The picture of Scotty was just what he told Immaculata-wearing his little striped T-shirt and nude from the waist down. Sucking on a man wearing a clown suit. I put it in my pocket.
I went back to the woman. "You got what you wanted?" she asked. Her voice hard and confident now, back to something she understood.
"Yeah. I got it. And I'm going to give you something for it too." I held the razor to her throat, whispering in her ear. "You're dead, bitch. You took a picture of the wrong kid this time. I were you, I'd call the D.A. and surrender-cooperate with the Man. You know how it's done. Find yourself a nice, safe cell for a few years. But get someone to taste your food for you."
I poured the whole bottle of ether over the white cloth-the smell made me dizzy.
"You promised not to hurt me!" she screamed.
"You promised those kids a day in the country," I told her, slapping the sopping wet cloth over her mouth and nose, holding it there while she struggled, making sure she could get enough air to mix with the ether and take her down. The Mole had warned me I could kill her if I used too much. Accidents happen.
Her head lolled forward, unconscious. I unwrapped her wrists, slapping them to bring the color back. I dragged her out of the chair by the front of her robe to one of the bedrooms. Tossed her on the bed. Moved her around until she was lying face up. She looked asleep-I wasn't going to put my face close enough to her to find out.
Max and the Mole were somewhere in the house. I'd told them to give me fifteen minutes and then make tracks, but I knew they weren't going anywhere until they knew I was safe. Just like I knew the Prof would sit outside the front door with the motor running even if a SWAT team was coming up the street. I hit the stairs running. Every second in the house was a big risk now. The first floor was empty-even the kitchen looked like nobody ever ate a meal there. It was all for the neighbors, like a window display of a typical American home. The neighbors would never look in the basement.
I opened the door to the cellar stairs off the foyer and stepped through. Found myself in another small room, set up to resemble a cloakroom-coats hanging on hooks, umbrella stand in one corner. It took another minute to find the door behind the coats. Locked from the inside. I took out a credit card and slipped it between the door and the frame, working it gently, telling myself if there was a deadbolt on the other side I'd have to try another way in. But the loid worked, and the door popped open. Another couple of steps and I was at the top of a curving wrought-iron staircase. I tested my weight against the first step and then I heard a man's voice, high and shaky, like he was near the edge of something.
"Look, you guys are making a mistake, okay? I mean…I know people, understand? Whatever problem you got, I can take care of it. Just sitting here looking at me isn't doing you any good, right?"
I followed the staircase toward the voice. Halfway down, the darkness faded. Indirect lighting bathed the basement floor, coming from some concealed panels. A fat man was sitting in one of those huge beanbag chairs, one hand on each side for balance, staring into a dark corner like it held all life's secrets. The Mole was hunkered down against one wall at the side of the chair, his satchel open in front of him. His big head swiveled to cover the room, a stocking mask stretched over his thick glasses. He looked like a malignant frog.
The man's eyes rolled over to me as I came down the stairs. He watched me approach, relief coming into his face.
"Hey, are you in charge? These guys"
"Don't talk," I told him.
It didn't have any effect. "What difference does it make, man? This whole place is soundproofed, okay? I mean…take a look around."
I did. The walls were lined with dark-brown cork, the ceiling covered with acoustic tile. Even the rug on the floor felt like it was covering a thick rubber mat.
"So nobody can hear the kids scream?" I asked him.
"Hey! What is this?" he yelled at me, trying for a hard edge to his voice.
I cocked the pistol. He winced at the sound. I stuck the gun into his fat face, depressing the skin under his right eye. "I. Don't. Have. Time," I told him, pushing at his face with every word.
"Whaaat?" he moaned. "Just tell me…"
"I want the pictures. I want the film. I want the lists. I want the money."
The fat man wasn't going to bargain like his wife. "It's upstairs. All upstairs. I swear…down here there's just some money…in the workbench…just walk-around cash…It's all in the bank…Tomorrow morning, when the banks open, I"
"Shut up!" I told him, backing away. The workbench drawer had three short stacks of bills. I tossed the money to the Mole. It went into his satchel. The basement looked like a kid's playroom-stuffed animals, dolls, a hobbyhorse, electric trains in one corner. I checked behind the only door, but there was nothing except the oil burner and a hot-water heater. A back door opened into the extension to the house. I walked through it quickly. No windows to the outside, and the floor was concrete like the driveway. All designed so they could pull the van inside and discharge its cargo. And take pictures of kids.
It was time to disappear.
"Your wife is upstairs," I told him. "She's okay-just sleeping. I'm going to give you a shot too. When you wake up, the police will be here. You say whatever you want to say-make the best deal for yourself you can. You mention me or my people, I'll find you again, wherever you are. Understand?"
He nodded, still trying to talk. "Lookyou don't need the shotI mean, I got a bad heart, you know? I'm on medication. Tomorrow I can get you all the money you want"
The Mole took a hypo out of his satchel, pushed the plunger, watched the thin spray, nodded to me. A shadow moved from a corner of the basement, flowed behind the fat man. He was jerked to his feet, one arm braced in front of him, veins clearly visible.
"We'll do it upstairs," I told the Mole, gesturing to Max to bring the fat man along.
I took the curving staircase first, listening. Nothing. Then came the Mole, with Max last. We stopped at the landing; the fat man stood against one wall, breathing much too fast.
"We need the fire now," I said to the Mole. "Something that started in the boiler."
He nodded, returned the hypo to his satchel, and went back downstairs.
The fat man was still having trouble with his breathing, sucking in gulps of air and trying to talk at the same time. I pulled off one glove to scratch at the mask, letting him see the tattoo.
"You guys! I know your bossI mean, we have a contract, right? We got no problem…"
I put the glove back on as if I hadn't noticed what set him off. "Shut up,' I said, talking the way a machine talks.
The fat man never tried to make a move-combat wasn't his game. But it seemed like he had to find out mine-he couldn't keep quiet.
"What would it take?" he asked.
"I'm just doing a job," I told him, in the same mechanical voice.
"Look, you don't get it, okay? It's not like anyone got hurt, all right? Kids…they get over it. It's just a business.
I could feel the heat coming off Max, but I was empty inside. All maggots have a story to tell, and I'd heard most of them by then.
The Mole walked up the staircase, satchel in one hand. A day at the office. He held up a palm, fingers spread wide. Five minutes to ignition.
I took Scotty's picture from my pocket, held it up to the fat man's face. I was really showing Max that we'd rescued the kid, but the fat man decided I wanted an explanation.