It really is nice to have him here.
34
Eddie Flood exits the plane, steps into the South Carolina humidity, and immediately puts on his sunglasses. He texts Rob Kenna.
Landed.
What is he doing here? Hired to kill a woman for thirty thousand pounds.
That’s not all, of course, but he can’t tell Rob Kenna everything he’s here to do.
Rob would kill him if he knew the whole truth.
In his suitcase there are clothes to make him look like a tourist, clothes to make him look like a business traveler, and there are combat fatigues for the job at hand.
He also has his laptop. As always. He’d been researching bullets on the flight. Entry wounds, exit wounds. The time flew by.
Entering the small terminal building, Eddie sees two customs officers. One is a white guy with a small mustache and a thin mouth; the other a large black guy who stands like a man who can handle himself in a fight. Eddie chooses the black guy. Looks much more his type. As he approaches, he sees the name tag: Carlos Moss.
“Passport, please, sir,” says Carlos.
“Beautiful day, Carlos,” says Eddie.
“I don’t believe we know each other, sir,” says Carlos. “Passport, please.”
Eddie takes his passport from his jacket and hands it to Carlos.
“Purpose of visit?” Carlos asks.
“Pleasure,” says Eddie.
Carlos lowers his aviator shades and looks Eddie in the eye. No worries for Eddie: he has many faults but being easily intimidated is not one of them.
“What kind of pleasure, sir?”
Eddie likes where this is going. He needs information and Carlos seems to be the kind of guy who could help him.
“I heard this is where Rosie D’Antonio lives,” says Eddie. “The author. I’m a big fan.”
“That so?” says Carlos.
“She’s the best,” says Eddie.
“Favorite book, Edward?”
“Too many good ones to choose between,” says Eddie. “Call me Eddie—everybody does.”
“Everybody but me,” says Carlos, and takes a look at Eddie’s suitcase. “You pack this suitcase yourself, sir?”
Eddie glances at the other border officer, stamping passports without looking, and smiling at passengers.
“Uh, yes,” says Eddie. He’s very glad he’s not carrying a gun; he’ll be picking that up at a gas station on something called Route 47, from a man named Duke. “What’s the pay like here, Carlos?”
“Excuse me?” says Carlos.
“The pay,” repeats Eddie. He has access to a few expenses. “You get treated well?”
“Do you have a reason for asking?”
“Just making conversation,” says Eddie.
“Then I’d advise you to make it with somebody else,” says Carlos.
“Sorry,” says Eddie. “Long flight. And I’m English. Bad combination.”
“Sir, I meet a lot of people who’ve been on flights,” says Carlos.
“Must do,” says Eddie. “Must do. I bet she’s got a plane somewhere here, hasn’t she?”
“Sir?”
“Rosie D’Antonio? Bet she’s got a hell of a plane? I know you can’t tell me that sort of thing, but, you know? Maybe you can?”
There are a few moments of silence as the two men look at each other.
“Sir, I’m going to ask you to come with me for a moment,” says Carlos, and he takes Eddie’s elbow.
“Course, course,” says Eddie. “Is something wrong?”
