F Wilson - Deep as the Marrow

“Nah. Not unless you switch to poker.”

“Hey, we might,” she said. “We just might do that. We’ll let you know.”

He grinned and shook his head. Standing up to Mac yesterday had broken the ice between them. They were back to being a team again, and that felt good.

He watched them for a little while longer. Poppy was a different person when she was with that kid. Softer, bouncier, happier than she ever was with him. So what am I? he thought. Jealous? Maybe. He wasn’t exactly crazy about the idea of sharing Poppy with anyone, even for a week. But how could he be jealous of a little kid?

Besides, it was one of those girl things, the way two gals who just met somehow start sharing all these secrets about things one guy would never tell another even if he knew him for a million years.

But this looked like more than that. This seemed to go pretty deep. Well, whatever it was, it would be over in a week or so when the kid went back to her folks.

And suddenly Paulie had a bad feeling about what that scene might be like.

He waved his arm in the doorway and gave a low whistle.

When Poppy looked up, he said, “Can I see you a minute?”

Poppy nodded behind her mask, then turned to the kid. “I’ll be right back. You stay here… and don’t move any of those pieces.”

The kid giggled. “I won’t.”

Poppy stepped into the kitchen and dropped into the seat across the table from him. She pulled off her mask and wiped her face. Her cheeks were flushed with heat.

“Hot in there, ain’t it,” Paulie said.

She nodded and smiled. “It’s worth it. What’d you want to see me about?”

Paulie hesitated, not exactly sure how to say this. “It’s about you and the kid.”

“She’s got a name, you know. You can call her Katie.”

“I don’t want to call her Katie. I don’t want to know anything about her.”

“Why not? She’s a sweet kid.”

“I’m sure she is, Poppy. And you’re getting too close to her.”

“What do you mean, too close?”

Uh-oh. He could see her back getting up.

“I mean—”

“Look, Paulie, she’s a scared little girl. This has gotta be like the worst thing that’s ever happened to her. I’m trying to make it as pleasant as possible for her while she’s here. What’s wrong with that?”

“You’re getting attached.”

“So?”

“Too attached. Like you’re her mother or something.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t think she has a mother.”

“That may be, but you can’t start thinking you can be her mother. You’re gonna have to say good-bye next week, or the week after at the latest.”

She leaned back and her gaze shifted down toward the table top. “I know.”

“And if you keep on like this, you’re gonna be hurting. Bad.”

“I’ll be okay.”

Paulie didn’t believe that for a minute. He had visions of Poppy crying and hanging onto the kid and not wanting to let her go, not wanting to leave her alone at the drop-off point. The snatch itself was far and away the diciest part of these gigs, but returning the package wasn’t far behind. The last thing you needed was someone going all mushy and emotional at a critical moment. And on top of all that, he didn’t want to see Poppy all torn up when this was over.

“I ain’t so sure about that.” He reached across and touched her hand. “I’m seeing someone with a broken heart when it comes time to wave bye-bye.”

She looked up and smiled.

“I’ll be all right. I just don’t want to see her scared, that’s all.” She stood and came around the table. She sat on his lap and kissed him on the mouth. “That’s for worrying about me.” Then she adjusted her Minnie Mouse mask and returned to the living room.

Paulie watched her sit down with the kid and get back to their game. He had a sudden nightmare vision of Poppy doing something crazy after this was over, like finding out where the kid lives and driving by to get a look at her—“just to see how she’s doing… make sure she’s all right…” Paulie shuddered at the thought. That was death-wish behavior.

And on the subject of death wishes, what if Mac walked in now? What if he popped through the door and saw his “package” unwrapped and playing a board game in the living room? He’d hit the ceiling.

And if he ever found out the kid still had ten toes? Forget about it.

Paulie had stood his ground yesterday, but he wondered how he’d do if Mac went berserk. Which was just what he’d do if he knew the chances they’d took to get some other kid’s toe to use as the persuader.

If he ever does find out, Paulie thought uneasily, let’s just hope it’s long after this gig is over and done with.

5

Snake glanced around the lobby of the Sheraton.

No one around with a line of sight to his laptop. He reread Vanduyne’s latest e-mail.

It’s done. Two capsules of chloramphenicol (250mg each) administered at 10 this morning. I’ve done my part. When do I get Katie back?

Administered, ay? How professional sounding.

And: When do I get Katie back? Never, dude.

But he couldn’t tell Vanduyne that. Mac checked around again, still nobody near, so he pulled up his prewritten reply and made a few changes, but all in all, he’d been pretty much on the mark as to what he’d have to say.

We’ve been over this before, but I guess you weren’t listening. So here it is again. How soon you get your kid back depends on how sick your buddy gets. The sicker, the better. If he’s back on his feet in a couple of days, you’ll have to do something else. In no case will your kid be released in less than two weeks.

Let me lay this out for you so there’s no misunderstanding: We want this guy out of office. If we can’t get that, we want him sick for a long time. If that doesn’t work out, at the very least we want him to miss the drug summit.

Simply put, if your pal makes it to the drug summit, you’ll never see the rest of your kid again.

Snake smiled. He especially liked the part that went, the rest of your kid. That was driving the nail home.

He uploaded it through the Eric Garter account to the remailer, then logged off. He unplugged and dialed up Salinas.

“Hello.” Gold’s voice.

Snake didn’t feel like speaking to Salinas, so why not let Gold play messenger boy.

“Tell your boss the deed is done as of ten this morning. Now we wait.” He hung up and smiled.

That felt good. He wanted to keep reminding Salinas that he wasn’t in complete control. Snake was not a hireling at his beck and call. Snake was an independent contractor.

He felt the slim rectangle of the audio cassette in his jacket pocket that he’d made a point of keeping on him at all times. That little baby was what was going to help him remain independent—and on the right side of the grass.

He walked out to the front of the hotel and watched the midday traffic on Connecticut Avenue. Light for a sunny Saturday. All the good suburbanites were probably home tending their gardens and fertilizing their lawns.

So what do I do with the rest of the day? he wondered.

Maybe take a cruise over to Falls Church, ostensibly to check on the package, but mainly to lean on Paulie a little. Because Paulie was a hireling… and he’d begun acting like an independent contractor. Snake was still pissed about yesterday. The goddamn nerve—telling him there’d be no more persuaders from this package. Who the hell did he think he was?

Well… Snake had his pistol locked away in the Jeep. This might be a good time to wave it under Paulie’s nose. No shooting, no overt threats, just let them see it stuck in his belt, let them know it was there, loaded and ready.

Time to reestablish the pecking order.