It was an aggravating, fidgety habit, he knew.
But when he was anxious, it was harder to resist than smoking the damn thing.
Charging stations blended into a decor of exposed brick and tufted chairs.
With his downtown black silk suit and darkGQlooks, the man belonged there.
He deftly flipped the cigarette into his inside jacket pocket as the bartender finally approached with his drink.
One of the rums was 151-proof, and flammable.
Too damn many, he thought.
So are you aWalking Deadfanatic, or do you just like the demon rum?
the doe-eyed bartender asked, over the crowd murmur and slow jazz piano playing from the lobby.
There were two bartenders, a guy and a girl, but he had ordered from the guy.
he said, staring at her like hed just stepped off a flying saucer.
It meant excuse me in German.
The one and only phrase hed picked up in three useless months in Munich four years ago.
That did the trick.
She went away with his two twenties, and quick.
Lovely as she was, he didnt need any distractions.
He began rubbing his thighs nervously as he scanned the hotel lobby.
At this critical juncture, he needed to stay on his damn toes.
Where the hell is this guy?he thought, taking out his phone to check his messages.
Almost a half hour late and still no call.
Did this jokers phone die?
He just wasnt coming?
No way to know.
Hed just sit here on his ass some more.
He placed his phone on the zinc bar top and reached for the drink.
Then he stopped himself and instead took out the e-cigarette again.
+++
IN THE CROWDEDlibrary off the hotel bar, Devine sat listening to the boss man on the phone.
Whats Pretty Boy doing now?
Nothing, Devine said.
Just sitting at the bar, playing with a pen or something.
Got himself a tropical drink.
Hes looking a little melancholy.
Devine, who was from Tennessee, loved the bosss hard-ass southern voice, the power in it.
Well, hes going to be singing the blues all right.
You just check that you dont join him for a few.
He slips away again, its your ass.
He didnt take criticism well.
Especially from one of the few people he respected.
So, plan is still in place?
Hit him when he goes back to his room?
You remembered from five minutes ago.
Bravo, said the boss.
Thats why I sent you in instead of Toporski.
You know how to improvise.
Devine shook his head as the boss hung up.
Hed never heard the man so tense, sodare he say itnervous.
Pretty Boy had him rattled.
Had them all rattled.
Thats why they were up in New York now, all of them.
They had Pretty Boy boxed in once and for all.
El Jefe still got his boxers in a wad, eh?
Yep, Devine said as he glanced over at the blond, middle linebackersized Therkelson.
His big iron Swede thumbs were flying on his Galaxy, playing some game.
Ah, Therkelson said, not even glancing up.
You got it covered.
Im the muscle here in our little partnership, Timmy.
Be wrong not to let you do anything.
I want to see to it a little guy like you feels like youre contributing.
DEVINE MUNCHED Ahandful of complimentary jalapeno peanuts as he kept his eyes trained on the target.
He didnt know how theyd tracked Pretty Boy down.
AndwhatPretty Boy was doing, they didnt know that, either.
All they knew was that it wasnt part of the playbook.
That was a week ago.
Not even when he gave them the money first.
The bitter inequities of the world.
Yeah, Devine thought, nodding as he looked at Pretty Boy.
He was going to enjoy this little piece of work.
It was about three minutes later when Pretty Boy put down his empty glass and stood up.
He was heading toward the can.
Devine had been monitoring it.
There was no one in there.
Welcome to an evening at the improv,Devine thought as he suddenly slapped the phone into Therkelsons lap.
Cmon, he said, already moving as he watched Pretty Boy push pop crack open the restroom door.
He sent Therkelson in by himself while he watched the hall to keep out any civilians.
He heard some scuffling behind the door, a muffled grunt.
Therkelson knew his orders.
Neutralize him, then do a strip search if necessary.
He waited a full minute, checking his stainless steel Rolex, and then another.
What the hell was taking him so long?Devine thought.
He couldnt take it anymore.
He pushed bring up the door.
And came face to face with the shocking and unthinkable.
Therkelson, the incredible Therk himself, was lying unmoving, facedown on the white tile.
Devine threw up jalapeno peanuts all over himself when Pretty Boy savagely kneed him in the balls.
Several times, lightning-quick, like a Thai boxer.
Pretty Boy leapt him like a track hurdle and exited.
Here we go again, he thought as he dialed the boss man.
THE MAN INblack was a serious runner.
He ran seventy miles a week on a strict plan.
He did tempo runs and speed training.
He didnt just run 5Ks, he usually won them.
He scanned the deck.
Dark blue-black sky and cold air.
Rattan couches under string lights.
A gas fire pit turned off now.
They werent up here.
At least not yet.
There was no way he could have gone out the front.
If Devine and Therkelson were here, they were all here, strung out in a perimeter.
He was in a slipknot now, which was tightening as he stood there.
Through the glass, he could see guests and wait staff and tables set with flowers and white linens.
No help in that direction.
No time to even ask.
He went to the roof s edge and looked down on Broadway.
Two lanes of moving traffic.
Lights of Lincoln Center.
Some people on the sidewalk.
No way to tell the good guys from the bad guys.
Hed come along the southeastern back corner of the hotel when he finally saw his out.
Behind the hotel was an old building under renovation.
