I asked his name, holding my wallet open so he could see the police shield. He looked at it closely, eyes narrowing.

"You don't mind waiting outside, Sergeants So I can just call the precinct, make sure you're who you say you are?"

"No sir," I said, watching his expression change as he felt the pistol in his back.

I stepped inside, pushing him back gently with the palm of my hand. I tilted my hat back on my head, quickly pulling the brim down again as I saw his eyes flash to the dragon tattoo across my forehead. I gestured for him to turn around. Buddha showed him the .307 magnum, close enough so he could see the rounds in the cylinder. Buddha's face was covered with a dark stocking mask.

"Let's go into your study," I told the man.

We walked him down the carpeted hallway in a sandwich, took him over to his glass–topped desk, told him to sit down, make himself comfortable.

"You from Falconer?" he asked me.

I put my fingers to my lips, made a ssshing gesture.

"Look, you want money? I got…"

Buddha ground the tip of the pistol barrel deep into the man's ear. The man let out a yelp, then he was quiet.

I opened my satchel, taking the stuff out one piece at a time, letting him see what was going to happen. A pair of hand–cuffs, a hypodermic, a small bottle full of clear fluid with a Rat rubber top, surgical bandages, a Velcro tourniquet, some pressure tape, a mini–blowtorch. And a stainless steel butcher knife.

"Wh…what is this?"

"Just a job, pal," I told him. "Just earning my living. Don't worry, it won't hurt a bit…once I give you a shot of this stuff."

He watched as I stuck the hypo into the rubber–topped bottle, filled the syringe, pushed the plunger to check it was flowing smoothly. His face was a jelly of terror.

"Please…"

"Look, pal, you think I get any kick out of this' I'm not a sadist. Hey, I don't mind telling you the score. Woman comes to see me, says you did her real bad. Paid good money to take a piece out of you, even the score. Only thing, she's not a professional…wants me to bring her the proof."

"Proof?" The word slid out of his throat.

"Sure, pal. Proof. Couple a broken legs wouldn't satisfy this lady. She wants your hand. Your right hand."

"Oh god…"

"Look, pal, it don't make no difference to me. She paid full price for a body, you understand? She's paying the same for your hand she'd pay for your head. You just relax, do it the easy way. My man Fong's gonna cuff your hand fiat to the table, I'm gonna wrap this tourniquet around your arm, find a vein, shoot you up with this happy juice. You go W sleep. You wake up, you got one less hand. All nice and bandaged, better than they'd do it in a hospital." I hit the switch on the blowtorch. The hissing butane was the loudest sound in the room. I cracked a wooden match into life, fired the torch.

"What's that?" He was trembling so hard, it sounded like his mouth was full of pebbles.

"To cauterize the wound, pal. So you don't bleed to death."

"Ca…cauterize?"

"Hey, pal, what do you think I should use…a soldering iron?"

4

By the time he came to, we had him all strapped down and ready to go. Buddha had the tourniquet around his biceps, I was tapping his veins to make them stand out.

"Could I talk to you?" His voice was a practiced weasel–whine, begging, promising.

"Talk quick, pal," I told him.

"Look, you're professionals. Like you said, right? I mean…you got paid to do this, I could pay you more not to, okay' I mean, pay you right now. Whatever you want."

"You got thirty large in the house, pal?" I asked, sarcasm lacing my voice.

"I got it…I mean, it's not mine, exactly. That's why I thought you were from Falcone. But…I'll give it to you, make it right with him tomorrow. I mean, I got equity in the house, my cars…I can cover it, easy."

"Thirty larger? In cash?"

"Yes!"

"Here? Now?"

"Yeah, yeah. For real. I swear. Just let me…"

"Man, I don't know. We already took the broad's money."

"Come on. Please! You're a man. I didn't do anything to the bitch she didn't deserve. I mean…cutting off a man's hand, for god's sake…Take the money! My money's as good as hers."

I sat back in my chair, thinking it over. Watched the hope in his eyes. Looked over his shoulder at Buddha.

"Where's the money?" I asked him.

He went through a full–body shudder before he whispered "Safe."

He gave me the combination. I dialed it quickly. Half a dozen kilo–sized bags of white powder, shrink–wrapped in clear plastic. And cash. Neatly stacked, all in hundreds. I speed–counted the banded stacks…more than sixty grand.

I dropped it in the satchel.

"We'll leave you the powder," I told him.

"Hey! There was…"

"Shut up, now. You got a good deal. You paid us to call it off, right? The rest of the cash, we'll do a job for you."

"What job?"

"You think that broad's not going to come after you again, pal? You think this ends it? You bought yourself one safe night, that's all."

"You mean…?"

"Sure. Way I figure it, we owe you a job…right, Fong?"

Buddha nodded behind the stocking mask.

I could see him thinking it over.

"When would you do it?" he finally asked.

"Tonight."

"And that's it?"

"Tell her," I said, handing him the phone.

5

Toxic waste bubbled out of his mouth, hard, evil ugliness over the phone lines. Telling her that her little scheme backfired. How he had her and he'd always have her.

"You listening to me, cunt? You understand the way things are now? I'm coming to see you, bitch. And when I'm done, you'll come back here. On your knees. I'll have my mark on you again, you…"

He hung up, bathed in sweat, licking his lips.

I nodded to Buddha. A hard hand clamped down on the back of the man's neck as I slid the hypo home.

6

He went out in a minute. I gently taped his right hand into a fist, watched as Buddha took the man's elbow in one hand, held his wrist in the other…and slammed it into the glass desk top until the knuckles were bruised and swollen. I took a wax model of a woman's hand out of my satchel, the long false nails with their bright red lacquer gleamed in the light. I held the wax hand, scratched a long, deep gouge in the man's cheek.

7

In the car, I used a Handi–wipe to remove the dragon tattoo. Buddha took off the stocking mask, popped the rubber wedges out of his cheeks, took off the bulky jacket and lost fifty pounds. Our prints weren't anywhere.

We were at her house in an hour.

"You get it all?" I asked her.

She nodded, pointed to the tape recorder attached to her phone.

She held out her hands. Stayed perfectly still while I attached the false red nails.

I slapped her in the face, hard. Her eyes flared into life, watching me, focused. Good.

"He came here about an half hour ago. You opened the door, didn't expect him. He punched you in the stomach. You went down. He punched you in the face, over and over again, twisted your arm so hard you felt it snap. You scratched his face…You remember doing it, you felt your nails go in. Deep. Then he beat you some more until you passed out."