Strega

The lizard eyes didn't blink. 'You got it.'

I climbed back into the Plymouth. It was only two days to Friday and I'd need some help for this one. The old man's small hand reached for my arm-I stared down at the hand the way you do in prison when someone touches you who shouldn't-it was boneless-nothing but parchment skin and blue veins.

The old man looked at me. 'Burke,' he pleaded, 'take him off the count.'

'I don't do that kind of work, Julio.'

The old man's eyes shifted again. 'You said thirty large, right?'

'I said ten, old man. I don't do that kind of work. Period.'

Julio tried to look injured. 'You think I'm wearing a wire?'

'No, old man, I don't think you're wired. But you know better than to ask me to drop someone. I'll do what I said I'll do. That's it. Say yes or say no.'

'Yes,' said the old man, and I backed out of the garage, heading back to the city.

2

IT TOOK us most of the night to get everything in place. I couldn't bring Pansy on a job like this-if I kept her in the blind with me and some fool let his dog lift a leg against a nearby tree, the emergency ward would have some new customers. She's perfect on a job when you're working people, but other dogs annoy the hell out of her-especially male dogs.

Max the Silent was somewhere in the nearby brush. He's a Mongolian free-lance warrior who works for only those he wants to, and walks where he will. Calling him a karate expert is like calling a politician crooked-it doesn't tell you anything special. A strange little guy we call the Prophet was trying to explain Max to some of the young guys on the yard once. He did it much better than I could-when the Prophet talks, it's like being in church, only he tells the truth:

'Max the Silent? Max the life-taking, widow-making, silent wind of death? Brothers, better to drink radioactive waste, easier to reason with a rattlesnake, safer to wear a gasoline overcoat into the fires of hell than to mess with that man. You go to fuck with Max, people, you best bring your own body bag.'

But he's not called Max the Silent because he moves so quietly. Max doesn't speak and he doesn't hear. He may be able to read lips-nobody knows-but he communicates perfectly. I showed him some of the clippings the freak had mailed to the redhead; then I made the universal sign of the maggot-two palms pressed together, one opened to show a rock being overturned, and a disgusted face at what I was looking at underneath the rock. Then I made the sign of using the telephone, and started to unbutton my shirt with a horrified look on my face. He got it all, and he dealt himself in. We'd split the money.

It was quiet and peaceful in my concealed blind. It made me think of Biafra again-comfortable isn't the same as safe.

I watched the redhead jog off along the path, her face set and hard but her body doing what the freak wanted it to do. She'd make the three circuits, standing up all the way-just like Julio promised.

He had to be out there somewhere. I didn't know his name, but I knew him-he'd have to see the redhead dance for himself. But I'd been there for hours; if he was anywhere nearby, I'd know it by now. The bridle path was about a half-mile around. The freak could be anywhere out there-but so could Max the Silent.

Minutes passed, but I never moved. I'm good at waiting. Then I heard the car: someone was driving along the road parallel to the bridle path, moving too slowly to be an early commuter. I froze as I heard the tires crunch gravel-he was off the road now, heading over to right across from where I was hidden. Perfect.

The tan Pontiac rolled to a gentle stop deep into the branches on the other side of the path, about fifty feet from where I was hidden. The engine died and the forest went silent, wondering at this new intruder. The side window of the Pontiac was heavily tinted-I couldn't even see movement inside. Then the door opened and the freak cautiously stepped out. He was tall, well over six feet, and rail-thin. He was wearing one of those jungle camouflage outfits they sell in boutiques, complete with polished black combat boots. He had a military field cap on his head, and his eyes were covered with mirror-lensed sunglasses. A long survival knife was slung low on his left thigh.

The freak started chopping at tree branches with the knife, covering the nose of the car so it would be invisible. His movements were quick, frantic. Maybe in his mind he was a soldier building a sniper's roost-to me he looked like a freak in a raincoat bouncing up and down in his seat, waiting for a porno movie to start.

The little telescope brought his face right into the blind with me. I couldn't see his eyes, but his lips were working overtime. Then we both heard the measured slap of sneakers on the path and we knew the redhead was making another circuit. He dove back into the Pontiac. I watched until I saw the driver's window sneak down and there he was, his face swiveled on a scrawny neck, eyes glued to the bridle path.

The redhead came along at a dead-even pace, running in the middle of the path, looking straight ahead. The freak's head turned with mine as we watched her approach and watched her disappear around a bend. I could see his face, but not his hands-I knew what he was doing with them.

The freak never moved. His window stayed down. Now I had to wait-was one circuit enough for him to get where he wanted to go? Would he take off now? I couldn't read the license number on his car. If he took off I'd have to make my move without Max.

But he stayed where he was-going back for seconds. I slowly twisted my neck back and forth, working out the kinks from staying too long in one spot, getting ready to move out. I felt a sharp sting against my face-I slapped the spot, looking all around me for the offending hornet.

Nothing. Then a snake's hiss, amplified a dozen times, penetrated my foggy brain and I knew Max was close by. It took me another half-minute to spot him, crouched motionless not ten feet from my blind. I pointed over to where the freak was parked and Max nodded-he knew.

I held up one finger to Max, telling him to wait a minute before he moved. Then I used the same finger to draw a half-circle in the air, made a motion as if I was getting to my feet, and grabbed my left forearm with my right hand. Circle around behind the freak, I was telling Max, wait for me to show myself, and then make sure the target doesn't move. I had grabbed my forearm instead of my throat for good reason-I wanted the freak to stay where he was until I could talk to him, not get planted there forever.

Max vanished. The park was still quiet-we had some time, but not much. How long does it take a woman protecting her cub to run a half-mile?

We both heard her before we saw her again, just like the last time. I knew where the redhead had left her gym bag, up ahead of where she rounded the corner. This would be the last time we saw her, but maybe the freak didn't know that. He had missed the first circuit-maybe he thought there was another lap still to come.

The redhead jogged past us exactly like before-a reluctant machine unable to overcome its programmer. I could feel the freak's eyes burning.

I waited a couple of seconds after she rounded the bend, watching carefully, but the freak didn't start his engine. I knew Max was in place. No point in trying to be quiet about this-it would take me ten minutes to slither out of the blind without giving myself away.

I grabbed both knees, rocked back until I was flat on my back, and kicked out with both feet. The blind went flying, the birds started screaming, and I heard the freak trying to start his car. His engine fired into life just as I was charging across the road to where he was hidden, but he never had a chance. His rear tires spun in a frantic dance, but his car never moved. It wouldn't go anywhere, not with the concrete wedges Max had stuffed in front of each front wheel.

The freak saw me moving toward him; his head was whipping wildly on its thin stalk of a neck looking for a way out, and then Max materialized at the side of the car. Another split-second and he