“What’s it going to be, Swift?”

I decided I should be the one asking questions. “What are you tailing me for?”

“Orders.”

“You can do better than that.”

“How many times do I have to say it?” asked Styles. “We’re the FBI. We don’t answer to cheap hoods.”

“I don’t care if you’re J. Edgar Hoover in a ball gown,” I said. “Did Agent Dunn put you on my tail?” Dunn had warned me to skip town. Maybe he’d set these two jerks the task of making sure I left.

At the mention of Dunn’s name Novak lifted his head, and he and Styles looked at each other a moment. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to tell me something was going on.

“Of course,” said Styles. “Orders from Dunn. Who else?”

Who else? Good question.

I said, “Okay. Call Dunn. We’ll wait for him. I’ll surrender to him. Nice and quiet.” It wasn’t much of a bluff, but I’d sensed some kind of chink in the armor at the mention of Dunn’s name. I had to see how they’d react.

Novak spoke first, but not to me. To Styles. “Nick, we can’t call Dunn. He’ll-”

“Quiet!” Styles shifted his eyes from me to Novak and back. “Enough of your double-talk, Swift. Stalling for time won’t help you.”

I nodded to myself, tried not to let my smile show. They might’ve been big-shot FBI agents, but they were basically still cops, and like all cops they’d come to depend on people falling into line whenever they flashed their badges. I’d seen past the badge, and I saw only a couple of jokers trying to pull a bluff.

“You don’t have orders to tail me at all, do you?”

“Don’t be moronic, Swift.”

“Doing a little overtime work, eh boys?” I smiled openly now. “What did you think? That I’d lead you to those ledgers?

Novak groaned louder.

“Can’t you see he’s hurt?” said Styles.

“Too bad.”

Novak really groaned this time, and I leaned forward to tell him to put a sock in it. He twisted suddenly in his seat and reached over at me. He grabbed my wrist with one hand, went for the gun-pillow with the other. What happened next was strictly reflex.

I squeezed the automatic’s trigger inside the pillow, and the stuffing dulled the report to a thick fwup. The.45 slug tore through the back of the seat and found a home in Novak’s back. He wheezed, twitched once, and fell over his folded hands on the dash like he’d fallen asleep at prayer.

“Shit!” The blood drained from Styles’s face. I thought he might be sick. “God, Swift, what’d you do?”

“The same thing that’s going to happen to you if you don’t answer some questions.” I had to keep talking tough, had to keep control of the situation, but inside my guts churned. What had I done?

“Jesus, Swift.” He was shaking his head, looking at his buddy. “Don’t kill me, okay?” He started breathing hard and sniffling. I thought he was ready to start the waterworks.

“Knock it off,” I said. “Think hard and answer my question.”

“What fucking question?” He voice was strained. He talked to me, but his eyes stayed on Novak.

“Why are you tailing me? I know Dunn didn’t put you up to it, so don’t try to tell me he did. I can smell it every time you lie.”

“Like you said. We wanted the ledgers.”

“Why?”

“Why? What do you mean why, you son of a bitch? They outline Beggar Johnson’s whole operation. Whoever has those ledgers has Beggar by the throat.”

“So if I have them, I guess I’m pretty big shit.”

“You’d get Beggar’s attention, that’s for sure.”

“That’s all I wanted to know.”

I pulled the trigger, and the automatic belched inside the pillow, spit lead and stuffing at Styles. He fell over the steering wheel dead.

I kept telling myself I had to do it. I was already up to my neck for killing Novak. I might have gotten away with the four agents I’d popped in Toppers, but Novak had been different. Styles had seen me. If I let Styles go, I’d have every cop in the state on my ass within an hour. This was how I explained it all to myself. This was how I tried to convince myself I was still in control of the situation.

So why were my hands shaking so much when I reached inside Styles’s jacket and then Novak’s? I pulled out their badges and slipped them into my jacket pocket. It wasn’t that I wanted some morbid souvenir. I just knew these guys would be found sooner or later. Maybe the gas station owner would notice the car had been there awhile. A couple of dead bodies would cause a fuss, but a couple of dead FBI guys would set off alarms all over the place. I figured I could toss the badges in a Dumpster down the road.

I climbed out of the Tempo, closed the door, looked all around, over my shoulder. As far as I could tell, nobody had taken notice of me or seen what I’d done.

I walked back toward the Burger King, feet leaden, arms rubbery. How had everything gone so horribly down the shitter? I felt overwhelmed, that I was screwing this all up, leaving a trail of bodies a blind man could follow. Any minute now the Feds would swoop down on me with the handcuffs or Beggar’s boys would come along and throw a sack over me.

Forget it. I’d had enough.

I went into the Burger King. “Let’s go,” I said to Jimmy.

“What happened?”

I started walking out, motioned for him to follow. “Take me back to my car.”

“What? Why?”

“I’m tired.”

He saw my duct tape pillow. “What the hell’s that?”

I ignored his question. “I’m going home. You were right. Stan’s dead or gone.”

“We don’t know that.” Jimmy waddled after me, out of the Burger King and into the parking lot. “What about the warehouse?”

“Forget it.”

“Forget it?”

“That’s right.” I climbed into the moving van’s passenger seat and waited for Jimmy to drive. He hauled himself into the van’s cab with a grunt and settled his gut behind the wheel.

I made it clear I didn’t want to talk. He drove back to his house where my car was parked. I got out and walked around to his side of the van, and he rolled down the window.

“Sorry, Jimmy. But this was all crazy from the beginning. I should’ve just taken everybody’s advice and disappeared. We can’t help Stan. You should go too, Jimmy, or you’ll end up like Larry Cartwright and Bob Tate. Take your kid and go. There’s no magic stash of money, and only God can help Stan now.”

“Sheesh, Charlie, I don’t know what to say. Call if you hear something.”

“I won’t. I’m leaving town.”

“I mean it,” said Jimmy. “Just get some rest. Things will settle down.”

“Sure, Jimmy.”

I got in my car and drove away.

I pulled up in front of my apartment slowly. I hadn’t been there in a while, but somebody might still be waiting around to do me some harm. I got out and climbed the stairs, my eyes darting into every shadow. Seemed safe enough. I went inside with guns drawn, but there was no need. All clear.

I went to grab my green duffel bag and remembered it was full of incriminating accounting ledgers in an airport locker. I took a big red Samsonite suitcase from underneath the bed and put it on top. Opened it. I shoved in about a week’s worth of shirts and underwear and socks. An extra pair of shoes. I put in two more suits, tried to fold them in easy so they wouldn’t wrinkle too bad. I saw my National Geographic on the table and tossed it in. The rest of my stuff could rot. I almost packed my toothbrush when I remembered I hadn’t used it in a while.

I went into the bathroom and brushed my teeth. It occurred to me I was greasy and messed up. I stripped out of my smelly clothes and let them drop on the bathroom floor. I kept my revolver close by on the sink just in case. The shower was warm. I just stood in the hot water a long time, maybe twenty minutes. It felt like the best thing in the world. When the hot water started losing strength, I shut off the shower and stepped out. The wound on my side had started to scab okay, so I didn’t bandage it again.