Maybe they just wanted to be first.
Not my problem. Let the al-Qaeda honchos argue over why whoever blew up a Saudi sheikh and his whole entourage had written “traitor” across the photo of the carnage.
In Hebrew.
“There were only four of them there when we hit the place,” Pryce told me three days later. “Two survived. We extracted the baby, then waited for the others to show up.
“That was a major cell, in place for years, well before the current administration took office. All kinds of expertise there; probably the very best they had.”
“You’re a patriot and a half,” I said, knowing Pryce was just talking to thicken the fog. Taking out a few terrorists meant as much to him as the citizen jaywalker who died in the same blast that had blown up the Prince. Cost of doing business.
“The Princess turned down our offer,” he went on, as if I hadn’t spoken. “We could have hidden her and her son so deep nobody could have found them. But she said she wanted to go home.”
“You never know about some people,” I said. “Those soldiers of Allah, when you searched their hideout, you happen to find any booze around?”
Clarence was gone for a while. Trying out his new passport on a trip to Trinidad and Tobago. He had something important to say to Taralyn’s mother.
We stayed low, but that was just out of habit. The “investigation” was a series of jurisdictional battles. Best way to prove it wasn’t your fault was to be given the job of finding out whose fault it was.
It turned out like one of those nuclear-warfare child custody cases. You know, where the parents are bull elephants in mating season and the kid’s the grass that gets trampled under them as they duke it out.
What did finally come to light was instantly spun so many times by so many different “reporters” in so many different ways that you’d get vertigo just from listening.
But why bother listening? Every Internet-twit knows there’s only one place to find ultimate truth: they were waiting for the movie to come out.
Michelle told Clarence that only a red diamond would be acceptable. White was so totally yesterday. And nowhere near rare enough, either.
“But, my sister, this one would cost—”
The Prof sadly shook his head at Clarence’s pitiful attempt to assert himself.
“Get used to it, boy,” was all the backup he offered.
White wasn’t totally yesterday to Taralyn, not when it came to her wedding dress.
And the marriage was going to be in a church.
Michelle was only placated by the promise that she could go along to shop for the gown. And that she wouldn’t have to wear a bridesmaid’s dress.
When the Prof walked Taralyn down the aisle on a fresh spring day, there were a lot of people in the church whose faces I didn’t recognize. Taralyn’s mother, some of her family members . . . and a man with webbed fingers.
The reverend wasn’t in the Prof’s class, but that didn’t matter; nobody was there to listen to him.
Terry stood tall, bracketed by the Mole and Michelle. Flower glowed between Immaculata and Max. Mama had passed up Vera Wang for Susie Wong—her Mandarin-collar jade dress shimmered from neck to ankles. And her eyes muted the whole outfit.
Rosie watched from Gateman’s lap. Me and Gate wore matching suits. Only Clarence had been allowed to choose his own outfit, Michelle throwing him one last bone.
When the bronze limo pulled away with the new bride and groom inside, I knew none of us would be seeing Clarence for a while. And when we did, there wouldn’t be a semi-auto under his jacket.
“It’s all done, son,” the Prof said, just before sunrise. But I knew he was only talking about one piece of it.
I don’t know what’s next. I can’t hear the whistle yet, but I can feel the vibrations through the tracks.
A freight train’s coming, and I’m going to hop it blind. I don’t know what it’s carrying, but I know it’ll take me to where I need to go.
Another life.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Andrew Vachss has been a federal investigator in sexually transmitted diseases, a social-services caseworker, a labor organizer, and has directed a maximum-security prison for “aggressive-violent” youth. Now a lawyer in private practice, he represents children and youths exclusively. He is the author of numerous novels, including the Burke series, two collections of short stories, and a wide variety of other material including song lyrics, graphic novels, essays, and a “children’s book for adults.” His books have been translated into twenty languages, and his work has appeared in Parade, Antaeus, Esquire, Playboy, the New York Times, and many other forums. A native New Yorker, he now divides his time between the city of his birth and the Pacific Northwest.
The dedicated Web site for Vachss and his work is www.vachss.com.
ALSO BY ANDREW VACHSS
THE BURKE SERIES
Flood
Strega
Blue Belle
Hard Candy
Blossom
Sacrifice
Down in the Zero
Footsteps of the Hawk
False Allegations
Safe House
Choice of Evil
Dead and Gone
Pain Management
Only Child
Down Here
Mask Market
Terminal
OTHER NOVELS
Shella
The Getaway Man
Two Trains Running
SHORT-STORY COLLECTIONS
Born Bad
Everybody Pays
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2008 by Andrew Vachss
All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Pantheon Books, a division of Random House, Inc., New York, and in Canada by Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto.
Pantheon Books and colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Vachss, Andrew H.
Another life: a Burke novel / Andrew Vachss.
p. cm.
1. Burke (Fictitious character)—Fiction. 2. Private investigators—New York (State)—New York—Fiction. 3. Saudi Arabians—United States—Fiction. 4. Child molesters—Fiction. 5. Children—Crimes against—Fiction. 6. Kidnapping—Fiction. 7. Terrorists—Fiction. 8. New York (N.Y.)—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3572.A33A755 2008
813'.54—dc22 2008000213
www.pantheonbooks.com
eISBN: 978-0-307-37782-1
v3.0_r2
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