Yeah, his living room looked like an electronics store, but hell, this was where he lived—at least for now. He loved his gadgets, especially his recently hacked USSB satellite system, but he couldn’t think of anything here he couldn’t walk away from. He had bank accounts all over the world, and he could always buy more toys. He moved once a year anyway. Presently he was renting this neat little Cape Cod on a cozy, tree-lined street in Alexandria.

He waved to his neighbors when they waved first. He was perfectly happy not knowing any of their names. Why bother? He’d be moving again when this gig was over.

No attachments. They colored your thinking. Tied you down. Women were the worst. Like leeches, always wanting to latch on. Who needed the hassle? He could download all the women he needed from the net.

He returned to the keyboard and tapped in his final patch on the switching program. Now, as far as the C&P Telephone computers were concerned, his phone line and Dr. John Vanduyne’s line were the same.

He dialed the number of Holy Family Elementary School in Bethesda. He’d been given loads of intelligence on the place. A lot of politicos and well-connected people sent their kids there, and the principal, Sister Louise Joseph, had a rep as a pretty sharp cookie. Who knew? She might have a caller-ID rig on her phone. Snake wasn’t taking any chances.

He told whoever answered the phone that he was Dr. John Vanduyne and he needed to speak to the principal on an urgent matter about his daughter. Half a minute later a cool, clear voice came on the line.

“Yes, Dr. Vanduyne. This is Sister Louise. How may I help you?” Snake closed his eyes and tried to be someone else.

“Good morning. Sister. It’s about my daughter, Katie.”

“Is something wrong?”

“Well, yes. Her mother was in a serious car accident in Atlanta.”

“Oh, dear, I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you. I just got a call from the trauma unit and she’s in critical condition. I’m going to have to pull Katie out for a few days and take her down there. I don’t know how much school she’ll miss…”

“Easter vacation begins next week, so you don’t have to worry too much about school.”

Easter? Was Easter soon? Snake hadn’t even thought about that. But he couldn’t let the sister know.

“I know. And that’s good, I guess,” he said. “This may be the last time Katie will see…” He let his voice trail off into silence.

“I’m so terribly sorry,” Sister Louise said. “If there’s any way we can be of assistance.”

“Thank you. I have to run over to my office now; then I’m heading home immediately to pack our things. I’ve sent a driver to pick up Katie and bring her home.”

“A car? What service will you be using?” A thrill of alarm shot through him. He hadn’t planned on telling her in advance. She might decide to look it up.

“Oh, I haven’t called one yet. I have a few I use now and then. Whichever one can get a car over there the soonest, I suppose.”

Silence on the other end of the line. Obviously she didn’t like the idea of not knowing precisely who to expect.

Snake looked at the phony ID he’d made up. Reliance Limo existed but he had no idea what their company IDS looked like. Neither would Sister Louise… he hoped. He’d give her the name if he had to, but he’d hold back as long as he could. This was kind of fun.

Finally she said, “Well… just make sure the driver has proper identification. We make a point of being very careful about any break from routine with our little charges.”

“Which is one of the reasons I enrolled Katie at Holy Family. But please don’t say anything about the accident. Just tell her it’s a surprise trip back to Georgia.”

“Which is very much the truth.”

“Unfortunately, yes. I’ll explain everything to her when she gets home.”

“Very well. Have your driver present himself at my office when he arrives and I’ll have Katie brought here. I’ll explain to her that you called before he arrives.”

“Thank you very much, sister.” He terminated the call and leaned back, his heart racing, his nerve ends twitching. He felt so great, he laughed aloud.

“God, I love my work!”

10

Paulie parked the panel truck on the bottom level of the under ground parking garage like he’d been told, and looked around. Not too many cars down here, and no people.

He turned on the radio again. The old van had only AM. He spun the dial, hoping in vain for some music. Any music. Yeah, like he had a chance. Only old farts, news junkies, and born-agains listened to AM.

He stopped at a random number somewhere between 800 and 900 and heard a replay of part of the President’s drug talk from last night.

He grinned. Some shocker, that one. Legalize drugs. Who’da thunk? The commentators all saying it wasn’t such a big surprise to anyone paying attention—the Pres and his boys supposedly sending up signal flares over the past six months—but Paulie had never been much into politics.

Legal drugs? Weird to think of dropping by the liquor store and pick up a six of Rolling Rock longnecks, and, oh, yeah, while I’m at it, how about a couple of B-40s and a pack of Wowie Maui filter kings? Or buying a box of Little Debbie hash brownies from Abdul at the local 7-Eleven.

Didn’t seem right. The whole street ritual was half the fun… finding your source, negotiating the price, passing the green, slipping the buy into your pocket, and drifting away, feeling cool ‘cause you scored clean once again. Getting it legal seemed so damn… ordinary. Like being a citizen.

Irritably he wrenched the radio power knob to off. What was the goddamn world coming to, anyway?

Had to calm down. He felt like an overwound spring, ready to go ‘sproing!’ and bounce all over the inside of the truck. He wanted to get this over with.

Easy enough to baby-sit a package: Snake drops him off, you spend a few days to a week cooped up in a rented house keeping him blindfolded and tied to a bed; a couple times a day you feed him and take him to the bathroom. And when the money’s paid, you let him go and leave the house behind. Simple.

But this… actually doing the snatch. This was a whole other deal. He had a sudden vision of half a dozen Metro squad cars, lights flashing, sirens screaming as they screeched to a halt all around him, doors flying open and a swarm of steely-eyed SWAT dudes, all armed to the teeth, pointing their Glocks and shotguns in his face.

Paulie shuddered. He didn’t like guns. He didn’t even own a .22. I’m a lover, not a fighter, as he liked to say.

And he wanted to reach thirty. What was that old expression? Do it by the time you’re thirty. Well, he was just about thirty and he’d just about done it all.

Grew up mostly alone—his mother working two jobs to keep food on the table while his lard-assed dad shacked up rent free with some bimbo on the other side of town and didn’t contribute a goddamned penny because he was “disabled.” Yeah, right. An ambulance chaser and a coked-up quack had got him declared totally and permanently disabled after a car accident. But not disabled enough to keep him from lifting weights in his girlfriend’s garage. The only thing total and permanent about his father was that he was an asshole.

But before Paulie left home for good, he’d made an honest man of his dad. Waited for him in the parking lot outside his favorite bar. Got him with a Louisville Slugger as he was unlocking his car. Never knew what hit him. Took his wallet to make it look like a mugging and left him with a ton of broken bones.

Now you’re totally and permanently disabled, you son of a bitch.

He got something out of his system with that. Pretty much the first and last totally violent thing he’d done in his life.

But he’d done just about everything else. Steal, cheat, swindle, lie, threaten, do second-story work; he’d be a mule, a numbers runner, a courier, or a wheelman. You need something done, you call Paulie Dicastro. He’ll take care of it.