SIXTY-FIVE

SIXTY-FIVE

TOMMY MALONE TRUDGES DOWN the side of the hill, almost losing his balance as he skids along the paved running path, currently slick with ice. The wind whips through his hair as he moves forward gingerly — there is no light this time of night. Ahead of him, looming like a great monster rising from the river, is Anna's Bridge, still under construction after the accident.

This spot, he assumes, is almost exactly where David Bowers was standing on the night the car went off the bridge and into the Cotton River. A night when David Bowers almost lost his life. A night that would expose him, ultimately, as being someone other than David Bowers.

He pinches the bridge of his nose. The ibuprofen he took is finally starting to kick in. He should've known how strong David would be. And how desperate, too. Now he has a splitting headache and a fat lip to show for it. Jesus, if Tommy hadn't stepped back and avoided the brunt of that headbutt, if David's head had landed just an inch higher and connected with Tommy's nose — who knows how that would've turned out?

From his jacket pocket, he unscrews the suppressor from the HK45 and tosses it overhand into the center of the river. The noise of the turbulent water and whipping wind drowns out all other sound. He doesn't hear or see the long piece of metal hit the water. It just disappears into a murky mist.

He continues walking as he takes apart the firearm itself, removing the slide off the frame, the secondary and mainspring, the disconnector and control lever, the trigger bar and ejector — Frisbeeing them into the river one by one as he walks.

When he's done, when the firearm's in a dozen different pieces, some sinking down to the bed of the river, some light enough to be whisked away by the choppy flow, he stops. Lights a cigarette. Breathes out. Rolls his neck. First job is done — the weapon's gone.

He squats down, trying to control his anger. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

Shooting David was the last thing he wanted to do. Now what? How is he supposed to get the money now, with David in the hospital clinging to life, with all eyes on him and the rest of the Bowers family? All his work trying to be covert, trying to operate under the radar, and now the whole damn town knows that David Bowers has been shot.

There's only one answer, of course, and it won't be easy: Marcie.

He has to find a way to get Marcie alone.