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CHAPTER 053

Vasco Borden faced the mirror and reviewed his appearance with a professional eye, while he brushed mascara into the graying edges of his goatee. Vasco was a big man, six-feet-four and two-forty, all muscle, nine percent body fat. His shaved head and his trimmed, black goatee made him look like the devil. One big mother of a devil. He meant to appear intimidating, and he did.

He turned to the suitcase on the bed. In it he had neatly packed a set of coveralls with a Con Ed logo on the breast; a loud plaid sport coat; a sharp black Italian suit; a motorcycle jacket that read DIE IN HELL on the back; a velour tracksuit; a breakaway plaster leg cast; a short-barrel Mossberg 590 and two black Para.45s. For today, he was dressed in a tweed sport coat, casual slacks, and brown lace-up shoes.

Finally, he laid three photos out on the bed.

First, the guy, Frank Burnet. Fifty-one, fit, ex-Marine.

The guy’s daughter, Alex, early thirties, a lawyer.

The guy’s grandson, Jamie, now eight.

The old guy had vanished, and Vasco saw no reason to bother finding him. Burnet could be anywhere in the world-Mexico, Costa Rica, Australia. Much easier to get the cells directly from other family members.

He looked at the photo of the daughter, Alex. A lawyer-never good, as a target. Even if you handled them perfect, you still got sued. This gal was blond, looked to be in decent physical shape. Attractive enough, if you liked the type. She was too skinny for Vasco’s taste. And she probably took some Israeli defense class on weekends. You never knew. Anyway, she spelled potential trouble.

That left the kid.

Jamie. Eight years old, second grade, local school. Vasco could get down there, pick him up, collect the samples, and be done with this whole thing by the afternoon. Which was fine with him. Vasco had a fifty-thousand-dollar completion bonus if he recovered in the first week. That declined to ten thousand after four weeks. So he had plenty of reason to get it over with.

Do the kid, he thought. Simple and to the point.

Dolly came in, the paper in her hand. Today she was wearing a navy blue suit, low shoes, white shirt. She had a brown leather briefcase. As usual, her bland looks enabled her to move about without attracting notice. “How does this look?” she said, and handed him the paper.

He scanned it quickly. It was a “To Whom It May Concern,” signed by Alex Burnet. Allowing the bearer to pick up her son, Jamie, from school and take him to the family doctor for his exam.

“You called the doctor’s office?” Vasco said.

“Yeah. Said Jamie had a fever and sore throat, and they said bring him in.”

“So if the school calls the doctor…”

“We’re covered.”

“And you’re sent from the mother’s office?”

“Right.”

“Got your card?”

She pulled out a business card, with the logo of the law firm.

“And if they call the mother?”

“Her cell number is listed on the paper, as you see.”

“And that’s Cindy?”

“Yes.” Cindy was their office dispatcher, in Playa del Rey.

“Okay, let’s get it done,” Vasco said. He put his arm around her shoulder. “You going to be okay, doing this?”

“Sure, why not?”

“You know why not.” Dolly had a weakness for kids. Whenever she looked in their eyes she melted. They’d had a fugitive in Canada, ran him down in Vancouver, the kid answered the door and Dolly asked if her father was home. The kid was a little girl about eight, she said no, not there. Dolly said okay and left. Meanwhile the guy was driving up the street, on his way home. His darling kid shut the door, went to the phone, called her old man, and told him to keep going. The kid was experienced. They’d been on the run since she was five. They never got close to the guy again.

“That was just one time,” Dolly said.

“There’s been more than one.”

“Vasco,” she said. “Everything’s going to be fine today.”

“Okay,” he said. And he let her kiss him on the cheek.

Out in the driveway,the ambulance was parked, rear doors open. Vasco smelled cigarette smoke. He went around to the back. Nick was sitting there in a white lab coat, smoking.

“Jesus, Nick. What’re you doing?”

“Just one,” Nick said.

“Put it out,” Vasco said. “We’re heading off now. You got the stuff?”

“I do.” Nick Ramsey was the doc they used on jobs when they needed a doc. He’d worked in emergency rooms until his drug-and-alcohol habit took over. He was out of rehab now, but steady employment was hard to come by.

“They want liver and spleen punch biopsies, and they want blood-”

“I read it. Fine-needle aspirations. I’m ready.”

Vasco paused. “You been drinking, Nick?”

“No. Shit no.”

“I smell something on your breath.”

“No, no. Come on, Vasco, you know I wouldn’t-”

“I got a good nose, Nick.”

“No.”

“Open your mouth.” Vasco leaned forward and sniffed.

“I just had a taste is all,” Nick said.

Vasco held out his hand. “Bottle.”

Nick reached under the gurney, handed him a pint bottle of Jack Daniel’s.

“That’s great.” Vasco moved close, got in his face. “Now listen to me,” he said quietly. “You pull any more stunts today, and I’ll personally throw you out the back of this ambulance onto the 405. You want to make a tragedy of your life, I’ll see that it happens. You got me?”

“Yeah, Vasco.”

“Good. I’m glad we have an understanding.” He stepped back. “Hold out your hands.”

“I’m fine-”

“Hold out your hands.” Vasco never raised his voice in moments of tension. He lowered it. Make them listen. Make them worry. “Hold your hands out now, Nick.”

Nick Ramsey held out his hands. They weren’t shaking.

“Okay. Get in the car.”

“I just-”

“Get in the car, Nick. I’m through talking.”

Vasco got in the front with Dolly, and started driving. Dolly said, “He okay back there?”

“More or less.”

“He won’t hurt the kid, right?”

“Nah,” Vasco said. “It’s just a couple of needles. Few seconds is all.”

“He better not hurt that kid.”

“Hey,” Vasco said. “Are you fine about this, or what?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Okay then. Let’s do it.”

He drove down the road.