F Wilson - Deep as the Marrow

13

Poppy heard the garage door go up. She peeked out and saw the panel truck pulling in.

Finally! Jesus he’d been gone so long she thought something had happened to him. The extra time could only mean one thing: trouble. At least now she knew he hadn’t got caught. But what if he hadn’t been able to get that toe? He had to have it. She couldn’t think of any other way out of this mess.

She could like barely breathe as she waited for him to come through the door. And when he did she totally jumped on him.

“Did you get it? Please say yes. Please!”

He gave her this innocent look. “Get what? Was I supposed to get something?”

“Paulie! Don’t do this to me!”

Finally he smiled. “Of course I got it.”

She sagged against him. “Oh, thank God! I was so worried.”

“Nothing to it. Want to see?”

“No, thanks. I’ll pass.”

“Maybe you better take a look.” She backed up a step and looked at him.

“Why? Don’t tell me the dead kid was black or something.”

“Nah. White as the package. But there’s something missing, something we’ll need if we’re gonna pull this off.”

“What’s that?”

“Blood. The persuader ain’t gonna be too persuasive if we send it like it is. We need to smear some fresh blood around the edge.” Poppy swallowed. He was right. She hadn’t thought about that.

“Okay. We can use some of mine. I’ll…” He was shaking his head slowly.

“What if dear old dad gets the blood typed, just to be sure, it’s his kid’s? We can’t risk that. We need hers.”

“Uh-uh,” she said, backing up another step. “No way.”

“Poppy,” he said slowly. “I went to hell and back to save your little friend’s toe. All we need to make this work—to really get away with it—is a few drops of her blood. A pin prick, f’chrissake. Otherwise, you want to be responsible for what happens when Mac shows up with the news that the package’s father says it ain’t his kid’s toe?”

He had a point—a very scary point. She hated it, but it was the only way. A little stick was like a small price to pay to save a whole toe.

She sighed. “All right. But let me talk to her first.” She was pretty sure she could make Katie understand. They’d got pretty tight tonight. What did the guys call it? Bonding? Yeah. That was it. Katie and me bonded pretty good tonight.

1

“Marijuana’s full name is cannabis hemp and it is one very useful plant. It produces the toughest known natural fiber. The first denim and most of the world’s sailcloth used to be made from cannabis hemp. As a matter of fact, the Dutch word for cannabis is canvass.

“Did you know it takes four acres of twenty-year-old trees to make the same amount of paper as a single acre of hemp? And without using bleaches and dioxin? You can make methanol, cooking oil, vegetable protein, medications… the list goes on and on. Cannabis is a cash crop that won’t need a single subsidy. It’s silly to keep it illegal.” John turned down the volume on the TV, muffling Heather Brent’s latest interview.

Was that a beep he’d just heard? It seemed to have come from down the hall, in the direction of the study and the computer. A real beep, or just wishful thinking? Probably his imagination.

He sat up on the edge of the bed and rubbed his face.

Another sleepless night. Another series of fruitless trips to the computer in search of Snake-mail. He’d been praying all night to hear from the kidnappers. Now he was hearing things. But he had to check. He’d left the computer logged in to the HHS network. If e-mail arrived, it would beep.

The bastard, John thought as he stumbled down the hall for one more look. He’s really punishing me for that hang up. Probably thinks I’ll be so tortured by a whole day of not hearing anything that I’ll be as compliant as a used examination glove and do everything he tells me.

Well, he’s not far from wrong.

John had decided to agree—verbally—without question or reservation to everything Snake demanded. But all the while he’d be looking for a way around actually poisoning Tom. He didn’t know how yet, but something would come up, he was sure.

He stepped into the study and blinked at the screen. Was that—? He stepped closer. Yes. The mail icon was blinking in the corner. He downloaded the letter to his screen.

From the anonymous remailer—thank you. God—but only eight words:

Check your snail mail, then e-mail your response.

Snail mail? But the mailman didn’t come by until— The mailbox.

John pulled on the first pair of pants he could find and ran out to the curb. He opened the mailbox door and found one of those padded mailers stuffed inside. He reached for it, then hesitated as thoughts of bombs and booby traps raced through his brain. He dismissed them, but found himself more than a little unsettled by the realization that Snake or one of his people—the guy in the sweatsuit in the CVS, maybe—had stood on this very spot not long ago. If he’d been looking out the window, he might have seen them. Gingerly, he reached in and removed the envelope.

Light. Couldn’t be much more than paper inside. Check your snail mail; then e-mail your response. That could only mean printed instructions. Or maybe some new demand.

Taking a deep breath, he grabbed the pull here tab and yanked. He reached inside but found no paper. Only a small plastic bag. He pulled it out and stared at it. At first he thought it was empty, then he spotted something stuck in the corner. Little. No bigger than one of his fingernails.

White… and red… and the red was smeared along the inner surface of the bag.

His heart began to pound… the bag trembled in his fingers as he leaned closer for a better look. And when he realized what it was his legs seemed to dissolve and he dropped to his knees and let out an agonized howl of grief and despair so long and loud that it set the neighborhood dogs to barking.

2

Snake hurried up the front walk to the house.

He would have preferred to limit all his contact with Paulie to phones and hotel bars, but he always made a point of visiting at least once to inspect the arrangements.

What he didn’t like was someone remembering him or his car here in the unlikely event the place was ever connected to the snatch. Which was why he was wearing an Orioles cap and had his collar pulled up. The Virginia plates on the Jeep were borrowed and would be tossed in the Potomac as soon as this was over.

All those precautions, and still he felt buck naked out here. But that didn’t blunt his good mood. He’d heard from Vanduyne this morning and everything was under control.

As he approached the front door he made a quick check of the yard. The butter-colored blossoms on the scraggly forsythia along the foundation did little to offset the house’s generally disheveled appearance. Not much of a lawn, but it looked like it was waking up from winter. Yard maintenance had been part of the one-year lease, but they’d all be long gone before it needed its first mowing.

He knocked on the door. “It’s me. Everybody where they should be?” He’d phoned earlier to let them know he was coming. He wanted the package safely tucked out of sight when he arrived.

Paulie opened the door. “Yeah. Everything’s fine. C’mon in.” As the door closed behind him. Snake reached out and grabbed Paulie’s hand. “Good job with the persuader, my man. Worked like a charm.” Always a good policy to lavish a little praise on the peons when it was well deserved. A few strokes cost nothing and sometimes were better than money. Sometimes.

He spotted Poppy on the couch, reading a magazine. She didn’t look up and he didn’t bother acknowledging her. The bitch was one major pain in the ass.