7:30 p.m.
Logan Hotel—Omaha, Nebraska

Jared Barnett listened for the elevator, waiting for the grind and scrape of metal, the whine of the hydraulics. Where the hell was he?

He stayed in the shadows and leaned against the wall, ignoring the avalanche of plaster his shoulder set loose. No one had seen him enter the building. No one except the skinny crack whore with dirty-blond hair and eyes so glazed over she’d never remember what day it was, let alone his face.

At the end of the hall someone was cooking spinach. God! He hated that smell. It reminded him of his stepfather who’d forced him to eat everything off his plate, and if he didn’t, the bastard shoved his face into the green glob of shit. He couldn’t help thinking the stench belonged here. It was a perfect addition to the dog piss on the carpet and the cockroaches skittering in and out of cracks and under doors. It also seemed the perfect place for Danny Ramerez to call home.

He shifted his weight from his left foot to his right then switched the sacks of takeout to his other hand. The food would be cold, though it didn’t matter much. He was hungry and he loved Chinese food, even cold Chinese food. Although he was getting tired of holding the bags. He had thought about setting them down, but the fucking roaches would be all over them in seconds.

Jared checked his wristwatch, needing to squint to make out the time in the dim light. Ramerez was late. Why the fuck was he late? He had followed him three nights in a row and could probably set his watch to him. Now, all of a sudden, the bastard was late. But then he heard the elevator, the screech and then the whine. He was on his way up.

Jared stayed in the shadows, waiting. Reaching the sixth floor took forever, a noisy journey of squeaky pulleys and wobbling metal. He was glad he had taken the stairs up. Finally the doors opened.

Danny Ramerez looked smaller in this crappy light. Jared watched him walk down the hallway, one of those jerky walks with quick little steps. Ramerez was at his door with the key in the lock before Jared started down the hall after him.

“Hey, man,” he said and Ramerez nodded without looking up. “How ya doing, Danny?”

This time Ramerez did a double take, his eyes getting wide as he recognized Jared.

“I brought us some takeout,” he told him, wanting to calm his worries and holding up the bags. “Chinese.”

“What are you doing here?”

“What are you talking about? You didn’t think I’d come by and say hey?”

Ramerez finally got the door opened, but now he hesitated.

“You did me a big favor,” Jared said, this time with a smile. “I just wanted to buy you dinner and say thanks.”

Ramerez was studying him, meeting his eyes as if looking for the truth there. Then suddenly he looked away and shrugged. “You don’t owe me anything. Your redheaded friend already paid me. Even threw in a laptop computer.”

Jared smiled again; it didn’t take much to buy off someone like Danny Ramerez. He understood him all too well. That’s why he couldn’t trust him. “Hey man, it’s just some kung pao chicken and chow mein. A few egg rolls. It’s no big deal.”

He let Ramerez think about it while he stood there pretending it was no big deal, still not making any attempt to leave. Finally Ramerez shrugged again and waved him into the small apartment that looked like a cross between a rummage sale and a garbage dump. A pile of clothes covered a threadbare recliner, and Jared could smell what had to be dirty socks or rotten eggs. Magazines and comic books were stacked on the floor. A collection of beer bottles and cans shared the shelves with discarded take-out wrappers and foam containers. A cardboard pizza box lay open on the coffee table with two pieces left, the toppings suddenly skittering out of the box.

Ramerez started shoving things aside as if to tidy up for his guest. While he moved stacks and collected trash, Jared pulled out an oversize, black trash bag from one of the take-out bags and began laying it over the scuffed linoleum floor in the middle of the room. Ramerez glanced at him a couple of times before he stopped.

“What are you doing?”

“I don’t want to make a mess,” Jared told him.

Ramerez laughed. “You’re kidding, right?”

He came over to take a closer look, examining the plastic and even walking onto it, stepping carefully as if looking for a trap. But, of course, he didn’t see it. He was still looking down at the black plastic under his feet when Jared whipped the knife out from the same take-out bag. All it took was one slash up under and across the throat, so quick that Ramerez saw his own blood splatter the plastic. He grabbed at the wound, his fingers slipping into the gaping flesh as if attempting to hold it together. His wide eyes met Jared’s, shock and realization contorting his entire face before he finally crumpled onto the plastic.

Jared looked around the room and decided on the recliner. He shoved the clothes off, checked for cockroaches, then grabbed the other take-out bag and sat down. Danny Ramerez wasn’t going anywhere. There was no big hurry to take out the trash. Jared Barnett pulled out a plastic fork and the container of kung pao chicken and began to eat.