Safe House

football, same thing. Otherwise you can sweat under there, the itch can be awesome. That’s what the cortisone patch is for. It keeps the area fresh and clean for the whole thirty days.”

He took the monitoring anklet—the one I’d let him take with him the last time—from a coat pocket. Without saying another word, he pulled up a cuff on his dark slacks, took off his shoe and sock and wet the ankle thoroughly. His hand was perfectly steady as he shaved.

No reason for him to be nervous. He’d had plenty of time to have an expert look at the cuff, tell him that there was no thread of Semtex wound through it. And that the wafer-thin battery would be damn lucky to last the thirty days.

When he was finished shaving, he toweled off the area. I handed him one of the cortisone packets. He tore it open. “Make sure it’s flat,” I told him. “Once this cuff gets clamped on, any bumps are going to stay there until it comes off.”

The white cortisone pad was thin and moist. He smoothed it down with the fingers of both webbed hands. “Okay,” he said.

I locked it on.

Fifteen minutes later, Lothar was done. The baby was getting antsy—he knew his mother was close and he wanted that comfort back—and Lothar finally figured out the kid’s only response to anything said to him was to gurgle a few times.

Besides, Lothar had shown the cunt who was boss. He wanted to see his kid—he saw his kid. He handed the baby back to Max. The warrior’s face didn’t change, but I could feel his contempt all the way across the room.

It was as lost on Lothar as Max’s ki had been.

“Tomorrow you get the letter in your box,” Pryce told him. “There’ll be a number there. Pay phone. You call. Meet with Hercules. And then you bring him in.”

“I know, I know.”

“Go downstairs with Alexander,” I told them, nodding toward one of the Cambodians. “He’ll stay with you until your car gets brought back around.”

“Alexander?” Lothar said. “What kinda name is that for a gook?”

“It’s a secret society,” I said to him quietly. “They always take the name of the last man they kill. This is his fifth one.”

Lothar looked at me, started to open his mouth. Shut it. He glanced over at the Cambodian, who showed him a brilliant smile. Half his teeth were the color of lead. The rest were missing.

They went downstairs. I watched as the white Taurus came up the street, watched the first Cambodian get out. They climbed in and took off. I didn’t insult Pryce’s tradecraft by writing down the license number.

The phone buzzed in a minute.

“Moving off,” said the Prof.

“He said black hair was okay,” the baby’s mother was telling Crystal Beth as I came back to the second floor. “He hated it at first. He wanted it to be blond. Aryan. But later he said that Hitler had black hair.”

“He’s gone now,” Crystal Beth said to her.

“He scared me,” the woman replied. “Even here. With all these . . . people around. You don’t know him.”

“I know him,” I told her. “You won’t see him again.”

“Are you sure?” she asked, tension wire-taut in her voice.

“We’re sure,” Crystal Beth promised her.

“What’s the kid’s real name?” I asked her.

“Huh?”

“His real name. Lothar called him Gerhardt. Is that what you named him?”

“Oh! Yes, that’s what Larry named—oh, I see. You mean, I could name him . . .”

“Whatever you want,” I told her. “Starting right now.”

“How long do I have to—?”

“This is for you too, right?” I told Vyra. “You can’t just go back to your life the way you usually do. Part of this deal was to get you off the hook, remember?”

“Fine, I remember. But how long—?”

“Two weeks, three maybe. What’s the big deal? This joint is beautiful,” I told her, glancing around the hotel suite. “You can handle the time easy enough.”

“But I can’t stay inside for that long. My husband would—”

“You don’t have to stay,” I said, thinking how long I’d stayed—lived—inside places smaller than this joint’s bathroom. “You got a private line there. When you go out, forward the calls to your cellular. When Herk calls, you’re here, understand? Make sure you talk that way on the phone. Then call me. And get your ass in gear so you can be back before he shows up.”

“But what’s the difference whether I’m here or not? It’s just so you can meet with him. . . .”

“Yeah. That’s right. But we don’t know who’s watching.”

“I thought you had Pryce—”

“It’s not Pryce we’re worried about now, Vyra.”

“Oh, all right.” She sighed dramatically, snapping open one of the four suitcases she’d brought with her.

She found a pair of magenta pumps and slipped them on. That seemed to make her feel better. Then she sat on the padded arm of a chair in the living room and watched as I made a full circuit of the place, checking.

“You think I’m a hypocrite, don’t you?” she asked. But the tone of her voice made it clear she was accusing me of something.

“Huh?”

“What word didn’t you understand?” she demanded, getting to her feet. “Okay, I’m stuck in this. Because of that . . . man. Pryce. And his nasty little threats. But that business with . . . Lothar, or whatever name you call him. You know I drive a Mercedes. . . .”

“So?”

“So I’m a Jew. You know that. I never made a secret of it. That’s me, right? A Jewish American Princess. With big tits. And a rich husband. That about sums me up, doesn’t it?”

“You tell me.”

“And I drive a German car,” she went on like I hadn’t spoken. “What does that make me?”

“It makes you a person with money,” I told her. “What the hell are you talking about? Nazis didn’t build your stupid car. The Germans today, they’re just . . . people. Like us. Americans, I mean. Hell, we probably got more Nazis here now than they do.”

“But their ancestors—”

“Don’t mean a fucking thing,” I cut her off. “Nobody’s ancestors mean anything. People are what they do, not what someone else did.”

“But you think I’m . . . weak, don’t you?”

“Vyra, what is this?”

“It’s still about money. My husband would dump me if he found out about me and . . . Crystal. He told me that once. He thinks when women . . . it’s the most disgusting thing in the world. That’s the only threat to me— money. It’s different for the rest of them.”

“That’s the way it is,” I said. “You wouldn’t be in this if you hadn’t put money into Crystal Beth’s operation. And you did that because you . . . well, for whatever reasons you had.”

“Good reasons.”