Thursday's Child by Teri White

Pencil.
    After looking at the envelope for a moment, he carefully opened it and slid out a page ripped from a child’s writing tablet. The message was also in pencil, and reading it he had the impression that the act of writing it had been a real effort. The message itself was brief and admirably to the point.
    Maybe you want to know that Danny Boyd is out of the joint .
    That was all. No signature. Nothing except the simple fact that Danny Boyd was a free man.
    Robert crumpled the paper into a small, tight wad. From the kitchen, he could hear the sound of dishes clattering and silverware clinking as Maureen washed them. She wasn’t often this domestic; he must really look like hell to have evoked such sympathy.
    He leaned back and closed his eyes. It seemed like some kind of a bad joke. Or maybe just pure coincidence. Danny Boyd out walking the streets again. The man who had killed Andy. Sick cosmic joke or just chance, Robert didn’t know what the hell he should do about it.
    He knew that what he needed was a long, hot shower, a shave, and some clean clothes. But not quite yet. Instead, he lit another cigarette and sat still. There was a lot to think about.
    2
    The hit on Gary Rydell was one of those easy jobs. Rydell was some kind of hotshot commodities dealer who had decided to triple his income in a hurry by also dealing in a very particular commodity. Nothing wrong with that, as far as it went. The big boys were always looking for salesmen, especially those who could peddle to their rich friends without having to hang out on street corners.
    Where Mr. Rydell went wrong, just like so many others, was that he got too greedy. Greed was fine, maybe, in its place, but carried too far, it could be dangerous. Skimming off the profits from the bosses was dangerous and crazy.
    Rydell lived in a fancy condo near the beach. The building had a vast underground parking garage. Getting into the garage required a coded magnetic card, but he’d gotten lucky there, because it turned out that one of his clients had a secretary (for which read “mistress”) who happened to live in the building. The man was glad to do him a favor, no questions asked, because Robert had gotten him out from under a very nasty blackmail situation a couple of years earlier. Amazing how a couple of strategically placed bullets could dampen the enthusiasm of even the most determined extortionist. You didn’t even have to kill him.
    The little red sports car pulled into the garage right on time. Rydell parked in his own personal spot and got out, carrying a soft leather briefcase. He was locking the car when Robert stepped out of the shadows.
    Rydell peered at him. “Who are you?”
    Robert didn’t answer; he didn’t really believe in chatting with his targets. His only response was to raise the gun and pull the trigger once.
    Rydell held on to the briefcase as he fell.
    Robert finally tracked down a guy named Pervis, a former cellmate of Danny Boyd. The dope was having a midnight snack at a pizza joint in downtown Los Angeles. Robert leaned on the counter next to him. “Evening, Pervis,” he said.
    Pervis was a rat-faced man with grease covering his chin and a string of cheese hanging from one corner of his mouth. He hunched farther down over the pizza and didn’t even glance at Robert. “We know each other, do we?”
    Robert smiled faintly. “Not exactly. We have what you might call a mutual acquaintance.”
    â€œYeah?” He swiped at his chin with the cuff of his shirt. “Who?”
    â€œOld roomie of yours. Danny Boyd.”
    That got a reaction. Pervis belched and finally looked at Robert. “Boyd? What about him?”
    â€œHe’s out, I hear.”
    â€œYou hear more than I do, then. But why do you think I care?”
    â€œWell, gee, I thought maybe you’d be having a reunion. I mean, you two shared a cell for a long time. That makes a couple of guys