Thomas Perry - Dance for the Dead

"By fighting."

"No," said Mary. "I mean fight like that."

"This isn't exactly about fighting. It's about not fighting. Your opponent is fighting, but you're watching. He attacks, but you've already begun to yield the space. He strikes, but you're not really there. You only passed through there on your way to somewhere else. You bring his force around in a circle, add yours to it, and let him hurt himself."

"The mystic wisdom of the mysterious East."

"It's practical. I'm a very strong woman, but no matter what I do, I'm going to be smaller than any man who's likely to try to hurt me. If I fight him for the space between us, I'll get hammered. He's using one arm and maybe his back foot to throw the punch. I'm bringing my whole body into one motion to add force to his punch and alter its direction just a little. For that fraction of a second I have him outnumbered."

Mary put on her coat, walked toward the door, opened it, turned, and said. "You should have let your ass get flabby. It might have made you more human." She went out and closed the door. That night she came home late and tiptoed past Jane on the couch.

Two hours later Jane opened her eyes and acknowledged that she had heard Mary come out of her room again. It was three a.m. and she was sitting in the big easy chair staring at Jane.

Mary said, "You're trying to wear me down. You're staying in the corner of my room and not saying anything to convince me, just putting yourself in front of my eyes wherever I look so I'll have to think about it."

Jane said, "You've spent time with people who take what they want."

"I was one of them."

"Then you can predict what Barraclough is thinking as well as I can. You don't need any arguments from me."

Mary sat back in the big chair with her hands resting on the arms. "Why haven't you mentioned the little boy?"

"Why should I?"

"I've lived by convincing people to do stupid things they didn't want to do, so I know how it's done. The little boy is an overlooked resource. Here I am, unmarried and alone, and anybody who is alive can feel her biological clock ticking away. I've reached the age where women start getting too many cats. The little boy is alone and probably scared. Barraclough has already robbed him, and now he'll kill him."

"Will he?"

"You know he will, and that's why you're here. If the kid's dead, the cops will run around bumping into each other for a couple of months and then forget him. If he's alive, there's always the chance that Barraclough will wind up sitting in a courtroom across the aisle from an innocent ten-year-old."

"Not much chance."

"But as long as the kid is alive, there's also the chance that he'll live another ten or fifteen years and find out who killed his four best friends and left him broke. Barraclough will be thinking he doesn't want to wake up some night and find a young man who looks vaguely familiar holding a gun against his head." Mary waited a few seconds. "So why didn't you mention him again?"

Jane sat up and stared at her. "People are killed every day. Why would I imagine you would pick him out of all the thousands and say, 'You're the one I've chosen. I've trained myself since I was a baby to ignore the screams of the dying because if I let even a little of the sound in I couldn't hear or think of anything else. But for you I'll risk my own life.'"

"You're right, I wouldn't." She leaned forward. "But not saying it is the argument, isn't it? I'm supposed to think of doing it, and if I think of it, I have to admit a second later that I'm not the kind of person who does that, and wonder why not."

"I apologize for telling you about him."

"But he's the reason why you're doing this, isn't he?"

"There's not much more I can do for him. I was in a fight, and all of the people on my side except Timmy are dead. That's all."

"I don't suppose the money has anything to do with it."

"For me? Not this time."

"You're above that kind of consideration."

"Hardly," said Jane. "I have enormous expenses. But money is not a pressing problem. Once you have what you need, it's hard to get yourself to lean over a cliff to reach for more. And I can't even spend what I have. A fancier house or a lot of expensive jewelry raises my profile and maybe gets me killed."

"Then why does this kid's money matter to you?"

"Or your money either? It's important only because it's what Barraciough wants. He uses it to grow stronger. I don't want him to succeed. I don't want to feed him."

"Why do you care?"

"I'm the rabbit, he's the dog. I run, he chases. He's good at it, and he's getting better. He's using Intercontinental to recruit young guys with nothing much to do and criminal records that make it unlikely that anybody else will ever pay them to do anything. He's picking out the ones with a certified history of violence and training them to hunt."

"We're finally getting down to a reason that means something. You're afraid he might get to be a problem, aren't you? Not just to people like me, but to you."

"He already is. If I let him get stronger, eventually he'll kill me."

Mary slumped back in her chair and breathed a deep, windy sigh. "At last. Thank you."

"You haven't changed your mind, have you?"

"No, but now maybe I can sleep. You're no better than I am."

When Mary came out into the living room again it was nearly noon. She looked at Jane and her face seemed to deflate. "You 're still here."

"Even if you won't help me get Barraclough, it's still to my advantage to make sure he doesn't get you."

"How long do I have to live like this?"

"After we get you working, it will be easier," said Jane. "We'll study the other women here - shop where they shop and buy what they buy. Everything you do has to keep your head down where there are lots of other heads."

Mary looked as though she were considering it. "How long do I have to do this?"

Jane shrugged. "The longer you do it, the safer you'll be. Most women live quiet, private lives, and most women are basically happy. It helps to make new friends and be part of a community. If you look at the way your friends live, you'll feel better, and that will keep you from getting lazy."

"Lazy?"

"The average person sets an alarm to get up early, goes to work, has a little leisure time, sets the alarm, and goes to bed. The weeks get long, and people don't get paid what they deserve. There will come a day when you can't get your mind off some fantasy - a week in the Bahamas, or maybe only a dress you saw in a magazine. It doesn't matter what it is. Live within your means. I mean your visible means."

Mary's face turned hard and her eyes glittered. "I'm not sure I understand."

"Don't touch the money that's in Zurich or Singapore."

"I told you: there is no money." She stared at Jane for a long time, waiting for the contradiction.

Jane sat motionless and returned her stare evenly. Finally Mary angrily jumped to her feet, threw on her coat, and walked out the door. When Jane heard the dull thump of the door at the bottom of the stairs, she stood up, put on her coat, and prepared to go out too. She had a lot of work to do.

20

The Detroit-Wayne County airport was only twenty-six miles east of Mary Perkins's apartment on Route 94. The flight was not even three hundred miles, so when Jane Whitefield emerged from the gate at O'Hare, the clock on the wall said 3:10. The taxi took her to the State Street mall and she walked two blocks along East Madison Street. On another day she might have had the taxi driver leave her farther away, but last night's snow had reached Chicago by morning, and today the wind was picking it up and moving it along between the big buildings in horizontal sheets. Most pedestrians were just scurrying across the open to get from one building to another, and she saw none who might have followed her.