“Nothing. Nothing. We don’t know a goddamned thing we didn’t know before—”
“Flood, shut up. We know all we need to know now.”
“You’re a fool, Burke. And I’m a bigger fool for listening to you. He told us nothing, don’t you understand?”
“We know the name of a group interested in Goldor, right? Maybe Goldor knows where to find our man.”
“And maybe he doesn’t. And maybe he won’t tell us. And what do you know about Puerto Rican terrorist groups anyway? It’s nothing.”
Flood looked like she couldn’t decide whether to cry or kill. For as long as I knew this woman I kept overestimating her or underestimating her—maybe I’d never know her long enough to get it right.
I took the piece of paper Toby had slipped me out of my coat pocket, smoothed it out carefully, and turned it around so it was facing her. It took a second for Flood’s eyes to focus on the black-and-white standard mug shot, one full-face view and one in profile. It showed a man just over six feet tall, with a face that was broad at the top and narrowed down to a pointed chin. He had dark hair, dark, bulging eyes, a narrow nose with a too-large tip. The head was slightly jug-eared, and there were old acne scars on both cheeks. His hair was on the long side, but cut close in front so his entire forehead was visible. On the back of the Xeroxed mug shot there was a typed notation: “4-inch scar outside left thigh. Tattoos: right bicep/ Death Before Dishonor with Eagle, left outside forearm/ initials A.B. in a blue circle—wears contact lenses.”
Flood stared at the mug shot like she was going to climb inside the paper. I broke her concentration when I turned the paper over. She read it slowly and carefully, moving her lips, memorizing.
“Him?”
“It’s him, Flood.”
And her face became a sunburst and her eyes sparkled and I’ll never see a more radiant smile—it turned the whole room warm. Flood held the mug shot and chuckled to herself, smiling that smile. She threw off the robe, turned around, and bent over, looking back over her shoulder at me.
“You want to try that trick of yours again?”
“Do I look stupid?”
“It won’t be the same. Promise.”
“How come?” I was suspicious.
“Ancient Japanese technique.”
So I gave her a half-hearted smack and she was right. It was like patting soft, bouncy female flesh—the best there is.
“See?”
“You know any other Japanese techniques?”
Flood looked back over her shoulder with that same wonderful smile and said, “Oh yes.” It turned out she was right.
29
WHEN I WOKE up it was early morning, still dark outside. I reached for Flood but she wasn’t next to me on the mat. Some things I guess you never learn. I got up and made enough noise moving around so I wouldn’t surprise her. Not a sound from Flood’s room.
I found her back in a corner sitting in the lotus position, staring at a tiny table completely covered with a white silk cloth that reached to the floor. On the tabletop was a small picture in a plain black frame of a young woman holding a little girl on her lap. The woman was smiling into the camera and the little girl looked very serious, like kids do sometimes. Next to the picture was the mug shot of Wilson. Flood had something propped up behind it, so the two pictures faced each other.
Hearing me behind her, Flood turned and said, “Soon, okay?” I went back to the mat. In a minute or two she came out and sat down next to me.
“It was wrong of me to go through the ceremony alone—I just didn’t want to wait any longer. You have the right to watch if you want.” She held out her hand and pulled me to my feet.
I followed her back inside to the corner where she’d set everything up. She motioned to me to sit down a few feet away from her and flowed into the lotus position again. Soon she began to say something in Japanese. It wasn’t repetitious and didn’t sound like a prayer, but when she finished she bowed to the tiny table. Then she got to her feet, took off the robe she’d been wearing, and put on a long red robe with dragons on both sleeves. From a dark-red lacquered box she took a piece of red silk and what looked like a six-inch metal spike with a dark wood handle. The spike went between the two pictures and the red silk was placed over the picture of Sadie and Flower. Then Flood said something in Japanese again, pulled the red silk from the photograph, and carefully wrapped it around the spike. Taking the covered spike in one hand and her friend’s picture in the other, she held them both in front of her face for a minute, knelt and placed them in the lacquered box.
Only the mug shot remained on the little table. She stood facing it and smiled—if Wilson could have seen that smile he would have found a painless way to kill himself. Flood bowed deeply toward the table, spun around, and flowed out of the room. I followed her to the mat and sat down. She brought me an ashtray and I lit a smoke. She waited until I stubbed it out before speaking.
“Do you understand?”
“A sacred weapon that you just blessed?”
“That is how he will die.”
“Flood, listen to me, okay? I’m already in this too deep. I see he has to die but that’s really no punishment. Prison is worse, believe me—I know. If you have to kill somebody, then that’s what you have to do. You start worrying about how you’re going to do it, start putting restrictions on yourself, then you get caught. What’s the difference if you blow up his apartment building or drop him with a rifle at a hundred yards or poison his coffee? He’ll still be just as dead.”
“Did you ever kill anyone?”
“I never killed anyone who wasn’t trying to hurt me like you want to do to him.”
“He already hurt me.”
“He doesn’t know that.”
“So he’s innocent?”
“No, he’s a maggot, Flood. He can’t be rehabilitated or reformed or even contained, okay? But you’re taking a job and making it personal. That’s bad enough—but with all this religious stuff you’re going to lead the law right to you when it’s over.”
“And to you, right?”
“Right.”
“You think I’d ever talk, ever tell anyone about you?”
“Never in a thousand years. If I ever met a person in my life who’d stand up, it’s you.”
“So?”
“So listen to me, you crazy bimbo. I’m not saying I’m not going to help you. I’m just not going for all this religious nonsense so we can get ourselves caught. I’ll help you find him, even help you cancel his fucking ticket, okay? But if we have to drop him some other way, that’s the way we’re going to do it, understand?”
“Go find yourself an alibi, Burke. Get out of here and find yourself a good alibi for the next couple of months,” she said, turning away from me.
I got to my feet. “Give me the picture, Flood,” I said in a calm voice, knowing what was coming. “Not a chance,” she said. I started toward the corner where she’d set up the table. Flood spun into a fighting stance, the robe swirling around her. “Don’t,” she said, no emotion in her voice. I sat down again, lit another cigarette.
“Flood, come here and sit down. I’m going to leave, okay? I’m not going to try and take the picture from you. But you owe me something so you’re going to come over here and listen to me talk. When I’m finished I’ll disappear. But first you listen.”
Flood approached warily. The little mace canister in my pocket might have taken her out of action long enough for me to get the mug shot—or it might not. Anyway, she knew where I could be found and she’d never quit. “You can’t find him, Flood. You know what he looks like so you think you’ve found him. But he’s still just another maggot in a big slime pit. You couldn’t find him in a hundred years. You understand combat, that’s all—you don’t know anything else. I can find him. If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t have that picture. Right?”
“I know what you’re saying.”
“And I know what you’re thinking—now that you’ve got
the mug shot you can track him down with some jerkoff private eye. All they’ll do is take your money. Or your body, if you want to trade that.”
“I can find him.”
“Flood, let’s say I wanted to get to someone who was living in your temple in Japan. Could I do it?”
“You’d never find the place, never get through the mountains. You’d never get in the door if you did.”
“It’s not my place, right?”
“I’m an American.”
“This isn’t America out there, you dummy. This is a running sore loaded with dangerous maggots. And you don’t have a passport, don’t speak the language, don’t know the customs. You’re a permanent foreigner in the world Wilson lives in. You couldn’t find a cop, much less a freak like Wilson. And you probably couldn’t tell the difference if you did.”
“I found you.”
“And you came to me because whoever sent you to me told you I was the man to find a missing maggot. And if we hadn’t worked something out, you’d be dog food by now.”
“I’m not afraid.”
“I surely fucking know you’re not afraid. So what? I’m afraid all the time, but I can find him and you can’t. It’s that simple. You blunder around trying to find him and he’ll spook and run.”
“He has to stay on this planet.”
“You know what I think? I think maybe you don’t want to really find this freak after all—I think you’re full of crap. You like the chase, right? Your bullshit honor and all that. You talk tough but you make so much noise I think you want the freak to run. You’re a phony, Flood. This isn’t for Sadie and Flower, it’s just for your bullshit Japanese ego games. You don’t give a flying fuck for your friend at all, you—”
Flood backhanded me across the mouth so fast I only saw the flash of her robe. I tried to roll with it, turned a somersault, landed on my knees with my hands crossed in front of my face. Flood was just a blur—I felt her foot crack against the side of my head and I slammed into the wall and bounced off, clawing for my gun. But Flood wasn’t on the attack anymore—she just stood there looking at me.
“You don’t understand,” she said, not even breathing hard.
I didn’t say anything.
“Burke . . .”
I didn’t say anything.
“I’m sorry. Sadie is my friend. Maybe I should have stayed in the temple. He won’t fight, will he? Will he, Burke?”
“Flood, he’ll run if he can, or he’ll kill you if he can. But fight?” I shrugged.
She came over to me then, sitting down and reaching for my face. I put up my hand to block her but she slapped it away like it was made of feathers. Taking my face in her hand, she turned it back and forth. It felt like pulp to me.
“You’re going to need some stitches.”
“Lucky for you I’m a gentleman, Flood, or I’d kick your ass all over this room.”
“Oh, I know,” she said, without a trace of a smile or sarcasm.
“I know where I can get this fixed up. Then I have to see some people, get some things, and we’ll go and see this Goldor.”
“Can I keep the picture where it is?”
“How tight is this place? Would other people come into your room when you weren’t around?”
“The people here are from my temple. It’s not permitted to look at another person’s altar.”
“But might they do it?”
“No. There’s no chance. Honor counts for everything. All the people here have been together in the temple for many years. I’m the youngest one here.”
“I’m sorry I said that about you.”
“No, you’re not. I understand—you have to stay here after I’m gone. It’s all right. I know you love me.”
“Flood! I never said I loved you. You don’t—”
“Shut up, Burke—you’re not so smart. Not so tough, either. But you didn’t show bad form when you did that first tumble. Did you ever study?”
“My brother is a master. He’s been trying to teach me for years but he says I’ll never be any good. I think that’s true. My mind’s not right for it—every time I hit the ground I’m looking around for some blunt object to use instead of my hands.”
“Your brother is really a master?”
“Yes.”
“You understand what that means, Burke? He’s as good as me?”
“He’s better, Flood. I mean it. No contest.”
“I’m sure he’s stronger—but faster?”
“Believe me—I don’t demean you, but there’s no one better.”
“Then he’s not American.”
“No.”
“Japanese? What style does he fight? Does he—”
“He’s from Tibet.”
“Tibet. I heard stories . . . more like legends. From our temple. A man who studied with our old master many years ago but he wouldn’t accept our ways. But it’s probably not . . . I mean, your brother. Did he . . . ?”
“He’s called Max the Silent. I don’t know his deep past.”
“I only know the name in Japanese. It means Silent Dragon. It doesn’t make sense—he couldn’t be your brother . . .”
“We have the same father.”
“I don’t understand.”
“The same father you had, Flood.”
“The fucking State was my father. I told you.”
“I know.”
Flood said nothing. Just sat there absently patting my face like it was a mound of clay and she was trying to decide on the shape of the sculpture before she really went to work. Finally I nudged her with my shoulder. “Flood?”
She snapped out of it. “What? Oh, Burke . . . Okay . . . I can put it together now. And it’s all right. It makes sense. I just didn’t see it.” She shook her head as though to clear her vision. “I’ll go with you. I’ll do as you say. And I’ll find this devil and I’ll put the stake into his heart like I’m supposed to. You’ll see—it will be the way it should be.” She looked at me, focusing on my face for the first time. “And you can have the picture too, all right?”
I just nodded. The side of my face was beginning to swell—I could feel it growing—and I’d need to do some talking soon. I told Flood to go get dressed and she dutifully went off. I sat there smoking until she was ready to leave. It was still dark as we slipped out her front door and into the waiting Plymouth.
30
AS WE DROVE back toward the office I felt Flood staring at the right side of my face where she’d done her work.
“You’ve had some real training, haven’t you?”
“Why would you say that?”
“It has to be hurting you, but you’re breathing properly.”
“That’s not training—it just hurts to breathe through my damn mouth.”
Flood slid across the seat until she was right up against me and gently squeezed my thigh. “Maybe you’re just a tough guy, Burke.”
I’m not a tough guy. If I could figure out a way to run from pain I’d do it at Olympic speed. I can’t do that so I let it just move through me like I was taught. But I couldn’t do it and drive the damn car at the same time. Actually, I couldn’t do it that well at all.
I put the Plymouth away and walked around to the front with Flood holding onto my arm. When we walked in the entranceway I leaned against the mailboxes like I was dizzy. She immediately threw her arm around my waist and pulled me against her, supporting me up the stairs. When I touched the mailbox the red-and-white lights the Mole had strung all around the office would start to flash in sequence. It was the signal for Pansy to stop whatever she was doing. Her aggressive juices would start flowing when she saw the flashes, she would pad over to her designated spot to the left of the door so she’d be just out of sight when it opened. There’s also a light switch that sets off a monster strobe light the Mole had mounted in what looked like a stereo speaker, blinding whoever walked in the door. If the strobe fired so would Pansy. She’d also fire if I walked in the door with my hands up, strobe or not.
But I’d only hit the downstairs switch to keep her working and alert. Any dog will lose whatever conditioning you’ve put into her if you don’t reinforce and reward constantly.
When we got to the top of the stairs I told Flood to take my hand. She did it without questioning—I think she finally understood that my office wasn’t the place to act stupid. I opened the door, pushed the light switch down instead of up and walked in holding Flood’s hand. Pansy was standing to the left—chest out, fangs bared, and trembling with eagerness. She was supposed to wait in silence but a low rumbling growl escaped. Still, she didn’t move and she let Flood and me walk in hand-in-hand. I told Flood to sit on the couch, turned around and told Pansy “Good girl.”
She came loping over to me and I patted her hard enough to make a normal dog lapse into unconsciousness. Her giant tongue slobbered out and covered my face. Ignoring Flood, I told Pansy to stay and went next door to get her a slab of steak—small compensation for not being able to chew on a human being, but she would have to make do for now. I opened the back door and let her onto the roof and told Flood to stay just where she was until Pansy came back downstairs—you can only train a dog so much.
When Pansy came down I gave her the hand signal for friends and she ambled over to her spot on the Astroturf and lapsed into the semicoma that’s her normal waking state. I got out my medical kit and told Flood to give me a hand.
With everything laid out on the desk I turned on the overhead light so Flood could see what she was doing and leaned way back in my chair. Flood looked at the equipment. “You’ll have to tell me what to do.”
“First, spray some of this Xylocaine completely over the area.”
“What does it do?”
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