Dangerous Games by Michael Prescott Page A

he’d lied on his application when he checked the “no” box in response to the question: Have you ever been convicted of a felony? By all rights, they should have canned his ass already, but they were a slipshod outfit, in no hurry to discover that any of their employees needed replacing.
    The job had served its purpose, brought in money when he needed it. Now he was free of such concerns. He could quit at any time. Only prudence kept him anchored to his daily routine. He had learned caution—learned it the hard way.
    The phone rang. It rested only a foot from his head, on an end table, and its shrill cry drilled through his ear canals.
    If he wanted to know who was calling, he would have to pick up. He had no message machine—didn’t believe in putting things on tape.
    He lifted the handset. The keypad glowed. He closed his eyes against the light.
    “Yes,” he said into the phone, without rising, without moving his head at all.
    “She’s here. They brought her in.”
    It took him a moment to process the words. “Who?” he asked, but he already knew.
    “Who do you think?” The other man was cautious enough not to say any names over the phone.
    Kolb frowned. “Why are you telling me this?”
    “Because you’ll find out anyway. It’s been on the news.”
    “She’s joining the investigation?”
    “Yes.”
    “So she’ll be in town awhile.”
    “For the duration.”
    “They must be putting her up at a hotel.”
    “I guess so.”
    “What hotel?”
    “I’m not saying a word.”
    “Why not?”
    “Because I don’t want you getting distracted by a private agenda.”
    “I won’t get distracted. I won’t do anything.”
    “Then you don’t need to know where she’s staying.”
    “I’d like to get a look at her, that’s all.”
    “You’ve seen her a million times.”
    “Not in the flesh.”
    “Maybe you’ve got a thing for her.”
    “Maybe I do. Love your enemy, right?”
    “I didn’t think that was your philosophy.”
    “Sure it is.” Kolb stared into the dark. His voice was low and distant. “We love whatever gives our life meaning. Whatever brings us a sense of purpose. Our enemies do that for us. We’d be lost without them.”
    “Well, I’m glad to hear you’re in such a charitable mood. Because we can’t afford to get caught up in some kind of fucking vendetta.”
    “It’s not an issue.”
    “Don’t give me that crap. I know how bad you…” His voice trailed off momentarily as the call broke up. “…that woman.”
    Kolb lifted himself to a sitting position. “You on a cell?”
    “Yeah.”
    “God damn it. You know cells aren’t secure.”
    “Nobody’s listening.”
    “How can you know?”
    “There are ten million cell phones in this city. Okay? It’s physically impossible to listen in on all of them.”
    “Fucking computers can scan ten million calls looking for hot-button words.”
    “Hot-button words? You mean like ‘terrorist,’ ‘bomb,’ ‘assassination’—”
    “Shut the fuck up, asshole.” Kolb could imagine an array of supercomputers homing in on the conversation right now.
    Laughter on the other end of the line. “I’m just jerking your chain. Nobody’s monitoring the damn call. Just chill.”
    “Chill? You’re talking street now? You watch a Chris Rock special on HBO or something?”
    “I’m in a good mood, that’s all. Money in my pocket has a way of lifting my spirits.”
    “It’s not in your pocket yet.”
    “Figure of speech.”
    “You haven’t tapped into the account, have you?”
    “Of course not.”
    “Because I don’t want you spending it. That’s a rookie mistake. Neither of us changes our routine. I keep my job, and you keep yours. And we both keep our heads down.”
    “I know the drill. I haven’t touched it. Not one dime.”
    “Be sure you don’t. We’re not throwing it all away just because you get impatient.”
    “Don’t worry about me. It’s you I’m worried about. You and…her.”
    “I already told