And there’s the getaway plan Nick sprang on him. If you’ve already got something worked out, go with God, he’d said. But if you don’t, me and Giorgio had an idea that might work fine.
Nick’s idea isn’t a problem because it’s bad; it’s not. It’s good. But disappearing after the job is done has always been Billy’s responsibility, and for Nick to get in his business like that is … well …
‘Dutched,’ Billy murmurs to his empty kitchen.
Nick said that six weeks ago, when this job looked like becoming a reality, he sent Paul Logan up to Macon and told him to buy a Ford Transit van, not new but not more than three years old. Transits were the workhorses of Red Bluff’s Department of Public Works fleet. Billy has already seen several, painted yellow and blue with the motto WE ARE HERE TO SERVE painted on the sides. The brown Transit Frank bought in Georgia was now in a garage on the outskirts of town, painted in DPW colors and with the DPW motto.
‘I’ll have a good idea of when Allen’s extradition is getting close,’ Nick said. He was sipping a little more brandy. ‘Those guys I told you about – the ones coming in – will start being out and about in that van, always looking busy but not really doing anything. Never staying too long in one place but always near the courthouse and the Gerard Tower. An hour here, two hours there. Becoming part of the scenery, in other words. Like you, Billy.’
On the day of Allen’s arrival, Nick said this bogus DPW van would be parked around the corner from the Gerard Tower. The bogus city workers would maybe open a manhole cover and pretend to be doing something inside. When the shot came, and the flashpot explosions, people would run everywhere. Including from the Gerard Tower and including Billy Summers, who would race around the corner and into the back of the van. There he would jump into a pair of DPW coveralls.
‘The van pulls around to the courthouse,’ Nick said. ‘Cops are already on the scene. My guys – and you – pile out and ask if there’s anything they can do to help. Put up sawhorses to block the street, or something. In all the confusion, it will look a hundred per cent natural. You see that?’
Billy saw. It was bold and it was good.
‘The cops—’
‘They probably tell us to get lost,’ Billy said. ‘We’re city workers but we’re civilians. Is that right?’
Nick laughed and clapped his hands. ‘See? Anyone who thinks you’re stupid is full of shit. My guys say yes sir, officers, and off you drive. And you keep driving. After switching vehicles, of course.’
‘Driving to where?’
‘De Pere, Wisconsin, a thousand miles from here. There’s a safe house. You stay there a couple of days, relax, check your bank account for the rest of your payday, think about how you’re going to spend your money. After that you’re on your own. How does it sound?’
It sounded good. Too good? A possible set-up? Unlikely. If anyone in this deal is being set up, it’s Ken Hoff. Billy’s problem with Nick’s unexpected offer is that he’s never had to depend on other people to disappear before. He doesn’t like it but that wasn’t the time to say so.
‘Let me think about it, okay?’
‘You bet,’ Nick said. ‘Plenty of time.’
3
Billy hauls his suitcase out of the master bedroom closet. He puts it on the bed and unzips it. It looks empty, but it’s not. The lining has a Velcro strip running along the underside. He pulls the lining up and takes out a small flat case. It’s the kind smart people – those who read more challenging stuff than Archie digests and supermarket checkout lane scandal papers – might call an etui. There’s a wallet inside with credit cards and a driver’s license issued to Dalton Curtis Smith, of Stowe, Vermont.
There have been many other wallets and IDs during Billy’s career, not one for each of his assassinations （he calls them what they are） but at least a dozen, leading up to the current one belonging to a make-believe individual named David Lockridge. Some of his previous selves had good ID, some not so good. The credit cards and DL in the David Lockridge wallet are very good indeed, but the stuff in the flat gray case is better. The stuff in there is gold. Putting it together has been the work of five years, a labor of love going back to when he decided he must eventually get out of a business that makes him – admit it – just another bad person.
Dalton Smith isn’t just a Lord Buxton wallet with a legit-looking driver’s license inside; Dalton Smith is practically a real person. The Mastercard, the Amex card, and the Visa all get used regularly. Ditto the Bank of America debit card. Not every day, but often enough so the accounts don’t gather dust. His credit rating isn’t excellent, which might draw attention, but it’s very good.