Mine

'Mary.'

Not a question. A knowing.

She turned, cradling Drummer with one arm and the other hand in her shoulder bag. Her fingers rested on the Magnum's grip.

'Mary,' he said again, and he smiled with tears swamping his pale blue eyes.

It was the man who'd been feeding the gulls. He had short brown hair flecked with gray on the sides, and he wore tortoiseshell glasses. His face was bony, his chin too long, and his nose too large. Around his eyes were webbings of lines, and two deep lines bracketed his mouth. The wind caught the folds of his beige overcoat. Mary saw that he was wearing a black pin-striped suit, a white shirt, and a red tie with little white dots on it. She glanced down at his shined black wingtips, and her first impression was that the devil of all pigs had just spoken her name.

She didn't know his face. Didn't know his eyes. The pigs had sprung their trap. His hands were still in the pockets of his coat. She saw the uniformed pig walking toward them unhurriedly. The Knicks fan was lounging against the railing, staring at the gray water. It was time to play the game out, but on her terms. Mary drew the Magnum from her shoulder bag, her finger on the trigger, and she placed the barrel against Drummer's head. The baby shivered and blinked.

'No!' the stranger said. 'Jesus, no!' He blinked, too, as surprised as Drummer. 'I'm Edward,' he said. 'Edward Fordyce.'

Liar! she thought. Dirty fucking liar! He didn't look at all like Edward! The pig was coming, approaching from behind the stranger. He was about ten or eleven paces away, and Mary's finger tightened on the trigger as she saw the noose falling.

'Put it away!' the man said urgently. 'Mary, don't you know me?'

'Edward Fordyce had brown eyes.' The trigger needed a quarter-ounce more pressure and the gun would go off.

'They're blue contacts,' he said. 'The glasses are fake.'

The pig was almost upon them. In another moment he'd see the gun. Mary licked her lower lip. 'Make me believe you.'

'I got you out. Remember where we hid?' He frowned, his mind working furiously. 'We kicked at rats all night,' he said.

The rats. Oh yes, she remembered them, licking at her blood.

The pig was right behind Edward Fordyce. Edward was aware of him, too, and suddenly he turned toward the pig, keeping his body in front of Mary. 'Cold out here, isn't it, Officer?'

'It's a bitch,' the pig said. He had a square, wind-chapped face. 'Snow in the air.'

'We haven't had a lot of it yet, so we're due.'

'You can have the white crap! Me, I wanna go south for the winter!'

Mary had no time to debate it any longer. She slid the gun into her shoulder bag, but she kept her hand on the grip.

The pig took a step to the side, and he looked at Drummer. 'Your kid?' he asked Edward.

'Yeah. My son.'

'Oughta get him out of this wind. Not good for a kid's lungs.'

'We will, Officer. Thanks.'

The pig nodded at Mary and walked on, and Edward Fordyce stared at her with his falsely colored eyes. 'Where'd you see the message?'

Him. Not Lord Jack. Him. Mary felt a wave of dizziness swirl around her, and she had to lean against the railing for support. 'Rolling Stone.' she managed to say.

'I put it all over the place: Mother Jones, the Village Voice, the Times, and a couple of dozen other papers. I wasn't sure anybody would see it.'

'I saw it. I thought… somebody else had written it.'

Edward glanced around. His eyes might be the wrong color, but they were as keen as a hawk's. 'We'd better split. The boat's loading up. I'll carry the baby.' He held out his arms.

'No,' she said. 'Drummer's mine.'

He shrugged. 'Okay. I've got to tell you, taking the kid out of that hospital was crazy.' He saw her eyes blaze at the use of that word. 'I mean… it wasn't too wise.' She was a couple of inches taller than he, and maybe thirty pounds heavier. Her size, and the suggestion of brute strength in her hands and shoulders, frightened him. Her face had always had a dangerous, sullen quality about it, but now there was something savage in her face, too, like a lioness that had been squeezed into a cage and taunted by dumb keepers. 'You've been all over the news,' he said. 'You drew a lot of attention to yourself.'

'Maybe I did. That was my business.'

This was no place to get into an argument. Edward turned his overcoat's collar up and watched the cop walking away; the pig was right, there was snow in the air. 'You got a car?'

'A van.'

'Where're you staying?'

'A motel in Secaucus. What about you?'

'I live in Queens,' he told her. Now that she'd put that damned gun away, his nerves were starting to settle down, but he kept an eye on the cop. It had taken him a few minutes to recognize her after she'd stepped off the boat. She'd changed a lot, just as he knew he had, but realizing who she was had been a real shock. The FBI had to be hot on her trail, and even standing next to her made him feel like a target at a shooting gallery. 'We'll go to your place,' he decided. 'We've got a lot to catch up on.' He tried for a smile, but either he was too cold or too scared and his mouth wouldn't work.

'Wait a minute,' she said as he started to walk toward the boat. He paused. Mary took a step toward him, and he felt dwarfed. 'Edward, I don't take orders from anyone anymore.' Her guts were twisted with disappointment. Lord Jack wasn't here, and it was going to take her a while to get over it. 'I say we go to your place.'

'Don't trust me, huh?'

'Trusting can get you killed. Your place or I'm gone.'

He thought it over. There was a nettled scowl on his face, and by it Mary saw that he really was Edward Fordyce. It was the same scowl he'd worn when Jack Gardiner had jumped his case about backing into the pig car.

'Okay,' he agreed. 'My place.'

He caved in too fast, Mary thought. Something about him put her on edge; his clothes and shoes were Mindfuck State goods, the uniform of the enemy. He bore careful watching.

'You lead,' she said, and he started toward the boat with Mary a few paces behind, Drummer cradled against her and her hand still on the Magnum's grip.

In the Circle Line parking lot, when they were away from people, Mary slid the gun from her shoulder bag and put its barrel against the back of Edward's skull. 'Stop,' she commanded quietly. He did. 'Lean against that car and spread your legs.'

'Hey, come on, sister! What are you -'

'Now, Edward.'

'Shit! Mary, you're pushing me!'

'Do tell,' she said, and she shoved him hard against the car and spent a minute frisking him. No guns, no wire microphones, no tape recorders. She came up with his wallet, flipped it open, and checked his license. New York issued, under the name Edward Lambert. Address Apt. 5B, 723 Cooper Avenue, Queens. A picture of a young, smiling woman and a little boy who had his father's long chin. 'Wife and kid?'

'Yeah. Divorced, if you want to know.' He turned around, his face flamed with anger, and he snatched the wallet from her. 'I live alone. I'm an accountant for a seafood company. I drive an 'eighty-five Toyota, I collect stamps, and I wipe my ass with Charmin. Anything else?'

'Yes.' She put the Magnum's barrel against his stomach. 'Are you going to fuck me over? I know there's a price on my head.' It was twelve thousand dollars, put up by the Atlanta Constitution for her capture. 'If you're thinking about it, let me tell you that you'll get the first bullet. Dig it?'