Read 16 Hitman for Free Online

Penn Station and an escalator down to
Amtrak. Would he go in there? If he did, no problem. But I can't
go in unless he does and I don't know if he's going to. Why the
hell is he so damn indecisive? Jesus Christ, it's like tailing Hamlet.
    I walked a little ways down Thirty-fourth Street. I was heading
back toward Seventh Avenue, which made no sense, but nothing I
was doing made any sense. At least I could see which way Kessler
went. If he chose the door to Penn Station, I could wheel around
and follow. Likewise, if he continued down Eighth. Basically, it was
a good vantage point from which to double back.
    I didn't have to. Kessler came tooling right by me.
    I wanted to shoot him. Poor choice of words. But here we were, heading toward Seventh Avenue for no discernable reason. If
this was an audition, it wasn't fair. The job wouldn't be as hard as
this. The job would be following a sane person with a sense of purpose. True, that purpose might be the elimination of a human
being, but-

    I stopped.
    I gawked.
    Uh-oh.
    I realized why I was having such a hard time following Martin
Kessler.
    He was following someone else.

     

10
    I FOLLOWEL) THEM TO AN apartment building on East Eighty-ninth
Street. I use the term followed them loosely, as in detective fiction. It
cannot possibly describe the circuitous, hopscotch, follow-theleader, duck-duck-goose entertainment I was treated to. It included a
trip to my office, by the way, where I pretended to go back to work,
but emerged from the lobby the second the coast was clear, just in
time to hop on Kessler's trail. I had a feeling I wasn't supposed to. The
fact Kessler had taken me back to the office was a pretty good indication the day was over, a rather strong hint that my services were no
longer needed, that he wanted me to leave him alone.
    Tough luck, buddy. Hitman or no hitinan, you've made contact
with your quarry. This is the very thing I hired on for. No matter
what you want.You made that crystal clear. I'm here to thwart your
wishes. My day ends when I say it ends. All right, buster, you think
you ditched me, what you gonna do now?
    Kessler hopped in a cab, went straight to an apartment on East Eighty-ninth Street. A modern high-rise with a liveried doorman
at the front desk. I watched from across the street while Kessler
went in and spoke to the doorman. I could see the doorman shake
his head, but Kessler wasn't taking no for an answer. He was still
arguing with the doorman when a taxi pulled up, and the guy he'd
been following got out.

    Kessler greeted him warmly. Even from across the street I could
see the smile on his face.
    But not the guy. The guy wasn't smiling at all. And who could
blame him? If he had the slightest idea he was in trouble. And
surely he must, or he wouldn't have been in trouble. The guy had
to know the arrival of Kessler wasn't good news. Still, he shook
Kessler's proffered hand.
    Moments later the two men were walking toward the elevator.
    Holy shit.
    Moment of decision. Is this where I rush in and yell, "No!
Woodsman, spare that tree! Hitman, put up your gun!"
    Fat chance. There was no way to do it. I'd never get by the
front desk.
    The elevator doors closed. I could see the lights of the numbers
of the floors begin to change, though I couldn't make them out at
that distance.
    Before I had time to think about it, I was crossing the street,
striding into the lobby.
    The elevator stopped at 16 just as I hit the front desk and realized I didn't know what to say. Panicked, I resorted to the truth.
Or the half truth. Actually, a complete fabrication, but who's
keeping score.
    "The tenant who just came in," I said, pointing to the elevator.
"Was that Freddy Foster? I was supposed to meet him here."
    The doorman was all smiles. "Freddy Foster? There's no Freddy
Foster here"
    "He looked just like him. Are you sure?"

    "Sure, I'm sure. That's Victor Marsden."
    "New tenant?"
    "Lived here for years." He frowned. "Sure