Jet asked the waitress about the bar two doors down, and the woman told her that it stayed open until at least two a.m. and sometimes later. Jet gave her a smile and ordered tea, outwardly calm, but behind the placid exterior her mind was working furiously on the problem of how to gain access to the clinic.
Several hours later, the night crowd began to trickle into the bar, and Jet watched the collection of spiked-haired young men in punk rock garb grow to a small mob, their female counterparts putting in appearances with the quick smiles and darting eyes of the chemically compromised. The faint thumping of a bass drum grew louder as the hour grew late, and more of the youths remained in the chill air of the sidewalk, smoking and laughing. When the café closed, Jet gravitated to the bar, faintly amused by the eagerness with which a young man with a stubby dyed-black Mohawk bought her a beer and announced that he was in the Internet film business, looking for new talent.
“Really?” Jet said, one eyebrow rising a centimeter. “Internet film? What is that, exactly?”
“Oh, you know, it’s more like an art film. Edgy.”
“I see. Is there sex involved?” Jet asked, her tone bored with the clumsy, obviously pornographic approach.
“Sometimes.”
“Only sometimes?”
“Well, there’s the audition process…”
“Of course. Can’t have just anyone in an art film.”
Jet’s eyes tracked through the open doors to a set of headlights approaching down the darkened street, and she lost interest in whatever the hopeful young scammer was saying. An ambulance eased to a stop in front of the clinic and two orderlies got out. They moved to the rear of the van, opened the cargo doors, and rolled a gurney to the entrance. Jet watched through hooded eyes as they disappeared inside, and then set her undrunk beer on a nearby table and made for the exit, leaving the aspiring director gawking at her in puzzled anger.
She was down the block on her bike when an attendant emerged from the clinic entrance. Two more security guards framed the doors with their weapons as paramedics rolled a gurney to the ambulance. She noted the driver carrying the same briefcase and laptop bag Rudolf had arrived with earlier, and wouldn’t have required the glimpse of Leo’s profile she got as the men hoisted the gurney into the back of the van to confirm that the Russian was on the move.
Jet waited until the ambulance was down the street before following, her headlight off until more vehicles appeared. She felt at the small of her back for the pistol, her eyes locked on the van, and allowed it to gain ground before she accelerated and ran a yellow light to keep up at the next intersection.
Her pulse quickened as the neighborhood deteriorated and transitioned to industrial parks, expanses of vacant lots interrupting the stretches of bleak sameness every few blocks. Her mind worked over the possible destinations as the ambulance slowed, and she pulled behind a dumpster on the deserted street and killed the engine when the van stopped by one of the open fields.
She watched in incomprehension as the passenger door opened and one of the paramedics climbed out and scanned the street. Seeing nothing, he moved to the rear of the van and swung the doors wide. She resisted the urge to rush the ambulance, gun blazing, and instead remained motionless as the driver joined the passenger at the back of the ambulance. Voices carried across the expanse, angry and threatening, and then Leo appeared, hands raised over his head. The driver pushed him in the small of the back, and as Leo stumbled forward into the field, the other paramedic removed a suppressed pistol from his jacket and fired into the back of the attorney’s skull twice in rapid succession.
Leo fell forward, his legs crumpling beneath him, and the shooter took two steps and fired a third shot into his head with the calm deliberation of a professional. After a final glance at the Russian’s body, the pair left Leo lying facedown in the trash-strewn grass and strolled back to the ambulance.
She waited until its brake lights had turned the corner and disappeared before running to the field to confirm that it was really Leo. The side of the man’s face was bandaged so she couldn’t tell at first, but when she turned him over, the other was undamaged, and Leo’s wide eyes stared into eternity with the puzzled shock of the dead.
Jet frisked him but found nothing in his pockets, and was on her way back to the bike when the sound of a motor from down the road startled her. She barely made it back to the dumpster when a small cargo truck paused by where Leo was lying and three men descended from the back, one of them carrying a body bag. Thirty seconds later Leo’s body had been tossed into the back of the vehicle like a sack of manure and the truck was pulling away, leaving Jet alone behind the dumpster. Obviously the attorney had crossed the wrong people – who, was immaterial to her – and his luck had run out.
She climbed back onto the motorcycle and thumbed her phone to life. When Matt answered, she gave him a brief summary of what she’d witnessed.
“Would have been nice if you’d known that yesterday, huh?” he asked gently after a short pause.