44
Jackson Traynor went back into the house, paused momentarily at the doorway to the long passage, and looked at the body of Ignacio Vargas. Then he continued through the kitchen and out onto the back veranda.
The caretaker, Bill Kirkwood, lifted his head and looked up at Traynor. “I heard gunshots.”
“Yeah. There were a couple.”
“You get the bastard?” Kirkwood asked, hopefully.
“Yeah. I got the bastard.”
“What about the biker pricks?”
“I don’t know. My colleagues went after them. They haven’t come back.” Jack squatted down, close to Kirkwood. “You okay, Bill?”
“I’ve been better. But it would take more than a smack in the head and a kick in the ribs to finish me.”
Traynor smiled at the caretaker. “I’ve already figured that out about you, Bill. I told you before, you are one tough
