like with ten pounds of belly hacked off.
He was not quite pudgy, but he was definitely doughy.
His breathing was shallow, and he tired easily. It seemed as if his lungs and circulation only serviced the outer layer of his body. No blood or air getting deep down inside.
His new self waited beneath that layer of flab. He began to drill through the fat. Searching for Danny Storey.
And he practiced being more assertive, aggressive. He mimicked Robert De Niro in
“You talking to me?”
He paid attention to his diet.
The salt. More chicken, fish, turkey, and steamed vegetables.
Rice.
An hour every morning and evening on the running machine. A half hour rowing. The first time he struggled through thirty push-ups in a row, he cheered out loud.
48
He was Danny now. John had started using his new name.
They were changing him too fast. He was getting ahead of himself. Requesting the movie had been a mistake.
Danny paced his balcony, trying to shake off a creepy reaction to watching the movie
Dumb, going back into things,
Pretty dumb movie, too, mountain man horse opera, right up until the part where Jeremiah, played by a young Robert Redford-clefts, no wrinkles yet-set out to wreak bloody revenge on the Indian band that killed his family.
Fucker running through the trees. Relentless.
Broker’s favorite movie. Watched it over and over, Caren said.
Out there. Him and his bug-eyed kid. Never quit.
Calm down, Danny. Deep breath.
He forced himself to draw the oxygen down into the bottom of his lungs. Couldn’t do it right, not all the way. But soon he would master the technique. Was going to master a lot of things. Not just the casinos. Golf. The piano.
He sucked in deep breaths and pictured emerald California fairways, movie stars trundling past in golf carts.
It seemed to work; he felt calmer, centered.
Orientation was over. He’d assumed it would take months to change into Danny Storey. Not weeks. Hell, they were booking him on a flight to San Jose. He wasn’t even used to his contact lenses yet. He’d be totally dependent on his inspector in Santa Cruz.
He shut off the light and stared into the dark, into his future. His nightly ritual began with visualizing the desolate patch of woods where his fortune was hidden in the snow-covered cistern. Sometimes he imagined animals creeping around-foxes, squirrels, even unsuspecting hunters. But hunting season was over.
After he thought about his money, he, and his right hand, conjured Ida Rain. Then, usually, he was ready to go to sleep.
But tonight Broker’s fat kid was waiting in the dark, reaching for his money. And she stayed there, off and on, all night
The document was called the Memorandum of Understanding. It specified the conditions of Danny’s acceptance into WITSEC. If he abided by the rules, the Marshals Service pledged to support and protect him. If he violated security, he was out on his butt.
After he signed the agreement, John handed him a Photostat of a Michigan driver’s license with a phony address in Warren, Michigan.
There was his new name. Daniel Storey.
“We kept your day and month of birth but took a few years off your age. Turn it in when you apply for your California license,” said John.
“That was fast,” said Danny, studying the picture next to his new name. In the picture he still had Tom James’s hair, mustache and glasses. That would change in California.
“Danny, we think you’re going to be one of our more low-maintenance clients,” said John. He really was Danny now.
His new legal name-change papers and new birth certificate had been mailed to his handler in California.
Danny’s meager belongings lay spread out for one last inspection on the kitchen table. All the clothing had been combed through to make sure that there were no labels that originated in Minnesota. The procedure was brief because Tom only had the one bag.
As John checked through everything again, Danny shifted from foot to foot. He tensed as the inspector perused the parka label, turned the pockets inside out. He handed the jacket to Danny and went on to another item. Danny hugged the jacket and let out a breath.
Basic security. He could not contact anyone from his past without permission from Travis, who was his inspector in California, and then, he could only initiate supervised approved phone calls on a secure line. He could never receive calls. Mail, such as holiday cards to family, would be handled by the marshals, who would post them from a secure mail drop.
“I won’t be sending any Christmas cards,” said Danny.
He had to practice “unlearning” references that would identify him as someone from Minnesota, hereafter known as the “danger zone.”
“Forget snow. Forget winter,” advised John.
“No problem,” said Danny.
“Forget the Twins and the Vikings.”
“Who?”
Danny could tell John enjoyed working with him. Or was relieved. The rare exception. The “innocent” witness.
As with Norman and Sarah, Tom vacuumed every moment for a hint that John scented a killer in his presence. Nada.
Referring to Norman and Sarah’s extensive notes. John went over the phony background. They used Warren, Michigan, where Tom had spent childhood summers with an aunt. They expanded it to include classes at Wayne State University in Detroit. He’d had a lifelong drinking problem and was now sober for three years. They agreed, the ruse would paper over his job history. However,
John cautioned against attending AA meetings. “Too many questions. Too many experts on drinking behavior in those meetings. You may not fit the profile over a long period and might arouse suspicion.”
When his checklist was completed, John extended his hand. “It’s been a pleasure, considering what’s waiting for me down the hall.”
“Which is?”
“Believe me, not a reporter. Good luck,” said John.
The night before Danny was to fly to San Jose, which was one mountain range away from his new home and life, he violated his no-red-meat rule and ordered a steak, french fries, and a bottle of red wine.
Later, he couldn’t settle on an Ida Rain fantasy. Usually he pictured her in a mask, naked. Sometimes no mask, in the light. He went back and forth. Could
What if-
