“I hate guns,” Max said, not winded.
Sucking air like a two-pack-a-day smoker, the dealer — his hands still protecting his crotch — made it to his knees. “You... you saved my life,” he managed.
“That’s right.”
“But I think you broke my balls...”
Looking down at him, she said, “Ice pack may help. Just wanted to make sure you didn’t book.”
His eyes were as wide as a puppy begging a bone. “But... why? If you were gonna rescue me... why?...”
Arms folded, Max stood amid the fallen Nazis, all of whom were slumbering, and said, “Just didn’t want you to leave without paying.”
The Dumbo-eared dealer’s face went blank. “Huh?”
“You think I saved your life out of the goodness of my heart?”
“I was... kinda hoping...”
Max shook her head, dark locks bouncing. “What world do you live in?... Hand over the wad.”
The dealer’s voice came out a squeak: “You’re... muggin’ me?”
“That’s such an ugly term. Let’s just say I’m claiming my reward for savin’ your scrawny ass.”
“But... I don’t have any money.”
“Aw, you just want me to put my hands on you,” Max said. “I’m flattered... left front pocket. The money you made tonight at Crash? Selling whatever drugs were in the brown paper wrapper.”
He winced. “You saw that?”
“I recommend a dark alley next time. Time-honored thing, y’know. Give.”
His hands came off his privates and folded prayerfully; begging. “Please... please... you can’t take the money... if I don’t pay my connection, he’ll kill my ass!”
“Here’s how this works — I just gave you a reprieve. Next death sentence, you’re on your own. You rather I knock your lights out, so you can wake up about the same time as the master race, here?”
“I’m not kidding, lady... really, he’s a badass... he’ll kill me... real slow.”
Max sighed, shook her head. “You run with a rough crowd, son, you break a toenail now and then.”
“Jesus! This is serious shit!”
The gunman seemed to be rousing, and Max kicked him in the head, then said to the jug-eared beggar, “If you run you might get away... you can start over. Find a new life, or stay a lowlife, down in Portland or Frisco.”
He got himself to his feet. “What the hell with?”
“With your skin for starters. Hock the jacket.” She pulled back, ready to hit him again. “Or lights-out...”
“All right, all right!” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the wad.
Taking it, Max asked, “How much?”
“Fifteen hundred... Maybe you could steer your way clear to...”
She glared at him. “Disappear.”
The dealer took her advice.
She trotted off toward Crash, where her bike waited, even as the dealer’s shoes hammered the concrete as he ran-limped as far away from her as possible, making hollow echoes in the night.
The next afternoon Max found Vogelsang camped behind his desk, stuffing an Oreo into his mouth.
“Health food?” she said, stepping from the shadows.
The big man jumped — he hadn’t heard her come in. His eyes shot from her toward the double doors and the front of the laundry where the Asian woman was supposed to screen his visitors.
“I found another way in,” she said.
“What the hell... what the hell you doing here?”
“Didn’t you pencil me in?” she asked, stepping up to the desk, arching an eyebrow. “You did say a thousand.”
“Yeah, so?”
She tossed a thick envelope onto his desk. He looked at it as if it might bite, then picked it up, juggled it once, twice. He looked in the envelope — it wasn’t sealed — and studied the thickness of green admiringly.
“That’s a thousand,” she said.
“It would seem to be.”
“Go ahead and count it.”
“Naw... I wouldn’t insult you.” He set the package of Oreos aside, wiped his mouth with the back of a hand, and sat back in his chair. “Now... who is it you want me to find?”
“Two people.”
“But this is one thousand. What, are they together?”
She shook her head.
He cocked his bucket head and made the peace sign. “Max, that’s two cases... one, two.”
“Be that way,” she muttered, and reached for the wad of bills. “I’ll find somebody who likes my money.”
“Whoa, whoa — no need to go off like a little firecracker... I like your money just fine. I’ll take this as a down payment, if you understand with two cases, more time is obviously gonna be involved... and we’ll go from there.”
Max didn’t move for a long moment, then slowly relaxed and dropped into the chair behind her.
“Tell me about your two people,” Vogelsang said, the money disappearing into a desk drawer.
“First one is male — white, about my age, athletic, badass.”
“Distinguishing marks?”
She paused. “A barcode on the back of his neck.”
Vogelsang looked up. “A what?”
She repeated what she’d said, adding, “Just a funky tattoo... you know how it goes with us weird-ass kids.”
That seemed to answer it for Vogelsang, who began scrawling some notes. “Any idea where he is?”
“Here. Seattle.”
“It’s a big city.”
“And it’s your city, Mr. Vogelsang. That’s why I’m hiring you. If it was easy, I’d have found him by now.”
“Give me a more detailed description. More than just a badass with a barcode.”
She thought about that, then said, “Six-one, one-ninety maybe, dark hair... I think.”
Vogelsang’s eyes vanished into slits. “You think?”
“Saw him for ten seconds on a crappy video feed.”
She explained about what she’d seen on the news show, and that she thought she’d recognized a long-lost “relative.”
“Might be able to get that clip from somebody I know at SNN,” Vogelsang said, almost to himself. “He got a name, this long-lost relation?”
“Seth.”
“Last name?”
She shook her head. “Don’t know. He’d be using different ones. Maybe even different first names.”
Vogelsang studied the pad, then looked up at her. “Anything else? This is pretty slim.”
“The news story said he might be working with an underground journalist — Eyes Only?”
The detective’s eyes widened, and one of them twitched at the corner; he seemed to turn a whiter shade of pale. “Is that right...”
“Why? Is that gonna be a problem?”
The big man shrugged. “Could be. This Eyes Only guy, he’s on the g’s shit list. Politics make me nervous. Plus, this Eyes Only dude, he’s messed some people up... doesn’t like to be interfered with. Takes himself way too serious...”
Max offered the investigator a reassuring smile. “You find Seth, I’ll take care of Eyes Only... I’ll take the heat... if there’s a problem.”
Flipping a page in the notebook, Vogelsang said, “Okay — who’s missing person number two?”
Max sighed. “Afraid this is gonna be tough, too... maybe even tougher: a woman, Hannah, and that’s all the name I’ve got.”
“What does she look like?”
Max considered the private eye’s question, replayed that first night of freedom in her head. In her mind’s eye appeared a woman in her thirties with dishwater blond hair to her shoulders and wide-set blue eyes the color of a mountain stream... staring down at Max in her memory, as if the nine-year-old were still on that car floor.
She gave Vogelsang the description.