Kim Oh 3: Real Dangerous People (The Kim Oh Thrillers) by K. W. Jeter Page B

man.”
     
    Earl looked over at him. “Like what?”
     
    “Like him getting killed or something.”
     
    “Okay . . .” Earl gave Foley a hard look. “So we make sure he doesn’t get killed.”
     
    They both watched the TV for a couple of minutes.
     
    “I just wish it were that easy.”
     
    Earl sighed. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”
     
    “What do you think it means?” Foley turned snappish. “I’m talking about Curt.”
     
    “What about him?”
     
    “For Christ’s sake, Earl! You’ve seen him. You know what’s going on. Curt’s losing it!”
     
    “What I know –” Earl slouched down where he sat. “Is that you’re full of shit.”
     
    “Yeah? Well, I’m not just talking about his hands –”
     
    “Curt’s hands are fine.”
     
    “The hell they are. You’ve seen the way they’ve started to shake. He’s got tremors like an old man.”
     
    “Well, he’s not exactly young, is he? Neither are you, for that matter.”
     
    “I mean,” said Foley, “like a sick old man. There’s a difference. And it’s not just his hands. That’s bad enough.”
     
    “So what else?”
     
    “I’m talking about up here.” Foley tapped the side of his head. “That’s where Curt’s really losing it. Face it, Earl. He’s just not as sharp as he used to be.”
     
    Earl stared sullenly at the TV. “He’s fine.”
     
    “Bullshit. That whole business at the restaurant should never’ve happened. He not only nearly got Mr. Falcon killed, he nearly got us killed.”
     
    “Whatever.” Earl shifted uncomfortably on the couch. “He’s doing the best he can.”
     
    “That’s the point,” said Foley. “His best isn’t good enough. Not anymore. Curt used to be able to plan ahead for stuff. Like he knew what was going to happen. But this time, we wound up walking right into that crap.”
     
    “Yeah. And he got us out of it, too.”
     
    “He didn’t get Heinz out of it.” Foley’s voice went low. “Heinz is dead.”
     
    A moment passed before Foley spoke again.
     
    “Face it, Earl. We need somebody else running the crew.”
     
    Earl slowly turned and looked at the other man. “Oh, I get it,” he said. “Now I see what you’re talking about.” He turned back to the TV. “Well, you can just kiss off that idea, pal. If it’s a choice between you or Curt running things, I’ll stick with the way things are.”
     
    “Come on –”
     
    “Will you shut up?” Earl gestured at the TV. “I’m trying to watch this.”
     
    Foley glared at Earl, then got up from the couch. He picked up his jacket and dug into his pockets for his keys.
     
    Earl glanced over his shoulder at him. “Where do you think you’re going?”
     
    “Out for a while.” Foley pulled on his jacket. “I got things to do.”
     
    “Curt said he wanted you here tonight.”
     
    “Screw Curt.”
     
    Foley headed for the door.
     
    * * *
     
    Upstairs, Falcon and his wife had already turned in for the night. They were one of those couples where she fell asleep watching television, while he went on reading beside her in bed. He had a stack of business books on the table with the lamp, mainly whatever stuff had been on the New York Times nonfiction list. They all had a page about a quarter or at the most a third of the way through, with a corner turned down. That was about as far as he got with any of them before he moved on to the next one.
     
    Leaning back on the pillows propped up against the headboard, he was slogging through the first chapter of something that promised to make him the next Winston Churchill of the business world. In general – he told me this once – he liked those books better than the ones that gassed on about Ronald Reagan, since he figured some punk actor never fired off a real gun in his life. That kind of thing mattered to him.
     
    He heard something outside. Looking over the top of his half-rims, he turned toward the window and listened. Then he got