“During Prohibition, the madam of a whorehouse here in Fort Worth owned a pistol like this. She shot a
nd killed one thieving whore, a cheating blackjack dealer, and three double-crossing bootleggers.”
Wilcox smiled. “I acquired the pistol at her estate auction. Anonymous bid.”
“Ever kill anybody with it?”
Wilcox said, “You would’ve been my first.”
“Wow. I could’ve been tacked on to the legend.”
“As I said, I have a preferable option to killing you.”
“You held us at gunpoint for the hell of it?”
“No, to protect myself from you. You have a reputation for being a hothead, and, so far, you’re living up to it.”
“Well, it tickles me not to disappoint.”
“I had hoped to open a dialogue with you, Mr. Trapper. I’m afraid the rifled office got us off on the wrong foot.”
Trapper cut a glance toward the wall socket just above the baseboard behind his desk chair where Wilcox sat. The outlet plate had been unscrewed and pulled from the wall. Wiring curled from the jagged hole in the Sheetrock.
Wilcox noticed Trapper’s consternation, and his knowing smile made Trapper see red. “Dialogue? You and me?”
Wilcox nodded. “I want to propose a deal.”
Trapper scoffed. “Not likely. Not even remotely. Instead, let’s talk about Sunday night’s fiasco. Did you order the hit on The Major?”
“I wouldn’t be that stupid.”
“It was stupid. A hit botched by two jerk-offs sent by someone a whole lot smarter. I’m guessing”—Trapper aimed his nine-millimeter at the center of the man’s forehead—“you. Just like the Pegasus.”
“You’re getting way ahead of yourself, Mr. Trapper.”
“No, you are. By thinking there’s going to be any dialogue, much less a deal, between us.” Trapper took a cell phone from the front pocket of his jeans and tapped in 911.
The millionaire said, “You’re not going to call the police.”
“You don’t think so?”
“You won’t because you know the legend of the notorious madam.” Looking at Kerra, he explained. “She was never charged for the killings.”
“Why not?”
“Because several judges, the district attorney, the chief of police, and half the force were frequent customers of her establishment.”
Trapper said, “Kerra, that’s his way of telling me that he’s above the law because he’s got well-positioned people in his pocket.”
And the smooth-talking son of a bitch was right. Trapper didn’t want to call the cops and have Wilcox hauled in for a B & E when he was accountable for a minimum of one hundred ninety-seven murders.
As though reading his thoughts, Wilcox said, “Why don’t you sit down?”
“Why don’t you go fuck yourself?”
“Trapper.” Kerra touched his left sleeve. “Sit down.”
He wasn’t good at parleying, didn’t believe in bargaining with the bad guys, but in spite of himself, he was curious to hear more about this deal Wilcox had in mind. Without taking either his aim or his eyes off the man, he righted the other chair, straddled the seat backward, and propped his gun hand on the top slat. “Okay, I’m sitting.”