prepared for. “Do you know Nick Balsalmo?”
“I know his work.”
“He’s dead,” I said.
“He’s in a better place, then,” Barry said. “Praise the Lord.”
“Your friend Bruce gave him the drugs he got from the Ghouls’ stash house.”
“Why would he do that?”
“He had to pay him off for a prison favor and the Ghouls’ drugs worked out well for that,” I said. “I have a feeling the Ghouls found that upsetting.”
“There were plenty of people who’d like to kill Nick Balsalmo. He sold drugs for a living. It’s a very unstable work environment. Praise the Lord.”
“Barry,” I said, “there was more of him on the outside than on the inside. I’m going to guess that whatever someone wanted to get from Nick, they got. Maybe that included your name, maybe it didn’t, but I’m going to guess known associates of Bruce Grossman might be wise to keep a low profile.”
“Praise the Lord.”
“Really?”
“I’m just trying to fit in over here,” Barry said, his voice low again. “I sit in a pew talking on a cell phone in here, people might find that disrespectful.”
“But laundering their money is right with God?”
“No sin in getting ahead.”
I thought that was actually wrong, canonically, but opted not to press Barry on the issue. “I’m picking Bruce and his mom up and taking them somewhere safe. I’m happy to extend you the same courtesy. Consider it a returned favor for this great job you found for me.”
“Fortress inside of a moon crater?”
“My mother’s house,” I said.
“That’s sweet,” Barry said, “but I’ve got a safe house. It’s called a boat. On the Atlantic. Do you know how hard it is to drive a motorcycle over water?”
“What’s also nice is that no one can hear you screaming on the Atlantic, either.”
Barry didn’t respond for a while, so I just sat there and listened to him breathe. It was sounding a bit more labored than usual. He’s not a skinny guy, but he’s also not one of those wheezing fat guys, either. I definitely noticed a quickening of his intake, however.
“I’ve got a sick friend in Montana I could visit,” he said.
“Try one of the Dakotas,” I said.
“I hear South Dakota is nice this time of year.”
“Don’t limit yourself,” I said. “Try them both.”
“Mike, you’re scaring me here.”
“Praise the Lord,” I said. “That’s what I’m trying to do.”
Barry was silent again. In the background I could hear an organ being played. Maybe he was already in heaven.
“When you say there was more of Balsalmo on the outside than the inside,” Barry said, “you meant that literally, right?”
“Yes.”
Silence.
More organ music.
“I don’t vacation enough,” Barry said.
“No time like the present.”
“You’ll call me if, you know, there’s something I need to know?”
“I will.”
“And maybe now would be a good time to use an alias?”
“Now would be that time, yes.”
Silence again. I’ve never thought of Barry as a particularly pensive guy.
“You need money or something?” he asked. He sounded hopeful again. If there’s one thing Barry knows, it’s money.
“I’m fine, Barry. Down the line, I’m sure we’ll tip the scales again.”
“I appreciate that, Mike,” Barry said.
“Future reference,” I said, “I’d like to avoid going to war with a biker gang.”
“Praise the Lord,” Barry said.
“Praise the Lord,” I said and hung up.
7
There is no such thing as a safe house. Any fixed location is, by definition, a waiting target. Hide long enough and no matter how safe you feel, you will eventually begin to create a traceable root system. It doesn’t matter if you’re in a log cabin in Lincoln, Montana, or a spider hole outside of Tikrit, stay in one place long enough and the people looking for you will find you.
If you really want to ensure that no one can find you, you have to keep moving. Adhere to three simple rules and maybe you’ll live long enough to outlast whoever is chasing you: 1. Never spend more than twenty-four hours in the same place. 2. Pay cash for everything. 3. Sleep during the day, travel during the night.
Even still, this plan requires financial resources and unwavering determination. There is nothing more exhausting or emotionally isolating than constantly running for your life. So if you choose to embark on this kind of life, expect that your interpersonal relationships will suffer.
Despite all that, if you have to stay safe for just one or two days and you have ample protection-say, if a burned spy is watching over you-it’s important to fortify your position and not merely assume that by being out of sight you are somehow safer than if you were parading down A1-A with a target painted on your chest.
Which is why I was outside my mother’s house laying tactical wire across the backyard, Sam was placing protective wire through my mother’s rosebushes and Fiona was working on the roof. Inside, my mother had just served Bruce and Zadie her patented “light dinner”-pot roast, garlic mashed potatoes and a pasta salad whose main secondary ingredient was mayonnaise-though she kept coming outside to smoke and complain.
“Michael, you know I don’t like meeting strangers,” my mother said. She’d just stepped out onto the back porch and was watching me with unique disinterest. Having me fortify her home had become a frequent activity of late.
“They’re nice people, Ma,” I said.
“Zadie told me confidentially that her son was just in prison, Michael!”
“Everyone lives somewhere,” I said.
“He is very cute, though,” she said. I decided to try to unhear that by simply not reacting to it. “And, Michael, not being able to smoke inside my own home is making me very nervous.”
“Ma,” I said, “Zadie is dying of cancer. You recognize that smoking causes cancer, right?”
“Allegedly,” she said.
It was the early evening, which meant the sidewalks around my mother’s house had already been rolled up for the night. The only signs of life on the street apart from the three of us fortifying our positions were the odd appearances and sounds of Reagan-era Lincoln Continentals and Chryslers slipping into garages throughout the neighborhood.
Early-bird specials live on in Miami.
I was trying to maintain a level of calm and appreciation for my mother, seeing as she was doing me a tactical favor, and in light of the houseguests, so I opted not to counter the “alleged” claim.
“I’m just feeling very jumpy, Michael. I don’t like worrying about the guests and worrying about who might attack the house and, on top of it all, worrying about when I can have another cigarette.”
“That’s the nice thing about smoking,” I said. “Do it long enough and you won’t have to worry about it
