Strega

I followed the staircase toward the voice. Halfway down, the darkness faded. Indirect lighting bathed the basement floor, coming from some concealed panels. A fat man was sitting in one of those huge beanbag chairs, one hand on each side for balance, staring into a dark corner like it held all life's secrets. The Mole was hunkered down against one wall at the side of the chair, his satchel open in front of him. His big head swiveled to cover the room, a stocking mask stretched over his thick glasses. He looked like a malignant frog.

The man's eyes rolled over to me as I came down the stairs. He watched me approach, relief coming into his face.

'Hey, are you in charge? These guys'

'Don't talk,' I told him.

It didn't have any effect. 'What difference does it make, man? This whole place is soundproofed, okay? I mean…take a look around.'

I did. The walls were lined with dark-brown cork, the ceiling covered with acoustic tile. Even the rug on the floor felt like it was covering a thick rubber mat.

'So nobody can hear the kids scream?' I asked him.

'Hey! What is this?' he yelled at me, trying for a hard edge to his voice.

I cocked the pistol. He winced at the sound. I stuck the gun into his fat face, depressing the skin under his right eye. 'I. Don't. Have. Time,' I told him, pushing at his face with every word.

'Whaaat?' he moaned. 'Just tell me…'

'I want the pictures. I want the film. I want the lists. I want the money.'

The fat man wasn't going to bargain like his wife. 'It's upstairs. All upstairs. I swear…down here there's just some money…in the workbench…just walk-around cash…It's all in the bank… Tomorrow morning, when the banks open, I'

'Shut up!' I told him, backing away. The workbench drawer had three short stacks of bills. I tossed the money to the Mole. It went into his satchel. The basement looked like a kid's playroom-stuffed animals, dolls, a hobbyhorse, electric trains in one corner. I checked behind the only door, but there was nothing except the oil burner and a hot-water heater. A back door opened into the extension to the house. I walked through it quickly. No windows to the outside, and the floor was concrete like the driveway. All designed so they could pull the van inside and discharge its cargo. And take pictures of kids.

It was time to disappear.

'Your wife is upstairs,' I told him. 'She's okay-just sleeping. I'm going to give you a shot too. When you wake up, the police will be here. You say whatever you want to say-make the best deal for yourself you can. You mention me or my people, I'll find you again, wherever you are. Understand?'

He nodded, still trying to talk. 'Lookyou don't need the shotI mean, I got a bad heart, you know? I'm on medication. Tomorrow I can get you all the money you want'

The Mole took a hypo out of his satchel, pushed the plunger, watched the thin spray, nodded to me. A shadow moved from a corner of the basement, flowed behind the fat man. He was jerked to his feet, one arm braced in front of him, veins clearly visible.

'We'll do it upstairs,' I told the Mole, gesturing to Max to bring the fat man along.

I took the curving staircase first, listening. Nothing. Then came the Mole, with Max last. We stopped at the landing; the fat man stood against one wall, breathing much too fast.

'We need the fire now,' I said to the Mole. 'Something that started in the boiler.'

He nodded, returned the hypo to his satchel, and went back downstairs.

The fat man was still having trouble with his breathing, sucking in gulps of air and trying to talk at the same time. I pulled off one glove to scratch at the mask, letting him see the tattoo.

'You guys! I know your bossI mean, we have a contract, right? We got no problem…'

I put the glove back on as if I hadn't noticed what set him off. 'Shut up,' I said, talking the way a machine talks.

The fat man never tried to make a move-combat wasn't his game. But it seemed like he had to find out mine-he couldn't keep quiet.

'What would it take?' he asked.

'I'm just doing a job,' I told him, in the same mechanical voice.

'Look, you don't get it, okay? It's not like anyone got hurt, all right? Kids…they get over it. It's just a business.

I could feel the heat coming off Max, but I was empty inside. All maggots have a story to tell, and I'd heard most of them by then.

The Mole walked up the staircase, satchel in one hand. A day at the office. He held up a palm, fingers spread wide. Five minutes to ignition.

I took Scotty's picture from my pocket, held it up to the fat man's face. I was really showing Max that we'd rescued the kid, but the fat man decided I wanted an explanation.

'Hey! I remember him. Is that what this is all about? Hey, look, man that is one sexy little kid, you better believe…I mean, he loved lapping it up…It's not like I started him off or anything…'

I saw red dots in front of my eyes where his face should have been. I gripped the pistol handle so hard my hand throbbed, hearing the sound of the shot in my mind, willing myself not to pull the trigger.

'Don't!' the fat man screamed, clasping his hands in front of his chest like he was praying. I heard a sharp hiss from the darkness where Max was standing, and then a sound like a meat ax driving into bone. The fat man's neck snapped to the left-and stayed there. Max released him and the body slumped to the ground.

The Mole dropped to his knees, doing his job even though we all knew it was over. 'Gone,' he said.

'The jailhouse or the graveyard,' I'd told the Prof. Now it really didn't matter if the old lady upstairs was dead. I gestured Max to pick up the fat man's body and we all went back downstairs. I could feel the clock ticking in my head-the boiler was going to go. 'He tried to escape the flames-ran up the stairs. Slipped and fell. Broke his neck,' I said to myself. We hauled the fat man halfway up the stairs, to the place where they started to curve. Leaned him across the railing and pushed him over, face first. The silent basement swallowed the sound of his fall.

'Go!' I said to the Mole, pointing to the back of the house. Max's shadow followed him back into the basement.

I pushed the button on the radio transmitter, telling the Prof I'd be hitting the front gate any minute. I still had a little piece of time left to finish what I had to do-even when the boiler went off it wouldn't reach the first floor for a while. I ran back upstairs to the big office room, grabbing handfuls of the filth, throwing it all around the hallway, dusting every room with pictures and film. I pushed a few of the cassettes back in the safe and slammed it closed, thankful for the gloves I was wearing-no time to wipe everything down.

I checked the bedroom. The woman was still lying on the bed, like she hadn't moved. Maybe she never would.

I charged down the stairs, the gun in front of me, my ears sucking in every sound, waiting for the sirens. I heard a crackling sound from someplace in the basement.

I opened the front door a narrow slit, poked my head out. The street was quiet. I made sure the door wasn't going to lock behind me, patted my pockets to check I had everything, and charged for the fence. I dropped down on the other side-the driver's door was hanging open. I dove inside and the Prof leaped out of the way-he had the car in gear, holding the brake pedal down with his hand.

I looked over my shoulder-the basement windows were full of flame. I heard an