His voice was like his face, flat and accurate and unhuman. There was a stillness in him that only his eyes denied.
“And I got something to do with this.”
He nodded again. Once up, once down. “I want them found.”
“The bombers?” Nod.
“You know who they are?”
“No. The London police say it’s probably a group called Liberty.”
“Why would they blow you up?”
“Because we were where they threw the bomb. They did not know us, or care about us. They had other things to think about and they blew my entire family into garbage. I want them found.”
“And that’s all you know?”
“I know what they look like. I was awake through it all, and I lay there and looked at each of them and memorized their faces. I’d know every one of them the minute I saw them. That’s all I could do. I was paralyzed and I couldn’t move and I looked at them as they stood in the rubble and looked at what they’d done, and I memorized everything about them.”
He took a manila folder out from under the blanket and gave it to me. “A Scotland Yard detective and an artist came with one of those drawing packs while I was in the hospital and we made these pictures and I gave them the descriptions. ”
In the folder were nine Identikit sketches of young people, eight men and a woman, and ten pages of typewritten descriptions.
“I had copies made,” he said. “The pictures are pretty good. All of them.”
“Do I keep these too?” I said.
“Yes.”
“You want me to find these people?”
“Yes. I’ll give you twenty-five hundred dollars a head, twenty-five thousand for the lot. And expenses.”
“Dead or alive?”
“Either one.”
“I don’t do assassinations.”
“I’m not asking you to do assassinations. But if you have to kill one or all of them, you still get paid. Either way. I just want them caught.”
“And what?”
“And whatever you do with murderers. Brought to justice, punished. Jailed. Executed. That’s not your problem. I want them found.”
“Where do I start looking?”
“I don’t know. I know what I’ve told you. I suppose you should start in London. That’s where they killed us.” I don’t think the pronoun was a mistake. He was mostly dead too.
“Okay. I’ll need some money.”
From his shirt pocket he took a card, and held it out to me. I took it and read it. It said, “Jason Carroll, Attorney at Law.” Classy. No address, just the name and title.
“He’s at One Hundred Federal Street,” Dixon said. “Go there and tell him how much you need.”
“If I’m going to London I’ll need a lot.”
“Doesn’t matter. You say. When can you go?”
“Fortunately I’m between cases,” I said. “I can leave tomorrow. ”
He said, “I had you checked out. You’re between cases a lot. Twenty thousand dollars is the biggest money you’ve ever seen. You’ve been minor league all your life.”
“Why waste all that bread on a minor leaguer then?”
“Because you’re the best I could get. You’re tough, you won’t cheat me, you’ll stick. I heard that from my people. I also heard that sometimes you think you’re Captain Midnight. Mostly that’s why you stayed in the minors, I heard. For me that’s good. A hungry Captain Midnight is just what I need.”
“Sometimes I think I’m Hop Harrigan,” I said.
“No matter. If I could do this myself I would. But I can’t. So I’ve got to hire you.”
“And sometimes you think you’re Daddy Warbucks. Just so it’s all straight between us. I’ll find these people for you. I’m not only the best you can get. I’m the best there is. But the things I won’t do for money are one hell of a lot more numerous than the things I will do.”
“Good. A little ego doesn’t hurt. I don’t care what you do or what your philosophy of life is or whether you’re good or bad or if you wet the bed at night. All I care about is these nine people. I want them. Twenty-five hundred a head. Dead or alive. The ones you get alive I want to see. The ones you get dead, I want proof.”
“Okay,” I said. He didn’t offer to shake hands. I didn’t offer to salute. He was staring out at the hills again. The cat jumped back up in his lap. “And you want me to keep the picture of your family?” I said.
He didn’t look at me. “Yes. Look at it every morning when you get up and remember that the people you’re
