By Lawrence Block
For years now Keller's had areas to move and folks to kill.
yet adequate is adequate. only one extra job—paid in advance—and he's going to retire. ready in Des Moines for the client's go-ahead, Keller's choosing stamps for his assortment at a store in Urbandale whilst anyone weapons down the charismatic governor of Ohio. again at his inn, Keller sees the killer's face broadcast on television. A face he's noticeable regularly. each morning. within the replicate.
Keller calls his affiliate Dot in White Plains, yet there's no solution. He's stranded midway around the nation, and each cop in the United States has simply obvious his photo. His identification and charge cards aren't any longer sturdy, and he simply spent just about all of his funds at the stamps.
Now what?
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Extra info for Hit and Run
Example text
That’s why they’d offered him two guns, and the important gun wasn’t the one he’d chosen, it was the one he’d touched and rejected. Well, that really iced the cupcake. All they had to do was pick him up—for anything at all, really—and he was finished. They’d match his prints to the prints on the Glock, and what could he possibly say? I touched the gun, but I went for the revolver instead, because automatics tend to jam, although this one evidently didn’t. And I didn’t want to shoot a governor with it, just some mope weeding his lawn, and I never did shoot anybody, so what difference does it make?
But if this worked, he’d have some breathing room. They’d find the car, with his rental papers in the glove box. They’d find the smashed-up phone, and they’d probably get a print off the pizza box, and what conclusion would they draw? That he’d switched cars? That he’d switched plates and kept the same old car? No, they’d almost certainly assume that he’d come to the airport because it was in fact an airport, with the intention of getting on a plane. And they’d have a tough time establishing unequivo- Hit and Run ■ 49 cally that he hadn’t somehow managed to slip through Security and do just that.
He stared at the phone as he might have stared at a talking dog. It was Dot, it could only be Dot. Nobody else had his cell number, and who else would have repeated the message and inserted damn the second time around? But how had Dot managed to turn herself into a robot? Then he remembered. A neat trick she’d discovered in one of the applications she ran on her computer. You highlighted a piece of text, pressed something or other, and the computer read the words aloud in a voice all its own.