Malcolm knew his first problem would be evading his pursuers. By now there would be at least two “they”s after him: the Agency and whatever group hit the Society. They all knew what he looked like, so his first move would have to be to change his appearance.
The sign in the barbershop said “No Waiting,” and for once advertising accurately reflected its product. Malcolm took off his jacket facing the wall. He slipped the gun inside the bundle before he sat down. His eyes never left the jacket during the whole haircut.
“What do you want, young fellow?” The graying barber snipped his scissors gleefully.
Malcolm felt no regrets. He knew how much the haircut might mean. “A short butch, just a little longer than a crew cut, long enough so it will lay down.”
“Say, that’ll be quite a change.” The barber plugged in an electric clipper.
“Yeah.”
“Say, young man, are you interested in baseball? I sure am. I read an article in the Post today about the Orioles and spring training, and the way this fellow figures it…”
After the haircut Malcolm looked in the mirror. He hadn’t seen that person for five years.
His next stop was Sunny’s Surplus. Malcolm knew a good disguise starts with the right attitude, but he also knew good props were invaluable. He searched through the entire stock until he found a used field jacket with the patches intact that fitted reasonably well. The name patch above the left pocket read “Evans.” On the left shoulder was a tricolored eagle patch with the word “Airborne” in gold letters on a black background. Malcolm knew he had just become a veteran of the 101st Airborne Division. He bought and changed into a pair of blue stretch jeans and an outrageously priced set of used jump boots (“$15, guaranteed to have seen action in Vietnam”). He also bought underwear, a cheap pullover, black driving gloves, socks, a safety razor, and a toothbrush. When he left the store with his bundle under his arm, he pretended he had a spike rammed up his ass. His steps were firm and well measured. He looked cockily at every girl he passed. After five blocks he needed a rest, so he entered one of Washington’s countless Hot Shoppe restaurants.
“Can Ah have a cup of caufee?” The waitress didn’t bat an eye at Malcolm’s newly acquired southern accent. She brought him his coffee. Malcolm tried to relax and think.
Two girls were in the booth behind Malcolm. A lifetime habit made him listen to their conversation.
“So you’re not going anywhere for your vacation?”
“No, I’m just going to stay home. For two weeks I’ll shut the world out.”
“You’ll go crazy.”
“Maybe, but don’t try calling me for a progress report, because I probably won’t even answer the phone.”
The other girl laughed. “What if it’s a hunk of man who’s just pining for companionship?”
The other girl snorted. “Then he’ll just have to wait for two weeks. I’m going to relax.”
“Well, it’s your life. Sure you won’t have dinner tonight?”
“No, really, thanks, Anne. I’m just going to finish my coffee and then drive home, and starting right now I won’t have to hurry for another two weeks.”
“Well, Wendy, have fun.” Thighs squeaked across plastic. The girl called Anne walked toward the door, right past Malcolm. He caught a glimpse of a tremendous pair of legs, blond hair, and a firm profile vanishing in the crowd. He sat very still, sniffling occasionally, nervous as hell, for he had found the answer to his shelter problem.
It took the girl called Wendy five minutes to finish her coffee. When she left she didn’t even look at the man sitting behind her. She couldn’t have seen much anyway, as his face was hidden behind a menu. Malcolm followed her as soon as she paid and started out the door. He threw his money on the counter as he left.
All he could tell from behind was that she was tall, thin but not painfully skinny like Tamatha, had short black hair, and only medium legs. Christ, he thought, why couldn’t she have been the blond? Malcolm’s luck held, for the girl’s car was in the back section of a crowded parking lot. He casually followed her past the fat attendant leering from behind a battered felt hat. Just as the girl unlocked the door of a battered Corvair, Malcolm yelled, “Wendy! My God, what are you doing here?”
Startled, but not alarmed, the girl looked up at the smiling figure in the army jacket walking toward her.
“Are you talking to me?” She had narrow-set brown eyes, a wide mouth, a little nose, and high cheekbones. A perfectly ordinary face. She wore little or no makeup.
“I shore am. Don’t you remember me, Wendy?” He was only three steps from her now.
“I… I don’t think so.” She noticed that his one hand held a package and his other was inside his jacket.
Malcolm stood beside her now. He set the package on the roof of her car and casually placed his left hand behind her head. He tightly grabbed her neck, bending her head down until she saw the gun in his other hand.
“Don’t scream or make any quick moves or I’ll splatter you all over the street. Understand?” Malcolm felt the girl shiver, but she nodded quickly. “Now get in the car and unlock the other door. This thing shoots through windows and I won’t even hesitate.” The girl quickly climbed into the driver’s seat, leaned over, and unlocked the other door. Malcolm slammed her door shut, picked up his package, slowly walked around the car, and got in.
“Please don’t hurt me.” Her voice was much softer than in the restaurant.
“Look at me.” Malcolm had to clear his throat. “I’m not going to hurt you, not if you do exactly as I say. I don’t want your money, I don’t want to rape you. But you must do exactly as I say. Where do you live?”
“In Alexandria.”
“We’re going to your apartment. You’ll drive. If you have any ideas about signaling for help, forget them. If you try, I’ll shoot. I might get hurt, but you’ll be dead. It’s not worth it. OK?” The girl nodded. “Let’s go.”
The drive to Virginia was tense. Malcolm never took his eyes off the girl. She never took her eyes off the road. Just after the Alexandria exit she pulled into a small courtyard surrounded by apartment units.
“Which one is yours?”
“The first one. I have the top two floors. A man lives in the basement.”
“You’re doing just fine. Now, when we go up the walk, just pretend you’re taking a friend to your place. Remember, I’m right behind you.”
They got out and walked the few steps to the building. The girl shook and had trouble unlocking the door, but she finally made it. Malcolm followed her in, gently closing the door behind him.
Chapter 4
“I have treated this game in great detail because I think it is important for the student to see what he’s up against, and how he ought to go about solving the problems of practical play. You may not be able to play the defense and counterattack this well, but the game sets a worthwhile goal for you to achieve: how to fight back in a position where your opponent has greater mobility and better prospects.”
“I don’t believe you.” The girl sat on the couch, her eyes glued to Malcolm. She was not as frightened as she had been, but her heart felt as if it was breaking ribs.