Kim Oh 2: Real Dangerous Job (The Kim Oh Thrillers) (16 page)

I lost sight of them among the other cars spaced along the ride’s tracks, whipping through the banked corners, then up and down the other inclines farther along. Right beside me was the water pool where the little cars splashed and slowed down, before rolling to a stop where everybody could get out, the amusement park staff fetching the empty wheelchairs and helping the kids get back into them.

They were busy right now, getting other kids and their parents into the cars and ready for the ride. With my backpack slung behind me, I grabbed hold of the chain-link fence separating the pool from the crowd and started climbing.

I didn’t know whether any of the amusement park staff had spotted me or not. At the top of the fence, I lost my grasp as I slung my leg over, falling face-first on the other side, my outstretched hands striking the surface of the chlorine-smelling water. It wasn’t deep, maybe only three feet or so. That still came up to my hips, as I waded toward a corner overshadowed by an outcropping of artificial rock. As I splashed ahead, I pulled my backpack around in front of me, so I could reach for the .357 inside it.

There wasn’t any plan in my head other than sticking the gun into the faces of Michael and McIntyre when the car they were in splashed into the pool, then pulling my little brother away from between them. If nothing else, I might have the element of surprise going for me.

I didn’t hear anyone shouting after me. There was the loud hubbub from the crowd filling the park and the excited cries of the parents and kids zooming along on the ride, fading farther away and then closer as the little cars swung through the curves. How long it took for them to complete the up-and-down, back-and-forth circuit – I couldn’t tell. I stationed myself in the darkest section of the pool, the .357 raised in one hand.

One little car splashed into the water a couple of yards away from me, with nobody I recognized among the laughing, shouting riders. Then, a minute or so later, another one – still nothing. Eventually somebody was going to spot me lurking here and call the park’s guards.

I looked up the track to where the cars emerged from the ride’s loops and curves, just before rolling down and splashing into the pool. At the back of the car that hung there for a moment, I saw the two men I had been chasing. And the smaller figure of my brother squeezed in between them.

Gun in hand, I was already making my way through the shallow pool as the car rolled down the incline. When it hit the water, the wave splashed hard into my face, knocking me off balance and landing me on my back. I struggled back to my feet, unable to see, flailing wildly in front of me with my free hand.

I caught hold of something moving past me. I jumped and found myself sprawling across Michael’s and McIntyre’s legs inside the little car. I had a quick glimpse of my brother’s face – for a moment, that was all I could see. There was a chrome bar across his and the two men’s laps, holding them secure in their seats. I yanked at the bar, struggling to lift it so I could grab hold of Donnie and pull him to me –

That was a mistake. I should’ve shot Michael and McIntyre first.

If Michael had been startled by my sudden appearance, he got over it fast. One of his big clenched fists slammed into the side of my head, loosening my grip on both the chrome bar and the gun in my other hand. I landed against McIntyre’s chest. He grabbed hold of my arms, so Michael could land another punch . . .

When the little car rolled to a stop, just beyond the pool of water, I didn’t see it. I was out.

SIXTEEN

“Kim –”

I could hear somebody speaking, but couldn’t see him.

“What the hell was that all about?”

It was McIntyre talking to me. He sounded genuinely perplexed.

Opening my eyes, I found myself staring close-up at an expensive-looking Oriental carpet. I had been lying on it while McIntyre had waited for me to regain consciousness. My head felt tender and painful, its contents still reverberating with the blows from Michael’s fist.

“I don’t know . . .” I rolled onto my side, then managed to get up onto my knees. “It . . . seemed like a good idea at the time.”

That excuse didn’t work any better than it had when I’d been in school. Not that I’d ever gotten into trouble that much, at least not for waving a gun at people. Little pigtailed Korean school-girls generally aren’t into that sort of thing.

Right now, though, it seemed to be what my ex-boss McIntyre was worked up about.

“I just can’t believe this,” I heard him saying. “You had a
gun
.”

Squinting, I looked around, trying to find him. My vision unblurred enough to finally locate him sitting at a table a few feet away. Big ornately carved thing, the opened bottle of fortified wine kind of incongruous sitting on top of it.

“Yeah . . .” I winced as I gave a slow nod. “About that . . .”

“I just don’t know what you could’ve been thinking.” He refilled the stemmed glass in front of him, then took a healthy slug. “What did you imagine was going on?”

“You had Donnie.” Wobbling, I got to my feet. “My brother. You took him.”

“I told you.” McIntyre swung his gaze to the side of the room. “I told you we should have left a note.”

Leaning against the wall, Michael scowled, his arms folded across his chest. “I called her. And left a message.”

I looked over at Michael, but didn’t say anything. That hadn’t been what he’d done. He’d called me and talked to me, all taunting and stuff, when I’d come home to the apartment and found Donnie was missing. So right now, he was lying to his boss. I wasn’t sure what that meant.

Still feeling a little shaky, I tottered over to the big floor-to-ceiling window at the end of the room. It looked out over the pervy amusement park and the crowds jostling around in its garishly lit spaces. So at least I knew where I was.

I turned back toward McIntyre. “Where is he?”

“Your brother? He’s fine.”

“I asked,
Where is he
?”

“He’s downstairs,” said McIntyre. “Having a snack. And recovering himself. You scared him pretty badly with that little stunt of yours.”

“I scared him? What do you think you did when you kidnapped him?”

“Kidnapped?” He stared at me in amazement. “What’re you talking about? All we were doing was showing him a good time. He’s a good kid – he deserves to go out and have some fun, once in a while. And I know you’re on a limited budget, Kim. Especially since . . . you know . . .”

If he didn’t want to talk about me getting thrown into the alley like a sack of trash, neither did I. I stayed quiet for a moment longer.

“So when this event came up here – with all the disabled kids and everything we set up for them – I just figured it would be a nice thing to do.” McIntyre shrugged, his hands spread apart. “For Donnie and you. I thought he’d enjoy it. And maybe it would make up a little bit – for some of the stuff that happened.” He gave one of those nice-boss smiles, that now seemed really fakey. “Between us, I mean.”

“Right.” This wasn’t exactly winning him any points with me. “I’m really happy that this makes you feel better.”

He took another sip of that Spanish Harlem Nights crap, regarding me over the rim of the wineglass.

“You seem different, Kim.” His voice went all thoughtful as he set the glass back down. “You’ve changed. You even look different.”

I was pretty sure I looked like a drowned rat at the moment. My jeans clung clammily to my legs, and water still was dripping from my jacket.

“Well . . . I’m not going into an office every day now.”

“More of a casual look, huh?” He nodded appreciatively. “I like it. Especially the hair.”

Which at the moment was lying on my shoulders like wet snakes. What a bullshit artist.

“I’m a little disturbed by that gun, though.” McIntyre frowned. “Where did you get that?”

From the corner of my eye, I glanced over at Michael. He was watching me with a hard, slit-eyed gaze. Waiting to hear what I said.

That was what told me. That McIntyre still didn’t know. Michael hadn’t filled his boss in on whatever he’d found out, about what was going on with Cole and me. He’d been operating on his own, disobeying McIntyre’s instructions to just ignore the crippled hit man they’d tossed aside. So Michael was on the hook – if he told McIntyre what he knew, he’d also be revealing that he’d disobeyed orders. We both knew that McIntyre didn’t like that sort of thing.

“I had it.” I turned my gaze back to McIntyre. “From before. When I was still working for you. I got scared, working there so late all the time. So I bought a gun.”

“I’ll say. That’s a very large and powerful weapon, Kim.” He sounded as though he were talking to a child. “Do you know how to use it?”

I nodded. “They showed me. When I bought it.”

“Well . . .” He swapped smiles with Michael, then looked at me again. “There’s more to it than just that. You could hurt yourself with a gun that big. They should’ve sold you something more appropriate . . . for your size, I mean.”

Up yours
. I thought that, but didn’t say anything.

“Plus . . . aren’t you underage? There are laws about gun purchases, you know.”

“It was at a pawnshop. I had to pay extra.”

“Kim –” He shook his head. “You could’ve gotten into a lot of trouble doing that. If you were afraid, you should’ve come and talked to me.”

Like this was doing me a lot of good now. I didn’t recall him getting all worried about how late I was at the office, back when I’d been working for him.

By now, my head was still hurting, but my brain functions had cleared up – enough to think that this was kind of a weird situation. Here I was in a room with the guy I was getting ready to kill, and I was hearing advice from him on the best gun for somebody like me to buy, plus the proper way to go about it, in order to stay legal. That, plus the style comments on my makeover, made me think that maybe the world was overstocked with irony.

“But that’s the past,” said McIntyre. “We need to move on. I know you didn’t mean anything by it. The gun, I mean.”

I suddenly realized he was speaking the truth. He really didn’t know.

“Yeah –” I nodded. “I got overexcited.”

“It happens. Don’t worry about it.” The nice-boss smile again. “So even though things got kind of confused tonight – and that’s as much my fault as anybody’s – I’m glad we’re having this chance to talk. Because there really are some matters that I wanted to discuss with you.”

Hm. “Like what?”

“Well, Kim . . . this is kind of hard for me to admit. But the more I thought about what happened before – I mean, when you were, uh, terminated from the company – the more I came to believe that I had seriously underestimated you. And your capabilities.”

You have no idea
, I silently told him.

“And . . . how useful you could still be. For me and the company. Even without you handling the accountant duties that you used to. I think . . . there could be another position for you. An important one.”

The weirdness level just went up another notch.

“Have a seat.” He pointed to the empty chair closest to him. “We need to talk about this.”

I sat down. With my hands in my lap.

“Would you like some?” He held up the bottle.

God, no
. “No thanks.”

He poured himself some more, then leaned back in his chair.

“Here’s the deal. I know you might find it hard to believe, but there are people who . . .” Deep, serious frown, as though he were contemplating the sheer unfairness of life. “Let’s just say they have some grudges against me.”

Imagine that
.

Let me stop right here and tell you what I’ve discovered about the pricks of the world. There are pricks who are so stupid, they don’t even know when they’ve hurt other people. And then there are pricks who know they’ve hurt other people – and they enjoy it.

But the biggest, the worst pricks of all – the absolute most prixelated – are the ones who know they’ve hurt other people, really badly, and then they are sincerely baffled as to why the rest of humanity, including the people they’ve hurt, doesn’t absolutely love their ass.

They really just don’t get it. It’s like something missing inside their heads, like being color-blind or something. It’s just . . . not there.

That’s the kind of guy McIntyre was.

Which was kind of stupid of him, actually. Because it meant I was totally flying under his radar. What an idiot! I’ve just waved a freakin’ .357 in his face – and he can’t even imagine that somehow, some way, I just . . . might . . . not . . .
like
him. Even after he had me thrown out in the alley like a sack of trash. Even with me knowing that if and when he finds out that I stole all that money from his transfer accounts, using the passwords I rooked off of that old guy Pomeroy, he’ll have me killed without a second thought. Until that happens, he believes that all he has to do is flash me that BS nice-boss smile, then I’ll just melt into a grateful puddle. Just like when I’d still been Little Nerd Accountant Girl, working my butt off to keep his books balanced.