Dolly ran over from her seat and hugged MaryLou like her own mother never had.
I walked over to Swift. Held out my hand. “You just helped this whole town raise the stakes,” I said.
Then I walked away quick, before he could ask me what I meant. Good thing, too—he was getting mobbed by everyone.
Whatever Bradley L. Swift, Esq., had been before this started, he’d never be that again.
Or this town, either.
“I don’t know how to thank you,” I told Dr. Joel late that night. We’d just returned from reclaiming his car. I saw that Martin had managed to put well over a thousand miles on it since we swapped him for his Mini Cooper. If T.D. noticed, he either didn’t care or kept it to himself.
“No thanks necessary, hoss. It’s been fun.”
“Sure. What I wanted to tell you was—”
“—that if I ever needed something … done—something more in line with your own skill set—you’d take care of it.”
“Was I that obvious?”
“Just to me, hoss. Just to me. If you’ve guessed that I heard that same kind of promise a hundred times in my career, you’d be right. But if you guessed that yours is the only one I ever believed, you’d be a hell of a lot smarter than you want folks to know.”
“You know how to reach me,” I said. I left him standing out there by the garage, alone in the darkness.
I wasn’t surprised when Dolly told me that T.D. had decided to make a little detour and drop Debbie off on his way back home. I wasn’t even surprised at her sly little grin.
I found Franklin the next morning. He and Spyros were removing dead trees from some waterfront lot.
“I hate doing this,” Spyros said. He was a short man, with a big chest, long arms, and a sun-darkened complexion.
“I thought you loved it.”
“Saving trees, sure. But the numbskulls who bought this land don’t realize it’s all going to be out in the ocean the next heavy rainy season we get. And you can’t buy mudslide insurance on this part of the coast.”
He seemed more upset about the trees dying than about the rich people going broke. It didn’t surprise me.
“Does Franklin know about the verdict?” I asked him.
“Sure does.”
“It was on the news, huh?”
“MaryLou called him herself. He’s going to see her tonight, because she’s leaving tomorrow,” he said quietly. “But that’s tonight, after work!” he shouted over to Franklin.
“Quelle est la meilleure façon de dépouiller un rat?” I asked, over the encrypted line.
“Le brûler. La peau brûle avant les os.”
The code hadn’t changed. Not the best way to skin a cat: the best way to skin a rat. Nor the answer: If you want to take all the skin off a rat, the best way is to set it on fire. Then only the charred skeleton would remain.
I thought that through for a split second. Then I told the man I’d never meet the name of the man I was looking for. And added everything else I knew about him.
Ryan Teller could never find a man with such expertise. No professional would even talk to slime like him, not without a better story than any he could concoct. And the right introduction, from the right people.
But the man who made seeing-without-being-seen his life’s work could find any new set of documents Ryan Teller had bought “chez un amateur” as easily as striking a match.
It was late the next spring when “John Norman Wilson” walked down an alley between two bars in Denver, whistling softly to himself, full of blooming optimism.
Both bars were too old for students, too déclassé for yuppies, not hard-core enough for bikers … so he was certain they’d become a good hunting ground. All he had to do was make the necessary investment of time.
Besides, they were both close to where the former Ryan Teller now lived. He wouldn’t even need a car to reach his new operating table.
He was as free as any man could be. A man who had shed his past as a snake would shed its skin. What lay underneath would be unchanged inside, but it would look brand-new. Fresh and glistening. Ryan Teller was looking forward to his new life.
But he died the way most people live … without ever knowing why.
About the Author
Andrew Vachss is a lawyer who represents children and youths exclusively. His many books include the Burke series and three collections of short stories. His novels have been translated into twenty languages, and his work has appeared in Parade, Antaeus, Esquire, Playboy, and The New York Times, among other publications.
The dedicated website for Vachss and his work is www.vachss.com.
Other eBooks Available from this Author:
Aftershock • 978-0-307-90775-2
Another Life • 978-0-307-37782-1
Blackjack • 978-0-307-74472-2
Blossom • 978-0-375-71905-9
Blue Belle • 978-0-375-71903-5
A Bomb Built in Hell • 978-0-307-95086-4
Born Bad • 978-0-375-71909-7
Choice of Evil • 978-0-375-71913-4
Dead and Gone • 978-0-375-41361-2
Down Here • 978-1-4000-4299-9
Down in the Zero • 978-0-375-71908-0
Everybody Pays • 978-0-375-71914-1
False Allegations • 978-0-375-71911-0
Flood • 978-0-375-71429-0
Footsteps of the Hawk • 978-0-375-71910-3
The Getaway Man • 978-1-4000-7511-9
Haiku: A Novel • 978-0-307-37865-1
Hard Candy • 978-0-375-71904-2
Mask Market • 978-0-375-42441-0
Mortal Lock • 9780307950840
Only Child • 978-1-4000-4013-1
Pain Management • 978-0-375-41422-0
Sacrifice • 978-0-375-71906-6
Safe House • 978-0-375-71912-7
Shella • 978-0-375-71907-3
Strega • 978-0-375-71902-8
Terminal • 978-0-375-42528-8
That’s How I Roll • 978-0-307-90713-4
Two Trains Running • 978-0-375-42377-2
Urban Renewal • 978-0-804-16882-3
The Weight • 978-0-307-37975-7
Three Burke Novels, 3-Book Bundle: Flood, Strega, Blue Belle • 978-0-345-80572-0
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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
Another Life
OTHER NOVELS
Shella
The Getaway Man
Two Trains Running
Haiku
The Weight
That’s How I Roll
Blackjack
A Bomb Built in Hell
SHORT STORY COLLECTIONS
Born Bad
Everybody Pays
Mortal Lock
Aftershock Page 34