“Is in our fair city,” Don Tetragna said, gesturing again toward the window and smiling at the populous slopes below.

Vince supposed that the don was smiling fondly at his beloved San Francisco. But the smile didn’t look fond. It looked avaricious.

“And,” Don Tetragna said, “you would like for me to give you the names of the people who have my authorization to deal in papers such as this man needed.”

“If you can see it in your heart to grant me this favor, I would be most grateful.”

“They won’t have kept records.”

“Yes, sir, but they might remember something.”

“They’re in the business of not remembering.”

“But the human mind never forgets, Don Tetragna. No matter how hard it tries, it never really forgets.”

“How true. And you swear that the man you seek is not a member of any Family?”

“I swear it.”

“This execution must not in any way be traced to my Family.”

“I swear it.”

Don Tetragna closed his eyes again, but not for as long as he had closed them before. When he opened them, he smiled broadly but, as always, it was a humorless smile. He was the least jolly fat man Vince had ever seen. “When your father married a Swedish girl rather than one of his own people, his family despaired and expected the worst. But your mother was a good wife, unquestioning and obedient. And they produced you-a most handsome son. But you’re more than handsome. You’re a good soldier, Vincent. You have done fine, clean work for the Families in New York and New Jersey, for those in Chicago, and also for us on this coast. Not very long ago, you did me the great service of crushing the cockroach Pantangela.”

“For which you paid me most generously, Don Tetragna,”

The Screwdriver waved one hand dismissively. “We’re all paid for our labors. But we’re not talking money here. Your years of loyalty and good service are worth more than money. Therefore, you are owed at least this One favor.”

“Thank you, Don Tetragna.”

“You’ll be given the names of those who provide such papers in this City, and I’ll see that they are all forewarned of your visit. They’ll cooperate fully.”

“If you say they will,” Vince said, rising and bowing with only his head and shoulders, “I know that it is true.”

The don motioned him to Sit down. “But before you attend to this private affair, I’d like you to take another contract. There’s a man in Oakland who is giving me much grief. He thinks I can’t touch him because he’s politically well connected and well guarded. His name is Ramon Velazquez. This will be a difficult job, Vincent.”

Vince carefully concealed his frustration and displeasure. He did not want to take on a troublesome hit right now. He wanted to concentrate on tracking down Travis Cornell and the dog. But he knew Tetragna’s contract was more a demand than an offer. To get the names of the people who sold false papers, he must first waste Velazquez.

He said, “I would be honored to squash any insect that has stung you. And there’ll be no charge this time.”

“Oh, I’d insist on paying you, Vincent.”

As ingratiatingly as he knew how, Vince smiled and said, “Please, Don Tetragna, let me do this favor. It would give me great pleasure.”

Tetragna appeared to consider the request, though this was what he expected-a free hit in return for helping Vince. He put both hands on his enormous belly and patted himself. “I am such a lucky man. Wherever I turn, people want to do me favors, kindnesses.”

“Not lucky, Don Tetragna,” Vince said, sick of their mannered conversation. “You reap what you sow, and if you reap kindness it is because of the seeds of greater kindness you’ve sown so broadly.”

Beaming, Tetragna accepted his offer to waste Velazquez for nothing. The nostrils of his porcine nose flared as if he had smelled something good to eat, and he said, “But now tell me… to satisfy my curiosity, what will you do to this other man when you catch him, this man with whom you have a personal vendetta?”

Blow his brains out and snatch his dog, Vince thought.

But he knew the kind of crap The Screwdriver wanted to hear, the same hard-assed stuff most of these guys wanted to hear from him, their favorite hired killer so he said, “Don Tetragna, I intend to cut off his balls, cut off his ears, cut out his tongue-and only then put an ice pick through his heart and stop his clock.”

The fat man’s eyes glittered with approval. His nostrils flared.

3

By Thanksgiving, The Outsider had not found the bleached-wood house in Big Sur.

Every night, Travis and Nora locked the shutters over the inside of the windows. They dead-bolted the doors. Retiring to the second floor, they slept with shotguns beside their bed and revolvers on their nightstands.

Sometimes, in the dead hours after midnight, they were awakened by strange noises in the yard or on the porch roof. Einstein padded from window to window, sniffing urgently, but always he indicated that they had nothing to fear. On further investigation, Travis usually found a prowling raccoon or other forest creature.

Travis enjoyed Thanksgiving more than he had thought he would, given the circumstances. He and Nora cooked an elaborate traditional meal for just the three of them: roast turkey with chestnut dressing, a clam casserole, glazed carrots, baked corn, pepper slaw, crescent rolls, and pumpkin pie.

Einstein sampled everything because he had developed a much more sophisticated palate than an ordinary dog. He was still a dog, however, and though the only thing he strongly disliked was the sour pepper slaw, he preferred turkey above all else. That afternoon he spent a lot of time gnawing contentedly on the drumsticks.

Over the weeks, Travis had noticed that, like most dogs, Einstein would go out into the yard occasionally and eat a little grass, though sometimes it seemed to gag him. He did it again on Thanksgiving Day, and when Travis asked him if he liked the taste of grass, Einstein said no. “Then why do you try to eat it sometimes?”

NEED IT.

“Why?”

I DON’T KNOW.

“If you don’t know what you need it for, then how do you know you need it at all? Instinct?”

YES.

“Just instinct?”

DON’T KNOCK IT.

That evening, the three of them sat in piles of pillows on the living-room floor in front of the big stone fireplace, listening to music. Einstein’s golden coat was glossy and thick in the firelight. As Travis sat with one arm around Nora, petting the dog with his free hand, he thought eating grass must be a good idea because Einstein looked healthy and robust. Einstein sneezed a few times and coughed now and then, but those seemed natural reactions to the Thanksgiving overindulgence and to the warm, dry air in front of the fireplace. Travis was not for a moment concerned about the dog’s health.

4

On the afternoon of Friday, November 26, the balmy day after Thanksgiving, Garrison Dilworth was aboard his beloved forty-two-foot Hinckley Sou’wester, Amazing Grace, in his boat slip in the Santa Barbara harbor. He was polishing brightwork and, diligently bent to his task, almost didn’t see the two men in business suits as they approached along the dock. He looked up as they were about to announce themselves, and he knew who they were- not their names, but who they must work for-even before they showed him their credentials.

One was named Johnson.

The other was Soames.

Pretending puzzlement and interest, he invited them aboard.

Stepping off the dock, down onto the deck, the one named Johnson said, “We’d like to ask you a few questions, Mr. Dilworth.”

“What about?” Garrison inquired, wiping his hands on a white rag.

Johnson was a black man of ordinary size, even a little gaunt, haggard-looking, yet imposing.