impressive mind tells him “two men in front of bank” and all the other ones he's shot, from the Horas on going back to the kid in the shallow grave down by the river. Even though he is linked to these deaths in other ways he knows the unpredictability of the law and as a precaution he brakes and fires the rest of the .22 rounds in the magazine, and holding the gun in his open door ejects the spent brass into deep weeds beside the road, and the first small creek he drives over Daniel tosses the Colt over the railing. Just a feeling he has.
How does he know to take just that one car in his guard hat and shield in front of the bank's night depository? How does he know a meat market will have $15,000 in cash on hand? How does he know to hit this dirty construction-company van with money for a payroll deposit in a long, beat-up leather pouch? He's “lucky.” He goes with his vibes. Whatever.
Daniel has a plan, an involved plan involving a computer hacker he's read about. He can kidnap the boy. Terrorize him. Make him do a certain thing. Bunkowski can walk away with $50,000
But he still has a day or two before the family returns home to find a very deadly houseguest filling up their clothes hamper and garbage pail with befouled diapers, a newborn boy nestled in a hammocklike bassinet made of voluminous sheets of camouflaged tarp and mosquito netting.
He will go “home.” Drink a little Wild Turkey. Work on his next move. Play with the little monkey boy. Count his score.
Daniel will squint those hard black pig eyes and take a close look at the next penetration problem. It will be a simple exercise in rudimentary character analysis. The ring of steel that surrounds this cop Eichord—is it organic? Is it made from a single block of impenetrable metals, vulnerable only to a burning bar or a recoilless rifle? Or is it a ring with a welded join, a point of weakness, and if so, where is that point on the ring?
A man or woman who is all policeman or policewoman inside, they have a common trait. It can be perceived as a strength or a flaw, depending on your viewpoint, and what it is, is the peculiar vein that each of them has at their center. That rich core of pure copper in there. Jack Eichord is one of those curiosities. And copper is not an impenetrable metal.
So Daniel Bunkowski takes equal parts of copper, and ego, and that thing he knows so well—the desire for retribution—and a dash of anger, and a pinch of confidence, and a tablespoon of Duty, and a few shakes of impatience with bureaucratic rules, and he stirs all of this in his mind and he sees bow utterly simple it will be to reach out for this arrogant irritation. How pleasurable it will be to finally pluck the thorn once and for all.
And now he knows precisely when and where he will take him down, and a barking cough of amusement escapes his throat at the sheer appropriateness of it.
“I'm gonna get awfully lonesome for you guys.” You guys included the little kitten. Tuffy lay peacefully at Donna's high-heeled feet, asleep inside a white fiberglass carrying cage.
“We're gonna miss you,” she said, with her softest voice, and whispered, “Wish we could stay here with you.'
“Me too, see.” The cat stirred. “How's our little pal there?'
“He's okay.” She looked down and in her cat voice purred, “I'm not gonna be real purrrrty for a while, but when I get my stitches taken out I'll look just as good as new.'
“Yeah. Absolutely.'
“They said there's no idea how long—'
“No'—he knew what she was going to say—'it's totally unpredictable. Can't take any chances though,” he said with a smile he didn't feel.
“I know.'
“We can't call either. Won't talk to you until this is all over with, so it might be a few days.'
“They told me. I'll be fine, honey. Don't worry about anything. Just, you know, take care. Okay?'
“Yeah. Sure.” They sat there in silence for a bit. There were marshals at both of the locked doors. Only the Eichords, Peg Lee, and the Tuny family were in the lounge. A company Lear was taxied and parked nearby, filling its tanks for the journey. There were more marshals in unmarked vans parked right by the gate, flanking the black stretch limo that would take them to their protected destination.
“Com'ere,” he said, and she snuggled over as close to him as she could get and be kissed her so hard it pulled her out of her chair.
“My stars,” remembering old expressions he whispered to her, “can you remember when they used to say, my stars?'
“Sure,” she said, snuggling.
“Land's sakes.'
“Land sakes alive.'
“Land a’ goshen.” They laughed.
“Lawd have mercy.'
“Lawdy, Miss Claudy.'
“Tooty fruity all-rooty?'
“That doesn't count.'
“I see. YOURS are okay but mine don't count. I think I have the rules clearly in mind now.'
“No song titles. My stars. My lands. That's the kind of thing. Old expressions.'
“Well, in all my born days.'
“Okay, that's more like it. Gosh all hemlock.'
“Croop.'
“Excuse me?'
“Croop. Whooping cough. Dropsy. Scarlatina. Mustard plasters.'
“I'll accept those, but they're borderline.'
“Borderline or not, it's your turn.'
“Hully gully, guess how many.'
“Bless my soul.'
“Hubba-hubba.'
“Mrs. Eichord?” a federal marshal said. She stood up. They had agreed beforehand not to say good-bye. They kissed again. And Donna walked away with the kitten in the carrying case. At the door he could overhear Peggy saying something to a marshal about what to tell the family when they arrived from China. The police were going to try to head them off before they changed planes for Buckhead.
Peggy looked over at Jack as she went out the door, Bev and Dana behind her. There was the rigmarole with the boarding tube, the portable thing that was connected to the limo, and then they were all safely behind the bulletproof privacy glass and the shiny car was moving to the small jet.
He watched through the window as they boarded. He could see Donna, voluptuous even at that distance, carrying Tuffy aboard, followed by Peggy, and Bev, and then Chunk's distinctive waddle as he climbed the steps and a marshal pulled the door of the plane closed. They were in the air and gone within a couple of minutes. And the guard vans returned to Buckhead.
Donna, Tuffy, Peg, Bev, Dana, were all in the back of one of the vans, and some very competent matrons and an overweight federal marshal on their way to a paid vacation somewhere. Nobody was taking any chances with this.
The real problem was that Jack Eichord didn't believe it. Not really. Not deep down inside. He knew he'd killed Daniel Bunkowski under the streets of Chicago. He knew that Jimmie Lee was not dead. He knew that their home had not been blown up by a satchel charge. He knew that he would wake up in the morning and the awful
