She was wearing another pair of ritzy pajamas, this one the pale yellow of watery lemonade, with a gauzy white scarf coiled loosely around her neck. The scarf showed off her Miami tan, the outfit her toned body. Her auburn-streaked hair spilled to her shoulders and her cheekbones had been designed to support her golden-brown eyes. Our generation doesn’t age the way our parents’ did. I was the exception. I felt as old as Stonehenge but a hell of a lot less stable.
“No more Mrs. Lennert,” I said. “The poor corrupt bastard. The governments in Washington and Ottawa erased him along with the case, and as far as the cops are concerned he never existed in the first place. He went away like frost on glass.”
“I am sorry, you know. I loved him once—I suppose. I always liked him. I couldn’t hate him even when he left me for a cheap blonde and a suitcase full of Chrysler’s cash. As wrong as it was he didn’t deserve a bullet from a punk killer.”
“Oh, you heard about that.”
“It was on the radio this morning. I guess the police were sitting on the details until they were sure.” She uncrossed her legs, leaned forward, and set down her glass. “You were there, weren’t you? They didn’t mention you, but I remembered your office is on Grand River.”
“I was there.”
“Amos, you really should retire. You’ve used up all your odds.”
“That’s old news. I’ve been free-falling since the day we met. I almost married you, you know.”
“I didn’t know; but I suspected. Why didn’t you?”
“Dumb luck. That was when I used up the last of my odds. In the long, long series of wrong turns I’ve made, that might have been the one that put me in a head-on collision with myself.”
She paled a shade under the tan. She sat with her feet flat on the floor and her hands clasped between her knees. A bitter smile tweaked the corners of her mouth. “That isn’t exactly flattering. I’d forgotten how plain-spoken you were. Now that I think about it, that’s the reason we broke up.”
“On your part, maybe. On mine it was instinct. Not that I’m psychic: It never occurred to me you were the kind to pay someone to kill your husband. I’m not even sure if that’s what disappointed me the most. It was the dipsy-doodle. You sent Macklin—Peter, not Roger—after Lennert, then you hired me. If we got there in a tie and I killed Macklin, the only witness to the deal was no longer a threat. If we missed each other, or if he killed me, he’d be free to fetch back the money Lennert stole.”
Her laugh was a short bark. “When did all this come to you, in the middle of a drunk?”
“I can’t claim credit for all of it. I worked out the part about you throwing one or the other of us under the bus. The part about you hiring Macklin and telling him to bring back the cash if possible—that I got from the horse’s mouth.”
I shook my head. “It was a smart plan; the kind that outsmarts itself. All I did was get spotted and tagged for a threat. So Macklin did the prudent thing and ducked out as soon as the job was done, leaving the money behind. Only there wasn’t any money in the room, or anywhere else anyone looked. Guy probably wired it somewhere, like I said, only you didn’t believe me, and memorized the account number. His girlfriend played dumb. It wasn’t a stretch.”
“All that money sitting where it’ll never be claimed. What a waste.” She sat back again with her drink, recrossed her legs, and tapped her nails against the glass. She was in control of the situation now. “What’s your evidence? The testimony of a known murderer?”
“It wouldn’t be the first time one of them traded his client for a get-out-of-jail card. It’s rare; I was telling a woman that just the other day. You wouldn’t know her. She’s a lady. It’s rare, and it won’t happen this time either. Even if he were to take the chance, the cops wouldn’t accept it. Too much pressure has been brought to bear from too many places to make them reboot the official story at this point.”
I stood. I hadn’t bothered to unbutton my coat. I hadn’t intended to stay even this long.
“No, Karen, I’ve got nothing. Just a nodding acquaintance with someone who shares my theory about your plans for Macklin, and that’s the man himself. He isn’t as likely as the authorities to let a sleeping dog lie, because it’s bad for business and comes with the risk that the dog might wake up and take another bite at him. He told me himself we have something in common. Now I know we’ve got more than one. We’ve both used up all our odds. If he expects to keep playing he’ll have to load the dice. Give him my regards when he shows up.”
I showed myself out. When I got into my car I saw her through the window, still seated in the same position, turning her glass around and around between her hands. I’d spoiled Christmas for her. What a Grinch.
BOOKS BY LOREN D. ESTLEMAN
AMOS WALKER MYSTERIES
Motor City Blue
Angel Eyes
The Midnight Man
The Glass Highway
Sugartown
Every Brilliant Eye
Lady Yesterday
Downriver
Silent Thunder
Sweet Women Lie
Never Street
The Witchfinder
The Hours of the Virgin
A Smile on the Face of the Tiger
Sinister Heights
Poison Blonde*
Retro*
Nicotine Kiss*
American Detective*
The Left-Handed Dollar*
Infernal Angels*
Burning Midnight*
Don’t Look for Me*
You Know Who Killed Me*
The Sundown Speech*
The Lioness Is the Hunter*
Black and White Ball*
VALENTINO, FILM DETECTIVE
Frames*
Alone*
Alive!*
Shoot*
Brazen*
DETROIT CRIME
Whiskey River
Motown
King of the Corner
Edsel
Stress
Jitterbug*
Thunder City*
PETER MACKLIN
Kill Zone
Roses Are Dead
Any Man’s Death
Something Borrowed, Something Black*
Little Black Dress*
OTHER FICTION
The Oklahoma Punk
Sherlock Holmes vs. Dracula
Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Holmes
Peeper
Gas City*
Journey of the Dead*
The Rocky Mountain Moving Picture Association*
Roy & Lillie: A Love Story*
The Confessions of Al Capone*
PAGE MURDOCK SERIES
The High Rocks*
Stamping Ground*
Murdock’s Law*
The Stranglers
City of Widows*
White Desert*
Port Hazard*
The Book of Murdock*
Cape Hell*
WESTERNS
The Hider
Aces & Eights*
The Wolfer
Mister St. John
This Old Bill
Gun Man
Bloody Season
Sudden Country
Billy Gashade*
Black Powder, White Smoke*
The Undertaker’s Wife*
The Adventures of Johnny Vermillion*
The Branch and the Scaffold*
Ragtime Cowboys*
The Long High Noon*
The Ballad of Black Bart*
NONFICTION
The Wister Trace
Writing the Popular Novel
*Published by Tom Doherty Associates
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Loren D. Estleman is the author of more than eighty novels. Winner of four Shamus Awards, five Spur Awards, and three Western Heritage Awards, he lives in Michigan with his wife, author Deborah Morgan.
Visit him online at www.lorenestleman.com, or sign up for email updates
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CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Epigraph
ME
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
HIM
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
ME
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
HIM
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THEM
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
ME
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
HER
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
ME
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
THEM
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
ME
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
THEM
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
HER
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
ME
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Books by Loren D. Estleman
About the Author
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
BLACK AND WHITE BALL
Copyright © 2018 by Loren D. Estleman
All rights reserved.
Cover design by Drive Communications, New York
Cover image © 2017 Shutterstock.com
A Forge Book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates
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New York, NY 10010
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Forge® is a registered trademark of Macmillan Publishing Group, LLC.
The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.
ISBN 978-0-7653-8847-6 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-0-7653-8848-3 (ebook)
eISBN 9780765388483
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First Edition: March 2018