had an accent that took Doyle a moment to recognize as actually from Spain. It might be considered a classy accent, but whatever he said didn’t soothe the pissed-off woman. She stood up, straightened her clothes, and marched out of the apartment with as much dignity as she could muster.

At the front door, the woman spat a few more insults at Tass before turning, slamming the flimsy door as she left.

Tass groaned from the couch.

Doyle now stood in the doorway to the kitchen—in full view if Tass looked up and there was a little more light. Doyle flipped on the switch in the kitchen, and the entire apartment lit up.

Oscar Tass’s head snapped up, but he didn’t say anything or reach for a weapon.

Doyle leaned against the doorframe with his arms folded. He didn’t know why he’d turned on the light and given himself away.

Tass settled back on the couch. He finally said, “So you’re the bastard who’s been picking off my associates one by one.”

“I tried to be efficient and get you and Rios at the same time.”

“Instead, you shot his little groupie. All she wanted to do was live the high life and work for us.”

“She had a gun. That makes her fair game.”

“No, you’re right, white boy. She was tough and passed our first initiation by killing a runner for another organization. Shot him right through the eye.” Tass shook his head. “Pretty little thing. Until you put a bullet through her face.” He moved on the couch. “What you got for me? A bullet?”

“Since we’re chatting, I’ll give you the option.”

“Okay. Leave and we’ll forget the whole thing.”

Doyle let out a snort of laughter. “You know that can’t happen.”

“Then tell me who sent you and why.”

“I can’t do that.”

Tass stood up from the couch and faced Doyle across the room. He started to reach behind his back.

Doyle lifted his shirt to show the butt of his Beretta.

Tass slowly removed his hand from his back to show Doyle hewas holding a knife. A long, curved knife. Too fancy for most uses. “You’re going to have to shoot me and alert the whole building. And I got a lot of friends in this building.” He waved the knife to intimidate Doyle.

Doyle smiled. “You’re hoping to scare me into leaving quietly. Nice try.” He brought his hand up to reveal his own knife, which he’d been gripping by his thigh. He showed Tass the four-inch practical blade. This was at least more interesting than most of his hits. He stepped all the way into the living room, a few feet from Tass.

Tass charged him like a rhino. He was about as unwieldy as a rhino too. Doyle easily stepped to the side and arced his blade up, slicing the bigger man’s throat and severing part of his ear.

Then he wasted no time before turning and stabbing Tass in the lower back, away from any ribs. His arm moved like a piston. Two, three, four times, finally finishing after a dozen jabs. The blade disappeared to the hilt with each strike.

Tass collapsed without a sound. The thin, cheap carpet turned dark as blood flowed from all the wounds. His eyes and mouth were wide-open.

Doyle wiped his blade on Tass’s ruined plaid shirt. Then he took a moment to look around the room to make sure he hadn’t left anything that could be used to identify him. No bloody footprints. Nothing. He took a paper towel from the kitchen and wiped down anywhere he had touched.

He lingered at the front door, surveying the apartment. Nothing out of place except a giant lump of a useless human on the floor. Tass’s face had drained of blood, giving him a ghostly look.

That seemed fitting.

CHAPTER 67

MY MORNING STARTED when a bad dream jolted me awake. I guessed it was Mary Catherine’s concern about the baby. I dreamed we were in a doctor’s office and they were giving us bad news. But like a lot of dreams, it wasn’t clear to me what the bad news concerned. It left me unsettled, and I lay there quietly, staring up at the ceiling.

I didn’t hear any kids, so I guessed it was early, maybe sometime around 6 a.m. It had been the longest night’s rest I’d gotten in a week. The family dinner with Trilling and his new paramedic friend had been a great success. It had made me happy to see everyone getting along. Even though my grandfather had overindulged in the pinot noir a little, I couldn’t help but smile, thinking how his long-winded stories entertained the kids.

I slipped out of bed without waking Mary Catherine and padded through the apartment, hearing the first stirrings of themorning. I headed into the kitchen and started breakfast, which always required at least a dozen eggs as well as ham, turkey bacon, an assortment of cereals and fruits, and three different kinds of milk: whole, skim, and almond. The entire process took some time to accommodate the kids waking and coming out at different times.

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