Germ

were the nearest police cruisers? The likely avenues of escape? Places where his quarry could hide should they evade his attack, and where he could hole up if something went wrong?

He reached for the gearshift lever on the steering column, and a glimmer against the matte of his gauntlet caught his eye. Instantly he knew the cause and reached for a handkerchief in the leather pouch around his waist. In his anxiousness to get to Maryville after interrogating the cabbie, he'd neglected routine maintenance. He wiped at the glimmer first, then rubbed vigorously over and between each spike and each finger. He tossed the cloth into the passenger seat, where it landed soiled-side up: thick red smears against the sun-brightened white.

He rolled away from the curb with one last look at the motel. As he turned onto Broadway, he began scrutinizing every person, vehicle, building, and passageway he saw.

Bonsai came online as soon as Julia selected the click me

button.

'So, anything for me?' she asked.

'Do hackers like computers?' He explained the information he'd found in the Knox County Sheriff's Department database.

She wrote two names and a phone number on a notepad. 'You're brilliant. I'll get back to you when I'm ready to receive the data from the memory chip.' She shifted on the bed and tucked a bare foot under her bottom. She caught a whiff of something unpleasant in her dirty clothes and ignored it. It would have to be good enough to have clean hair, dry now and brushed loosely back from her face. She pulled the room's phone off the nightstand and dialed the number Bonsai had supplied.

'Sky Signs,' a male voice announced.

'I need some phones.'

'We do skywriting, lady. Weddings, birthdays, something to cheer—let Sky Signs write it in the stratosphere.'

'Cute.'

'Thanks for calling.'

'Whoa, I still need some phones.'

'I told you, we don't do phones.'

She glanced at the notepad. 'That's not what Aaron Horvitz told me.'

A pause.

Bingo.

'Who?' the man asked flatly.

'Thought Aaron mentioned he was a good customer of yours . . . Colin, right? Maybe I heard wrong.'

'Gimme your name and number.'

She did, and the line went dead. She shot out the door and across the parking lot to the pay phone she'd visited before checking in with Bonsai. It was one of those boothless phones, encased in a blue egg-shaped shell. She tucked her head close to the phone, hiding from passersby on the street behind her. Mr. Colin Dorsett was undoubtedly trying to reach Aaron Horvitz to vouch for her. Sad thing, though: according to Bonsai, police had taken Horvitz into custody two nights ago for discharging a firearm into the foot of a rival drug dealer during a bar fight. She was betting that Horvitz had more pressing concerns than apprising his supplier of stolen and reprogrammed cellular phones of his new residence in the county clink. The pay phone began ringing.

'Yeah?' she answered.

'Aaron ain't answering.'

'So?'

'So I don't do business with strangers.'

'Look,' she said, sharp. 'Aaron said his name was good as gold with you. He's not going to be too happy to find out it ain't.'

Dead air, then: 'Whaddya want?'

'Four flip phones with fully juiced batteries, a car power cord, a USB adapter.'

He spit out a colorful word. 'You starting a telethon?'

'Something like that. While you're at it, I need a few others things. I'll make it worth your while.' She told him what she wanted.

The man reluctantly agreed and quoted an extravagant price. He was trying to allay his concern with cash.

'Fine,' Julia said. 'Bring them to the Hungry Farmer on Henley Street at five.' Their taxi had passed the restaurant on their way out of Knoxville. She knew through Bonsai that the cops were onto Dorsett's clone-phone business. She couldn't risk their seeing her at his counterfeit storefront.

'Hey, I don't make house calls, lady. I don't care who you know.'

'Tell me business is booming after 60 Minutes ran that piece on clone-phone crackdowns. No way, buddy. Make a swing by the Farmer for me, or I'll spend my money somewhere else.'

It's what eventually got them all: greed.

'All right, five o'clock, but I ain't coming in. I'll be driving a red convertible Camaro. Come out when you see me, cash in hand.'

'See you then,' she said, sweet as candy.

fifty-one

Allen just didn't get it, and Stephen shouldn't have been surprised. He shook his big head and steered the van onto Broadway Avenue. After the Vega, it was a pleasure to drive such a smooth-running machine; that he actually fit in it was icing on the cake.

'It's not like I assaulted the guy,' Allen said, continuing their argument.

'You said his van was a piece of—'

'That's called negotiation.'

'You were antagonizing the man!' A light turned red, allowing him to turn the full force of his gaze on his brother.

'Oh, bull,' Allen countered snidely, which was really no counter at all. 'He didn't take offense.'

'He almost decked you.'

'I would have let him if it lowered the price.'

'How can you spend so much money and be so cheap at the same time?'

'How green do you want it?'

Stephen glared at him a moment, then realized he was talking about the traffic light and accelerated through the intersection.

'Besides, he could have told us to take a hike if he didn't like my attitude,' Allen said.

'Some people don't have the luxury you do to turn their backs on cash. Not that you ever have.' It was a wonder they had come from the same family. The next light turned yellow, and he slowed for it. He seemed to have caught the red side of Broadway's traffic-light cycle. Fortunately, they were only a few blocks from the motel.

Abruptly, Allen fell to the floor between the two front captain's chairs. 'Turn your head to the left!' he yelled, motioning wildly in that direction. His terrified expression compelled Stephen to obey.

'What?' he asked.

'Don't look, but the motel . . .'

He flicked his vision at the Motel 6, catty-corner on the right. The massive figure of the Warrior filled the open office doorway. He had his head cranked around, looking into the parking lot, toward where Stephen waited for the light to turn green. Stephen turned his head away. He felt the skin on his arms rise rapidly into goose bumps. There were maybe fifty yards between them. The Warrior could look right at him if the thought crossed his mind.

A horn behind him blared.

'Oh—' Green light. He glanced over. The Warrior was talking to someone in the office. Stephen made a panicked decision to turn away from the motel, instead of driving past it. He checked for cars in the left-turn lane, signaled, and edged into the intersection. A pickup was approaching from the other direction, and he braked for it, realizing too late that he could have darted across ahead of it. If a siren erupted from the van and flashing lights