Gunsmith Cats Fan Fiction ❯ Chasing the Dragon ❯ Chapter Four ( Chapter 4 )

This story is based on the 'Gunsmith Cats' manga by Kenichi Sonoda, with a few elements from the 'Riding Bean' OAV (1989). It is set after the last published manga in English as of March 2005.

Tell me what you thought of it, no matter what you have to say. I'm a big girl. :) I always welcome reader reactions, especially ones that go into detail. Please email me at MmeManga@aol.com or leave your comments here.

DISCLAIMER: Characters of RALLY VINCENT, BEAN BANDIT, MAY HOPKINS, ROY COLEMAN, KEN TAKI copyright Kenichi Sonoda. All other characters, and story, copyright 2000--2005 by Madame Manga. Contact by email at MmeManga@ aol.com. Do not sell or print for sale without the express written permission of the author. Do not archive. Permission is granted to circulate this text in electronic form, free of charge and with this disclaimer and the author's name attached. Do not plagiarize, alter, or appropriate this text in any way. This story is intended for personal entertainment purposes only. No infringement of any copyrights or other rights is intended.

>>>>>!!ADULT CONTENT WARNING IN BOLD CAPS!!<<<<<

This story is not for kids or the easily offended. It contains explicit sexual words and descriptions, explicit violence and extreme profanity. If you object to reading such things, do not read this story.

Chasing the Dragon
by Madame Manga

Chapter Four

 

 

“Is this a good time to talk?” Brown sounded relaxed and confident, but friendly. “I have a great deal to discuss with you, Rally, as I'm sure you realize.”

 

Rally felt a slow cold wave go through her, every hair on her body erecting. It was the same man she'd seen in that warehouse in Hollywood the day before. The man she'd shot and maimed. She'd listened to him long enough to know the voice. But he had dropped something from his manner—the falseness, the edge of panic, the loose diction. When before he had sounded like a nervous Valley Boy imitating an inner-city punk, now he spoke like an earnest corporate manager. Either he was a superb actor, or he came across better when he didn't have a large, angry man waving a knife in his face.

 

“I know you're a reasonable person. Certainly we've had a few differences up to this point. But I'm willing to set that aside. How about you?”

 

“I...I'm listening.” Bean didn't seem to be paying attention. But she'd learned the hard way that he picked up nearly everything that happened around him. “Go on.”

 

“Ah. Is Mr. Bandit there?”

 

She glanced over at Bean, his eyes concealed behind his sunglasses. “Why?”

 

“I've gathered that you two are now traveling together. I'm curious—did he contact you before he visited me in Hollywood?”

 

“No comment.”

 

“That's unfortunate. I was hoping to work something out with you, Rally. Obviously if you've made some sort of deal with that fellow, it's going to be more difficult to achieve. As I'm sure you realize, he's not the easiest man to negotiate with. And yet there's a great deal to be gained by going that route, huh?”

 

Rally didn't answer, her mind racing. What did he want? What did he think she wanted? Was this the break they needed?

 

“If Bandit is listening and you don't want him to hear the conversation, I can call you again in a few minutes. Would that be better?”

 

“Just a sec,” said Rally. “Stay on, I'll be right back.” She put the call on hold. “Bean.”

 

Bean turned slightly towards her as they stopped at a red light. “You gonna tell me who's on the line?”

 

“Yes. No secrets. It's Brown.”

 

“No shit.” He smiled, not pleasantly.

 

“He says he wants to negotiate. With me. I think he's trying to pry me away from you.” She swallowed hard. “I'm going to pretend I'm buying it and that you are not listening. Remember that, all right?”

 

“OK, I got it. You want me to pull over somewhere?”

 

“That's a good idea.” Bean pulled ahead when the light changed, and then swerved into a small shopping strip's parking lot. He cut the engine, reclined his seat and put his hands behind his head. The car's interior was utterly quiet—the armor plating eliminated nearly all outside sound.

 

Rally took the call off hold. “You still there, Brown?”

 

“Right here. Everything settled now?”

 

“Yes. I can talk. You say you want to work something out with me?”

 

“I do, Rally. I believe you'll treat me fairly. I've done a little background check on you, and I know you're a woman of principle, in contrast with that fellow Bandit. What a name—it fits him perfectly, though of course it's not his real one.” He paused, apparently waiting for a comment from her, but Rally said nothing. “I'll be willing to put myself in your hands, as long as we can agree on certain conditions, huh?”

 

“Put yourself into my hands? You mean in terms of negotiating with Bean, or...?”

 

“I meant it literally, Rally. I want to give myself up to you.”

 

“Whaaat?”

 

“I'm not going to lie to you, Rally. I am not in a good position. With my employers, I mean—I'm sure you know what I'm driving at, huh? You must have done your own background check on me.” Brown chuckled softly. “You know who I work for, and something of their methods. I have nearly reached the end of my rope with them. If I don't give myself up to the FBI in the next week or less, I will be dead.”

 

“They're going to execute you?” Bean sat up straight and took off his sunglasses. Rally met his eyes. “And so you want...asylum?”

 

“I failed to recruit the Roadbuster. He was supposed to serve as the linchpin for a new distribution system covering the Midwest and the northern seaboard. My superiors take their expansion plans very seriously. They prefer to make use of people who already know the territory and have proven track records—that's how I came to work for them, by the way. They settled on Mr. Bandit months ago as the best candidate, by far, and they will not take no for an answer. But they've never met the man. They assume that he is persuadable by ordinary means and is no more resistant to direction than the average self-made entrepeneur. They know he values money and that he is reliable, and therefore they presume he is the sort of man who is open to a well-paid permanent position with, ahem, certain benefits that come from working for a mid-size international organization.”

 

“Heh, heh...” She couldn't help laughing, and Bean raised a brow at her.

 

“I see you appreciate the absurdity of the notion.” Brown chuckled with her. “Unfortunately, my superiors do not. Explanations don't avail; I did my best. This isn't a profession that downsizes you when you blow a big assignment. It just puts you down. No golden parachutes—just a halo. Huh?”

 

Rally snorted quietly.

 

“Yes, I know.” Brown laughed self-deprecatingly. “I'm not a saint, huh? But I did think I was a people person. Honestly, that's always been a strength of mine. They gave me a profile on him and a list of his accomplishments, and I did a great deal of research on my own before I approached him. I had some inkling he would be a tough nut to crack, but of course I had no idea just how tough. I even tracked down a woman who used to be his—aheh, heh.” Again he waited for comment and again Rally said nothing.

 

“Well, at any rate, I did my homework. All to no avail. The moment I met him I knew I had very little chance of finding common ground with such an...elemental man, but I had to try. He has a positively Nietzschean aspect. Do you know I spent hours in a car with him, just attempting to get a conversation started? Incredible how impervious he is to any kind of human interaction. My heart sank lower with every mile. I might have been trying to talk to his car. As I'm sure you know...huh?”

 

She had the sense again that he was fishing. Why mention a woman and imply she had been his lover? Did he know something about her misadventure with Bean, or was he guessing? “Aaahh...why did you trick him, if you wanted to win him over?”

 

“Oh, he's told you about that, has he?” Brown let out a long sigh. “I was ordered to move that shipment quickly, and I was ordered to get the Roadbuster working for my employers. I tried to combine the two efforts, to my regret. Frankly, I was being set up to fail.”

 

“Someone meant you to get into trouble?”

 

“Oh, yes. But I intend to give a full account to the FBI. Jail would be preferable to the kind of execution methods used in Macau. But I don't anticipate jail, of course. I intend to tell everything I know and go into the witness protection program. I have a family, you see...”

 

Rally felt her left fist clench. Bingo! The biggest catch of her life! “And you want to give yourself up to me?” She could not keep the eagerness out of her voice. “Why me?”

 

“I surmise you have some influence over Bean Bandit. Is that true?”

 

“Yes! Uhm, I mean...we do have an agreement at the moment.”

 

“Can you keep him from killing me? I don't doubt he'd track me down anywhere I might go.”

 

“I think I can guarantee that. If...”

 

“Yes?”

 

“If he gets his money.” There was a long pause. Bean looked at her, a smile spreading over his face. With both hands, he gave her a thumbs-up.

 

“Mmm,” said Brown. “That half-million. Of course, you saw that.”

 

“I did. And I saw you try to have him shot.”

 

Brown let out a long breath. “I suppose you think that was foolish. I'll be honest, huh? He scares the daylights out of me, Rally. I'm no innocent, of course. I've been around dangerous men most of my life. I've never worked it from the physical end myself, but I've certainly made use of such people when I had to. You must know what I mean...you're doing the same yourself at the moment, huh? But I have to say I panicked in Hollywood. I'm not proud of that.”

 

“Why didn't you let him have the money? He'd have kept his word.” <i>Of course, you'd still have had to deal with me,</i> she thought. <i>I wasn't going to let either of you get away!</i>

 

“It's not my money, you see. It belongs to my employers. I gathered it just to defend myself with in case he caught up with me. There was no question of actually giving it to him. If he had walked off with that suitcase, I wouldn't have lasted even this long.”

 

“Do you still have it?”

 

“In point of fact...yes. I haven't been asked for an accounting yet. I suppose they think that's superfluous, since I'm not going to hold my position much longer. That's one thing that tipped me off to my imminent...termination.”

 

“Then all we have to do is arrange a meeting place. I'll take care of the FBI end—I've got police contacts who will get the Feds for me. Bring that suitcase with you—but leave Manichetti and O'Toole behind.”

 

Brown laughed heartily. “What a thorough worker you are. I'm impressed.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

“I will have to call you back about the meeting, but it shouldn't be long. I don't have much time to waste, of course.”

 

“I'll be waiting. Good luck.”

 

“Thank you, Rally. I feel confident this will go well. Be cool, huh?” He clicked off.

 

Rally let out a long breath and fell back against the seat after turning off the phone. “Holy...shit.” She wiped her face with the back of her hand and tried to let her body relax. Her throat felt tight and she was trembling.

 

“Good going, babe,” said Bean. “My half-million bucks is comin' with the bastard?”

 

“He'll bring the money. <i>And</i> half of it is going to the FBI.”

 

“Goddamn it, Vincent—”

 

“Listen to me, Bean! I could turn ALL of it over to the FBI, and there isn't a thing you could do to stop me! But I promised you half of it, and you are going to get half. I'd suggest you be content with that!”

 

“Nothing I could do to stop you, eh?” Bean put a hand on the wheel, let out the parking brake, and slammed the car into gear. Rally lurched forward as he reversed out of the lot, and flattened against the upholstery as he stomped on the gas and barreled across three lanes to get into traffic. “You better think that one over, babe. You ain't usually given to makin' dumb cracks like that.”

 

He punched the cigarette lighter, reached into his jacket, extracted his Marlboros, popped one up and drew it out with his teeth, then lit it and blew a cloud of malodorous smoke.

 

The nasty son of a bitch! Rally felt a wave of revulsion for the man next to her. Big, coarse, violent, greedy, loud, gluttonous, sullen...and jealous. Larry Sam's eloquent erudition and Brown's urbane smoothness had put Bean against an intensely unflattering background. She closed her eyes to block him out for a moment and sneered to think how Bean would have handled Brown's call.

 

The emotion felt poisonous, but sharp and bracing at the same time. Why had she ever thought he was attractive? What was that energy, that skill and coordination, that ferocious elemental quality? Or his black hair, his powerful arms, his intense mouth and direct touch? Nothing but physical attributes, of course, nothing to do with the fundamental man. If he ever showed his inner self to anyone, he must have shown himself to her...

 

Her phone rang again, and she dug it out of her purse. “Rally Vincent here.”

 

“Who the hell have you been yapping with? I've been trying to get you for ten minutes from this damn pay phone! Turn on your call waiting, for crying out loud!”

 

“Oh, hi, May,” said Rally with a sigh. “How do you like Buttonkettle?”

 

 

$

 

 

Birds sang in the flowering trees of Golden Gate Park while children ran and laughed along the paths. Green grass speckled with tiny daisies flowed down gentle slopes to meet lines of dark cypresses, rhododendrons blooming in the glades between groups of oaks and madrones. When Rally and Bean emerged from the woods into a small open meadow, squirrels scampered away and up the oaks, chattering to each other. The afternoon sun shone bright and clear in a perfect blue sky, the breeze pleasantly cool with a hint of ocean.

 

“This ain't good,” said Bean with a growl. “Don't like it.”

 

“Tough.” Rally drew her CZ75 and stepped off the path. She scanned the trees for movement. “It's not like we know this city. If he says this is a good spot to meet, we've got to take his word for it.”

 

“Says you.” Bean followed her. “You telling me you trust that bastard? If he told me it was Monday, I'd figure my watch calendar was busted.”

 

“I told him to describe three different places and I'd choose one.” She tucked her notebook into her jacket. “He can't have had them all staked out ahead of time—he doesn't have enough people and he can't drive a car right now. I figured this one was the least likely to be wired. It would be hard to rig surveillance equipment in the trees and keep it working. So he won't know where we are until we call him.”

 

“Yeah, except if the other two are staked out, he knows we're <i>not</i> there, hey?” Bean grinned at her when she looked around at him. “Process of elimination.”

 

“Not for ten minutes or so. You got us here so fast he's probably thinking we're still on the road. So let's use that time to get set!” Rally considered her options. The oval meadow stretched about fifty yards to the west of where they stood under the eaves of oak woods. Brown had given her minimal directions, mentioning only a parking spot and a few turns of path to lead to the meadow. She wasn't certain from which point of the compass he would approach. Bean had dropped her off at the designated spot, then parked Buff in the bushes just off a service road and jogged back to meet her.

 

“You think he's planning to try to whack us?”

 

“Not if he's telling the truth about the hit. I wonder...” She felt for the Eight Dragon Delight card in her pocket and entered the number into the fourth program slot on her cell phone. “Maybe we can get some more information about that. If Brown knows he's scheduled for termination, probably other people do too. In the mean time, let's just be careful. Don't stand too close to me while we're talking, that kind of thing. No point in making a single target out of the two of us.”

 

Rally looked Bean up and down, noting not for the first time that his size made him an excellent target; no wonder he always wore an armored jacket. “If you get wounded, there is not much way for me to help you, of course—you weigh too damn much. So I may have to retreat if that happens; don't think I'm abandoning you or anything.”

 

Bean rubbed his leg at the spot she knew the .308 had gone through. “Fine with me.”

 

“Give me a boost.” She turned around to face the big oak tree they stood under and grabbed a low branch. Bean stepped forward and put his hands on her waist. He lifted her four feet into the air with a slight grunt. Rally gasped slightly; she'd meant a hand to step on, not a hoist. His easy strength reminded her a little too much of getting picked up and tossed onto a motel bed. She had to make an effort to keep her thoughts on a professional track and succeeded only partly.

 

She found a foothold and swung herself up into the tree, high enough to be concealed in the foliage. She worked her way out along a branch until she had a clear eight-foot drop to the ground.

 

“OK, this is perfect. I can see out, but no one will spot me until I jump. Where are you going to be?”

 

Bean scanned the area. Under the mature trees, the underbrush had been mostly cleared away. “No good spots unless I climb a tree too, and I don't see any that look like they'll hold me. Don't like it.”

 

“You said that already. But this is the closest we're going to get to outdoor isolation in the middle of San Francisco.” She heard traffic through the bushes that lined a nearby road, but the wilds of Golden Gate Park looked almost like countryside. No tall buildings clustered around the borders, so no rooftops showed above the trees. Only the asphalt path through the grass betrayed the urban setting.

 

“Yeah, I ain't walking into any more warehouses.” Bean scratched his chin. “I'll show up anywhere I try to hide. I'd better just stand out in the open and give the finger to Brown when he gets here.”

 

“Don't spook him, for God's sake! This isn't a done deal by a long shot. Shall I call him now?”

 

“Go for it.” Bean walked off a few yards and leaned against another oak. Taking a couple of walnuts from his pocket, he cracked and ate them, dropping the shells on the ground.

 

Rally dialed the number Brown had given her. It rang once and was picked up. Someone laughed in the background and she could hear traffic, then Brown's voice came on the line. “Hello, this is Sly.”

 

“Rally Vincent here. We picked the park, so come and talk.”

 

“I'll be there with bells on,” said Brown with a chuckle. “Shall I bring a picnic?”

 

“Thanks, we ate.”

 

“Be seeing you,” said Brown and hung up. Rally put the phone in her jacket and sat back against a branch, surveying the meadow. Bean cracked another walnut in his teeth.

 

A grey squirrel crept down Bean's oak in fits and starts, eventually pausing just above his head with its nose twitching and tail flicking. Bean tilted his face to look up at it and took two more walnuts from his pocket.

 

“Lookin' for a handout? Get a job, ya bum.” He smiled and tossed a walnut on the ground. The squirrel leaped down the trunk and scampered for the prize. It sat up for a moment with the walnut in its paws. Another squirrel ventured near Bean's boots, sniffed the grass at his heels, then ran halfway to the first squirrel and back again. It sat up to look at Bean.

 

“Too late. I ain't feeling generous any more.” Bean cracked his last walnut and spoke with a full mouth. “Fight him for it or go hungry.” The squirrels ran circles around each other for a few moments, then vanished up another tree together.

 

“Wimp.”

 

“Which one?” asked Rally.

 

“Both. They ought to tussle. If they share, nobody gets enough.”

 

“You think winner should take all?”

 

“Why not? What's the point of winning if it don't get you what you want?”

 

“What about people who aren't strong enough to fight for what they need?”

 

“Who the hell's talking about people?”

 

“No one,” said Rally after a pause.

 

“You can fight, girl. So can I. We can get our cut and more besides. Who gives a damn about anybody else?”

 

“Bean, the whole reason I'm doing this is to help people who can't defend themselves as easily as I can! That's the only legitimate use of force.”

 

“Tell it to the guys you shoot. Ya know, Vincent, I reckon you've killed about eighteen, twenty people. All legitimate, of course.”

 

“Yes.” Rally put her teeth on edge.

 

“Self-defense, huh?”

 

“Mostly, yes. A few times, to save someone else's life.”

 

“I saw you kill someone the first time I met you. My client, matter of fact. Ya shot her right in the face.”

 

“She had just tried to cut my throat with razor wire and was firing a shotgun at me. I didn't have much choice!”

 

“Didn't say you had.”

 

“So how many people have <i>you</i> killed, Bean?”

 

“Had to take care of a few.” He folded his arms. From her perch his face wasn't easy to make out. “Didn't shoot none of them.”

 

“You don't touch guns. I guess you prefer to keep it hand-to-hand. You don't even really need a knife—you could strangle someone or snap a neck as fast as I can shoot. Couldn't you?”

 

His right fist balled under his elbow. “I don't touch guns, because I don't pick fights, babe. If they come to me, I take care of it, but that ain't what I get paid for. I just drive.”

 

“You don't care what the people who hire you are doing? Do you really believe you can take money earned from their crimes and still remain neutral? If you make it possible for someone to commit robbery or murder and escape, you're an accessory. There's a reason the law punishes that. It's wrong!”

 

“When I decide to go straight, girl, you can be my goddamn guardian angel.” Rally made a face at him from her perch. “Keeping it legal makes everybody happy, win or lose?”

 

“Well...I didn't mean to talk about <i>legality!</i> I'm trying to do what's RIGHT!”

 

“You gonna be content if you don't get your way on this job, if you can't do it on the straight and sweet?”

 

“Well, no...but it's going just fine at the moment!”

 

“Sure, just dandy. You got the bastard on a string and all you got to do is reel him in.” Bean's tone wasn't overtly sarcastic, but she could hear a deep strain of ingrown cynicism, something that expected nothing to be given that hadn't been bought and paid for. “I s'pose Brown don't mind losin' a hand, long as it's done right, hey?”

 

“He didn't lose a hand! Just...well, it looked like the middle three fingers went. I was aiming at the revolver, not him.”

 

“And he's gonna return the favor by givin' you a present? All the rest of him on a platter, just like yer old pal Gray!”

 

“Look, he's not a psycho like Gray! I don't suppose he likes me for doing that to him, but he sounds like he's capable of sense!”

 

At the eastern end of the meadow, a small child ran out from the woods with a balloon and pelted down the path towards them with the string trailing behind him. The balloon bobbed along in time with his strides. A woman with a stroller followed a few paces after him. The child shrieked merrily, waved his arms in glee, then saw Bean and stopped short.

 

The balloon caught up and hovered above the plump baby fist, trembling slightly.

 

“Hey, kid.” Bean chuckled and leaned against the tree with his hands in his jacket pockets.

 

The mother approached with a wary smile and put out a hand for the child to take. “Come on, honey. We'll go around the other way.”

 

The child clasped his mother's hand, but didn't move, still staring at Bean. Rally could see only the rear quarter of Bean's face and the trailing sweep of his hair. From the set of his jaw, it looked like he was smiling. The child examined him with the undivided interest of the very young, his mouth open.

 

“Big!” He pointed at Bean.

 

“Yes, honey,” said his mother with an uneasy glance. “Come with Mama, sweetheart.” The child smiled at Bean and held out his balloon.

 

“Thanks, man, but it looks better on you,” said Bean.

 

At that moment, Rally caught a movement at the western end of the meadow, about fifty yards away. A man—someone she knew. Compact, deft, a fast runner. He jumped to catch a branch and shimmied up an oak. A long black rifle was slung on his back and a balaclava covered his head.

 

“Bean!” she hissed. “O'Toole!”

 

The mother looked wide-eyed in her direction, but didn't spot her in the tree. Bean turned his head slowly, his eyes scanning back and forth.

 

“To the west, in the oak with one dead branch. He's getting out an assault rifle.”

 

“Got it.” Bean scanned for another moment. “Can't see him.”

 

“I don't think he's seen you either.”

 

O'Toole straddled the crotch of the tree and swept the rifle and scope from side to side. He paused on the mother and stopped on the child.

 

The back of Rally's neck prickled. “Oh, geez—he's checking out your little friend.”

 

“Lady, get the hell out of here.” For a moment Rally thought Bean was talking to her. But he turned to the mother, who looked blankly at him.

 

Bean strode forward, picked up the child and thrust him into the woman's arms.

 

“Run, goddammit.” His voice had an urgency she had seldom heard. “Run!” His sharp canines gnashed.

 

The child drew a deep shocked breath and wailed, throwing his arms around his mother's neck. The woman spun around, knocked over the stroller and fled.

 

Floating free from the child's grasp, the balloon vanished into the sky.

 

“Stupid broad,” said Bean.

 

“That's torn it. He's spotted you.” O'Toole snapped his rifle to the ready, the scope on Bean.

 

Bean moved back into the woods and looked up at her. “Can ya pick him off from here?”

 

“Right between the eyes, if it comes to that.” Rally leveled her CZ75 through the foliage.

 

O'Toole spoke into a mic in his hand and tucked the rifle into the crook of his arm; she let out a tense breath. “Looks like he's just on guard.”

 

Two more figures emerged from the woods near O'Toole—a slim man in a business suit and a big, stocky man in a leather coat. The slim man's blonde head shone in the sunlight: Brown and his driver, Manichetti.

 

“Here comes Brown. Damn! I told him to leave those two behind. Why's he brought them along?”

 

“Doesn't surprise me any.”

 

“This doesn't bode well. He's expecting trouble.”

 

“He'd be damn stupid not to.” Bean cracked his knuckles as Brown and Manichetti approached.

 

“Bean, don't spook him!” If he made even one threatening move towards Brown, the whole negotiation might collapse in a hail of gunfire. “Keep your cool. Remember that money!”

 

“Shit...” growled Bean, but he folded his arms again and moved behind her tree. Rally waited until the men were a few yards past the tree before she dropped to the ground in a crouch. Brown and Manichetti stopped short and turned to look for the source of the sound.

 

With a deep breath, she holstered her CZ75 and stood up.

 

“Hey, I thought you were being careful!” said Bean in a loud whisper.

 

“I am. If I have to be the first one to show good faith, so be it.” Rally stepped forward. “Hello, Brown.”

 

Manichetti made a gesture at the shoulder holster vaguely outlined under his leather car coat. Brown spread his hands, the right one encased in a plastic cast, and smiled at her from behind a fashionably small pair of sunglasses, his eyes visible through the lenses in the bright light of the meadow.

 

“Hello, Rally.”

 

“You here to talk or shoot?”

 

“Talk, of course.” He made a politely confused expression, holding out the maimed hand. “I'm not even able to fire a gun. This is a peaceful negotiation.”

 

“What are O'Toole's orders, then?”

 

Brown closed his eyes with a sighing smile. “He's only insurance. I've told him to hold his position and hold his fire. By the way, this is Mr. Manichetti, my driver.”

 

“I know.” Rally took a careful look at Manichetti, but his big jowly face was blank and he held his hands at his sides. A cordless earphone looped over his ear, half concealed in his dark curly hair.

 

“I told you not to bring them.”

 

“I know, and I apologize. It's not that I don't trust you—as I said, I've obtained background information on you and I know you're a woman of honor. It's your current partner I'm concerned about. Where is he, by the way?”

 

“Right here,” said Bean.

 

She heard the heavy crack of a fallen branch under his boot. He moved from behind the oak to stand out to her side, twenty feet away so that the two of them flanked Brown and Manichetti. “Hey, asshole.”

 

Brown's whole body tensed, but he kept his smile. “Now, is that any way to talk to someone who has half a million dollars to give you?”

 

“I don't see it nowhere.”

 

“You didn't expect me to stroll casually through the park with that suitcase, did you?” said Brown with a laugh. “Let's decide terms first, and then I can fetch the money. Who knows, I might be able to scare up rather more than half a million, given a little—”

 

“Stuff it! It'll be a cold day in hell—”

 

“Bean!” hissed Rally. “Will you shut up and let me handle this!” He shot her a fierce look, but said no more.

 

Brown raised a brow, his mouth quirking.

 

“Look, I'm sorry. I'm willing to set aside what's happened. So is Bean, even if he can't resist a little trash talk. I will guarantee to deliver you safely to the FBI, even if the Dragons are watching you.”

 

“They are. Not directly—but they are keeping track of my movements. I can't stay long without incurring suspicion, since I'm supposed to be heading to a meeting. But I'm as determined to work this out as you are, Rally. A great deal depends on it—not least, my life.”

 

Brown approached her as he spoke and took off his sunglasses when he passed into the shade.

 

Her eyes widened in surprise at his extraordinary good looks. The expensive Italian gray silk suit he wore fit him perfectly and set off every aspect of his clear-cut face and well-conditioned body. Slightly full, sensual lips and large eyes gave him boyish charm, but he had a strong straight nose and firm masculine chin. She hadn't registered it when he had snarled with fear and pain in a dark warehouse, face spattered with his own blood and bone, but she had never before stood so close to such a devastatingly handsome man.

 

“...Of course,” she said after a pause that hung just a moment too long. She had a sense of being put off balance by the unexpected, though why a man's face should have that effect on her she really couldn't say. It was something like the way Bean's presence sometimes perturbed her, but with a malignant undertone entirely different. Brown's face concealed something; it was this hidden aspect that disturbed her, not his beauty or his poise.

 

The quick impression of first meeting rapidly faded, however, leaving her with only his outward brilliance to contemplate. What had that little shudder of perception been? Now she saw nothing but a graceful, slender man with high cheekbones and a pleasant smile.

 

“What a stroke of luck that I should have encountered you.” He came close enough to put out his left hand to shake hers. “The perfect person to solve my dilemma.”

 

Manichetti hung back with his gaze on Bean. Bean stared at Brown and her, then reached into his jacket. Manichetti looked at the dead-branched oak with a start, but Bean only brought out his sunglasses and put them on with a humorless smirk.

 

Brown seemed oblivious to the entire exchange, his quick, smiling turquoise eyes locked to hers. Rally examined his face with reluctant fascination. A nice tan, not too dark, his skin smooth with only the accent of laugh lines around his eyes. His sunstreaked dark-blonde hair swept off his high forehead in flawless waves, with just the right amount of casual disarray.

 

All right, maybe she could detect a few hints of plastic surgery if she looked hard, but it was beautiful plastic surgery. He seemed eerily perfect from every angle. With the obvious exception of the ruined hand. For once in her life, she felt regret for defacing a human work of art. He was in the prime of life in his late thirties. Larry Sam was an attractive young man with a promising future, but Sylvester Brown was a fully realized masterpiece. A master criminal, she reminded herself. He wasn't the best-looking businessman she'd ever seen, but a murderous drug dealer.

 

“Sure. Let's lay out our conditions.”

 

“How interesting.” Brown looked closely at her face while still holding her hand. “Your eyes aren't brown; they're blue. Not contact lenses.”

 

“...No.”

 

“Midnight blue, I'd call them. So dark it's hard to tell the shade until they catch the sun.” He tilted his face with a contemplative smile, his voice gentle. “How lovely.”

 

“Uhhh...thanks.” She extracted her hand from Brown's, her pulse beating hard in her throat. For some reason, good-looking men were hitting on her today! What was up? Considering the circles she moved in back home, she knew how to fend off impolite masculine interest, but California seemed to be populated with smooth operators. Of course, a man like Brown probably tried his charm on every woman he met just on general principles. [Author ID1: at Thu Nov 11 23:23:00 2004 ]

 

 

“I want your assurance that you're going to testify against the Dragons. That's my reason for doing this.”

 

“And that is my intention, Rally. No argument there.”

 

“Oh, and Bean wants that suitcase, of course.” She shrugged. “Five hundred large, in cash.”

 

“Of course. I don't intend to argue numbers, Rally. My conditions are also simple...but I think I had better discuss them with you alone, huh?”

 

He made a motion of the eyes to indicate Bean, who stood behind him with a scowl visible even under his sunglasses. “Considering their nature.”

 

“I'm not going to leave him out—”

 

“No, no.” Brown smiled. “Let's just retreat a few yards into the trees out of earshot. Your partner can still keep an eye on you, if that's what you want him to do.”

 

“I can take care of myself.”

 

“Very true.” He turned to nod at Manichetti, then took her arm and began to usher her into the woods.

 

“Hey!” shouted Bean, and they halted. “Where the <i>fuck</i> are you going with her, dickface?”

 

Rally spun around. “Bean, keep a lid on it! I'm trying to TALK—”

 

“Better watch your ASS, girl!”

 

“Ohh!” She stamped her foot. “I don't <i>believe</i> you!”

 

“Mr. Bandit,” said Brown, “I get the impression you aren't as willing to see reason as Ms. Vincent believes.”

 

“Shit! You trick me, you try to get me shot, you make me crash my goddamn LS-7 'Vette, you start smearin' your slime all over that girl, and you want me to see REASON? Give me <i>one</i> freakin' reason—”

 

“Not to lose your temper and put a knife into my back here and now? All right, I will.” Brown turned around. “Has it occurred to you, Mr. Bandit, that I have information you would find useful? After all, the Dragons want to recruit you, by any means necessary.”

 

“So he finally comes out and says it, hey?” snarled Bean. “You already blew it, dickface! Why should I give a shit about the Dragons?”

 

“Oh, they won't terminate their efforts just because I failed. I can tell you what tactics they are likely to use in future, and how to defend yourself against them. They have a great deal of background information on you, and as a result of independent research, I have even more that I haven't turned over to them.”

 

He smiled. “Now there's something you will find interesting, at the very least. I know <i>everything</i> about you, down to the smallest detail; I know exactly who you are, 'Bean Bandit'.”

 

“So fucking what?” Bean laughed. “Here I am.”

 

“Ecce homo. Sufficient unto yourself, huh?” Brown flashed his white teeth in a smile that came very close to mockery. “Can you tell me the names of your parents?”

 

Bean's face fell slack; for a moment he seemed shocked into silence. He snapped off his sunglasses, his eyes as cold as she had ever seen them. “What's that got to do with the price of cheese in China?”

 

“Exactly. I know even the trivial facts of your life, the least important, most irrelevant—”

 

“What the hell? You think you know who my <i>parents</i> are?” Bean took a deep, angry breath. “Bullshit!”

 

“Ah.” Brown grinned. “How would you prove me wrong?”

 

“How would you prove it any way at all, asshole? Quit jerking my chain, or you're gonna find there's a freakin' junkyard dog on the other end!”

 

“Bean,” said Rally in desperation, “will you please calm—”

 

“Good point.” Brown chuckled. “I may be the only person in the world who has amassed all this information and has put two and two together. How can anyone cross-check a unique piece of knowledge?”

 

“I don't give a shit.” Bean's nose wrinkled, his teeth showing. “One of these days, Brown. I don't care if you hide behind the FBI, the DEA, the whole freakin' government, I'm gonna find you and I'm gonna rip that cocksucking smile off your stinkin' plastic face!”

 

“Bean!” Rally strode towards him, jammed her hands against his chest and pushed him backwards until he stopped against an oak. “Will you shut up for <i>five minutes?”</i> She tried to keep her voice too low for Brown and Manichetti to hear, but she was so angry it wasn't easy. “You don't like him, fine! But unless you sit on that temper, you will never get that money!”

 

“Rrrrr...” said Bean over her shoulder at Brown, reminding her of a growling mastiff.

 

“And knock off the macho-man protection racket! He's never going to get anywhere with me! It's only his way of talking to women; I can tell.”

 

“Babe, he does it to <i>anyone,”</i> said Bean. “Cocksucker.”

 

“Oh, spare me! You telling me you want to kill him because he complimented your manly biceps or something?”

 

“I don't give a shit if he did.” Bean curled his lip. “He ain't tryin' to get into my jeans. He's tryin' to get into my <i>head.”</i>

 

Rally glanced over at Brown, who waited quietly with a relaxed smile, hands in trouser pockets. “Yes, you have a point. But getting angry will only let him see what pushes your buttons. You're doing a great job of showing him!”

 

Bean sagged slightly, shaking his head in frustration. “Dammit...there's just something about him.” Palms up, he gestured with a hint of confusion. “He makes me crazy!”

 

“I haven't got a clue what you're talking about. He's being a hell of a lot more civil than you are! Were you raised in a barn?”

 

“Shit!” He rolled an angry look up into the treetops, his lips tight.

 

“Boy, that's a hot button right there! Who <i>were</i> your parents, Bean? Why would Brown be interested in them?”

 

“I don't have a freakin' clue.”

 

“About which?”

 

“Both.”

 

“You mean...you don't know who your parents are?”

 

Bean grimaced.

 

“But...you didn't just appear. You were a kid once. Who raised you?”

 

“The freakin' state of Illinois.”

 

“Oh.” She wasn't sure if she should feel sympathetic or simply consider his lack of civilization accounted for. “Well, that's...um, interesting, but I can't see why Brown should bring that up.”

 

“Why don't ya ask him?” said Bean sarcastically.

 

Rally glared at her partner with gritted teeth. “I'm going to go talk to him, and <i>you</i> are going to stand here and keep your mouth shut, understand? Don't make a move, don't say a word until I tell you to! I said I would get you that money, and I'm trying to keep my promise. Don't make me regret it so much I call the whole thing off!”

 

“I ain't too worried about that, babe. You know well as I do that you ain't gonna go back on a handshake.”

 

Rally made a face at him and returned to Brown. “Sorry about that. He's got hold of himself now.”

 

“Really.” They walked a few yards into the woods. “How can you tell?”

 

“Well, I...” She tried to swallow her anger. Having to apologize for Bean when she herself stood to lose the most if he lost control? That was worse than any personal insult he had given her!

 

“Just how well do you know him, Rally? After this little display, I'm wondering about the solidity of your partnership and your prospects of long-term influence over him. You did make a guarantee that he'll permanently forget his grudge. That, of course, is the primary condition under which I will give myself up.”

 

“That suitcase will do the trick. I think he's angry you didn't bring it with you to this meeting.”

 

“Afraid he'll be cheated? You can assure him he won't be. I've certainly learned my lesson in that regard. Security will be cheap at the price.”

 

“Once he's got that money in his hands, I'm sure his disposition will improve! He already promised me he wouldn't kill you, and I intend to enforce that promise.”

 

“So I will buy his forgiveness, and you will insure that it stays bought.” Brown took a deep, skeptical breath and let it out through his nostrils. “Is that <i>all</i> you have to offer me?”

 

“Uhh...” Rally's mind raced, her eyes darting back and forth.

 

“Can you give me anything more solid?” Brown pulled in his lips and looked out towards the meadow, past the dark figures of Bean and Manichetti silhouetted against the bright scene beyond. The men smoked cigarettes and looked daggers at each other.

 

“I'm disappointed. I called you because I thought you were in a unique position to help me. I will have to count on the FBI to protect me from the Dragons, of course, but I don't think they will be a problem. Ordinary precautions should suffice. But Bandit...he's a monster.”

 

He looked at her, but she couldn't muster a plausible denial. “When his guard's up, he's nearly invulnerable, and he's the most determined tracker I've ever encountered. I <i>have</i> to know he won't come after me. I simply can't take any chances with my family. Perhaps I should consider refuge in Europe instead...the FBI will have to do without me.”

 

The blood drained from Rally's face as she saw her plans collapsing. All this—violence, wreck, her besieged emotions, for nothing? Would it all end in failure, simply because Bean looked scary, stuck to his objectives, and had a tendency to say exactly what he thought? That last wasn't a fault of Brown's by a long shot—his orotund diction sounded as if he had written out every statement ahead of time.

 

“Perhaps you can reassure me. How does Bean feel about you, Rally?”

 

“Feel about me?” The blood returned to her cheeks, hot and pulsing. “Wha—what do you mean?”

 

“He's exhibiting some signs of proprietary interest in you. Is this merely because you are partners, or is there some more profound reason?” Brown's voice was soft, encouraging.

 

“Um...well, I don't know if it's all that <i>profound</i> a reason!”

 

“Ah.” Brown pursed his lips slightly. “A lovely young woman working closely with such an id-driven male. It must be a chore keeping him at arm's length.” His crinkle-eyed grin was friendly and confidential.

 

“That's putting it mildly.” She laughed a little shakily. Brown kept his pleasant smile, and Rally suddenly stopped laughing. He was fishing again...and this time she was nibbling at the bait. What did he really want to know?

 

“N-nothing's happened. We're only working together.” Admit how close she had come to disaster, flat on her back on a motel bed? Never, not even with the whole job at stake!

 

“Merely a professional relationship?” Brown shook his head. “I was hoping you had more of a hold on him than that. This doesn't sound promising.”

 

“Oh no? He takes his professional commitments very seriously!”

 

“How do you know that?”

 

“He kept his word on a bet, Brown—he promised to do something he would never have done willingly otherwise, and he's gone to a lot of trouble to keep faith. For no other reason than honor. He'll keep his word about not killing you.”

 

“A bet?” Brown's eyes had a veiled gleam. “With you?”

 

“Yes, with me. It had to do, uh, with his work.”

 

“How very interesting. Please clarify.”

 

“I...well, I don't think I'm at liberty—”

 

Brown turned away with an annoyed sigh. “Your discretion does you credit, but I would suggest that you try to see your way clear to giving me some solid information!” He turned his head in Manichetti's direction, and the driver checked his watch. “I don't have much time, Ms. Vincent, in every sense of the word.”

 

Rally stole a look at Bean. He kept his eyes on her as he leaned against a tree, one hand in his pocket and one knee bent, his boot sole against the trunk. To her surprise, he lifted his chin and smiled tentatively at her, then gave her a thumbs-up with his cigarette between his fingers. He trusted her to pull this off. If everything fell apart because she kept a little secret of his, he'd pay dearly for his privacy!

 

“All right, Brown. I'll tell you. I demanded that he stop running drugs. He told me he would if I could stop him from doing his next run, all on my own. I won the bet.”

 

Brown turned around. “Please, Rally, call me Sly.” She didn't reply, her heart pounding. Had she just made a mistake? “I see. And he's kept his word to you on this matter?”

 

“Yes, ever since. This happened about nine months ago and he's never broken his promise. That's why he was so angry at you for tricking him.”

 

Brown's lips parted, the tip of his tongue touching the even white line of his teeth. His eyes glazed over for a moment. She had the feeling that he was suppressing some strong emotion, but it looked more like joy than anything else. His voice stayed cool. “I wonder if that bet is truly indicative of his <i>professional</i> behavior.”

 

“Of course it is! He always keeps his contracts to the letter. You must know that, if you've done so much research on him!”

 

“But Rally, why would he make such a bet with you in the first place? Why put himself in such a vulnerable position? He threw away at least half his business as a result, if my information is correct. Wouldn't you say that was a touch extreme?”

 

“He...he doesn't like drugs either. And he said that if he won, I would have to stay out of his business for good!”

 

“But he transported drugs for many years before you made this demand of yours, and earned a great deal of money doing so.” Brown chuckled. “It's difficult to avoid the conclusion...that he did all this for your sake.”

 

“It was a gamble! He wanted to get me out of his hair! He never thought he would lose—he can be awfully overconfident—”

 

“And so he has linked himself ever more closely to you. You hold the key to him, my dear, even if you don't realize it.” He gave her a slow, heavy-lidded smile. “Apparently I did call the right person.”

 

“Are you saying...you think that <i>I</i>...”

 

“Oh, no, no! I've developed far too high an opinion of you for that!” Brown laughed out loud and Bean straightened up, scowling. Rally didn't think he could hear the conversation, but that laugh rang through the trees like a rifle report. “What an idea!” Brown wiped a tear of hilarity from the corner of one eye, still chuckling. “You, longing for the tender embraces of Bean Bandit? Heh, heh...”

 

Her face burned.

 

“No, of course I'm speaking of <i>his</i> attachment to <i>you</i>. I'm looking at things from Mr. Bandit's perspective, not yours.” Brown turned to glance at Bean. “In his own way, he respects you very much and accords you special, nay unique, status. This must be far more profound than a simple desire to have you. Obviously he's a member of the male sex, and as such, he is aware that you are a very attractive woman. I would think many women have struck him that way. But for which of them would he sacrifice several hundred thousand dollars in annual income?” Brown nodded like a sage. “The verdict is a fair one, I think.”

 

Rally drew a deep breath that seemed to tighten every fiber in her body. Looking at Bean again, she felt as if a strange new lens had intervened in her vision's path, pulling him into painfully sharp focus. A hard-headed criminal who cared so much for her good opinion that he would throw away the thing he liked best: money.

 

All of a sudden his insistence that he owned the entire $500,000 in Brown's suitcase seemed less greedy, more reasonable. She wasn't any more inclined to give him his way, but it was hard to think badly of him for persisting.

 

Bean caught her gaze. His face moved in a questioning tilt as she stared into his eyes from fifteen yards off.

 

Rally bit her lip. Frankly, she'd been treating him like crap—playing with his emotions while denying to herself that he even had them. No wonder he had exploded at her in the restaurant. His coarse vocabulary put their entire relationship in purely sexual terms, but he had been telling her something more than that whether he had intended to or not. He probably hadn't formed the thought, and she didn't want to. Even to herself, she could not say the word. It didn't seem applicable to Bean. It didn't even seem to exist in the same universe as him.

 

Brown's turquoise gaze stayed fixed on her. Suddenly she realized he was waiting for an answer, for confirmation. How much of this could she tell him?

 

“He...well, all right, Bean has some kind of feelings for me.” That much she couldn't deny, and under the circumstances, she didn't want to deny it unequivocally. Brown apparently needed to hear it from her before he'd feel secure. “He told me a little while ago that he, um, that he'd wanted me ever since he met me.”

 

She thought about the previous night. <i>I'm gonna fuck you so good...</i> Five minutes later, he had left her cold and flat, with a peculiar warmth in his eyes.

 

“It's, um, OK, it's a little more than that because we've been through a lot together. He trusts me and he knows I won't sell him out. I guess he doesn't extend that to many people. Um, maybe not to anyone else. He's not a man who gives his trust easily.”

 

A very strange smile spread across that perfect blonde face. Fierce, grimacing, triumphant at the same time. Brown gripped his hands into fists so tightly that his whole body trembled. The plastic cast buckled audibly.

 

“Uhhh...are you all right, um, Sly?”

 

“Perfectly,” he said, releasing his clenched hands with a gasp. “I'm...this is excellent news. Exactly what I hoped for. I don't see any obstacles to an agreement now.” He put his left hand up to his face and exhaled hard. “Forgive me. The last few days have been a strain. I see the light emerging at the end of a very dark tunnel.”

 

“I'm glad,” said Rally with heartfelt sincerity. “Really I am. Look, why don't we just take you to Bean's car and deliver you to the FBI right now? You'll be safe then and you can relax.”

 

“Ah, but it would be difficult to retrieve the money if I left now, wouldn't it?” Brown smiled. “Mustn't forget, Mr. Bandit's priorities lie in a different realm from yours, Rally. It wouldn't do to disappoint him.”

 

“No.” She realized that she hadn't given Bean's interests much thought yet. “Did you mean what you said about <i>more</i> than half a million?”

 

“I assume you've asked him to give up some of that money in return for your help.”

 

“That's between the two of us.”

 

“Of course. I will guarantee the half million as a minimum since it's the original amount agreed upon. Anything else I can get will be extra insurance towards your partner's happiness, so you can be sure I will do my best.”

 

“That's fine with me.”

 

“I have to go.” Brown put his left hand on her arm. “I'll call you again later to work out the details of my actual defection. Five at the latest. Until then...”

 

He cast a covert glance at Bean. “Good luck with him, my dear. I could see right away that he entertains an attraction to you—perfectly understandable, of course, but I wasn't sure of its extent without inquiring more closely. Although it serves my purposes, I hope he doesn't impose it on you too energetically. Of course you can take care of yourself, as you say. But consider, Rally.”

 

His voice dropped to a solicitous whisper. “If I, who can afford the best protection money can buy, am not sure of my personal security where Bean Bandit is concerned, what precautions must <i>you</i> take? If the warmth of banked desire heats into frustrated anger, how safe will you be when his lust bursts into full flame?”

 

Brown certainly didn't overestimate Bean's sense of honor. Her eyes narrowed. “Safer than any woman you've met in your life, Brown.” She patted her holster through her jacket.

 

“Good,” he said. “Remember, my name is Sly. I'd like to give you something...a little gift of appreciation. May I?”

 

“Such as?”

 

“Information on your partner's background. It's burning a hole in my pocket anyway, so to speak. It can't serve its original purpose now, so it might as well serve you.”

 

“...All right.”

 

“I'll just give you the condensed version, since I'm pressed for time.” Manichetti made a timeout signal. Brown consulted a platinum Rolex on his left wrist and spoke rapidly.

 

“He was born in 1970, an illegitimate child given up for adoption at birth. Although he was placed with a married couple, he soon ended up in the custody of the Illinois child welfare department, having been abandoned in a race-track parking lot south of Marion. No one could trace his origin, and he was too young, or too stubborn, to tell the authorities who he was. Although he was three years old at the time, his age was estimated as five, based on his size and development, and so his legal birthdate is 1968.

 

“No one was willing to adopt him again, due to his racially mixed heritage and his rambunctious disposition. He grew up in a series of foster homes, one of which was headed by an auto mechanic with a taste for building high-performance hot rods. At the age of twelve—legally fourteen, and already standing six foot two, he left the group home in which he was living and struck out on his own.

 

“He disappears from all records until 1986, when he began to gain a reputation as a drag-racer around Chicago. He won enough money in illegal street betting to set himself up in business as a courier in 1989.”

 

“Nineteen years old.” She had been nineteen when she had started running the gun shop with a license that claimed she was twenty-one.

 

“Yes, though he believed he was twenty-one. In the last ten years he has made a considerable name for himself in the Chicago underworld, and his fame as a professionally reliable, peerlessly fast freelance driver has spread to most of the organizations operating in the United States and eastern Canada. He eats like a famished wolfpack, he consumes gallons of alcohol, he smokes constantly and rampages through inexpensive whorehouses with great energy. But of course you know that part. Do you have any questions I might answer?”

 

She didn't know that part—the one about the whorehouses. Something cold passed through her, even though the assertion didn't seem to fit Bean.

 

“Racially mixed, huh? So who are his parents?”

 

“Ah, well, that's a long story.” Brown grinned. “I have a file folder two inches thick. Government agency records, medical records, newspaper clippings, transcripts of interviews. I left no stone unturned, or so I thought. Somehow I missed...you.”

 

“Very interesting.” And highly edited with a lot of crucial points left out. “Is any of it true?”

 

Brown's smile faded slightly. “You'd have to ask him that.”

 

“When he doesn't even know himself?” That hadn't come out quite right. Of course Bean knew himself—but if Brown was correct, Bean didn't even know how old he was. The implications of such a childhood began to seep through her mind, leaving a hollow feeling in her chest. “Someone dumped him in a parking lot when he was three years old?”

 

Brown shrugged. “It seems he had been severely abused—he was covered with bruises—and possibly starved. The ill effects of childhood violence have a tendency to follow one through life, alas.” He shook his head in what must have been feigned sorrow. “Growing up without love or even proper care inflicts irreparable damage on the strongest of us. When there's no foundation for attachment to other humans, what can one build on?”

 

“Maybe so.” But Brown had just been elated to find that Bean had an attachment to her. Was he only warning her further on the possible dangers of that? “I think I'd pay more attention to what someone's like as an adult.”

 

“Exactly,” said Brown with a subtle smile. “The child is father to the man. Which is why I spent so much time learning the facts of Mr. Bandit's early years.” He began to walk back towards Manichetti and the edge of the woods. Rally followed him.

 

“You've memorized them all?”

 

“In infinite detail. If I had a couple of hours, I could lay it all out for you. I'm a born raconteur.”

 

Or a born bullshit artist. She had never heard a voice that loved the sound of itself so damn much. Had he twisted the facts to fit his purposes or pulled the whole saga out of his well-shaped ass? Some of it fit with what she knew and with what Bean had said. The rest...was possible. She was definitely going to have to check this out somehow.

 

They had walked within Bean's earshot now, so the private conversation was over. “Thanks, Sly. It sounds good. I'll call the Feds. Will you let me give you some tactical suggestions on your defection?”

 

“Certainly. I'll call later this evening, about five o'clock, but we probably shouldn't meet again until it's time. I've already pushed my window to the limit.”

 

They halted ten feet from Bean, who straightened up and looked at her, with an occasional flick of the eyes in Brown's direction. “Bean, it's all worked out except for the getaway plan. I can count on you and Buff for that?”

 

“Yeah,” said Bean, his voice neutral. “No problem.”

 

“Excellent,” said Brown. “Be seeing you.” He shook Rally's hand and glanced at Bean.

 

“Go on,” she said when Bean didn't move. “Shake on it.”

 

“I'm gonna have to decline,” said Bean, still in neutral. “Sorry.”

 

Brown waved away the beginning of her expostulation, nodded to Manichetti, and turned to go. At the edge of the green grass, where the sun took over from the shade of the trees, he looked back at Rally with a heavy-lidded glance of turquoise eyes. “Again, good luck.” He slid the glance over to Bean, and smiled. “Every one of us.”

 

When the pair reached the oak with one dead branch, O'Toole dropped to the ground and followed them into the distant line of woods.

 

 

$$

 

 

“We need a hotel, Bean.” Rally got into Buff's passenger seat and looked at its driver. He sat with his door open, one foot on the brake and the other on the gas pedal, revving the engine with deadly regularity. He had walked far ahead of her on the way back to the car and nearly lost her around a turn, stalking along the roadside path with rapid strides as she ran to keep up.

 

By the time she reached Buff, he had unlocked the car and turned on the ignition. He now sat feeding fuel to the giant powerplant and listening to the deep rumble of the idling pistons and big twin exhausts as if it were a soothing meditation. His face was still frozen in a blank scowl.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Somewhere near that pier, I think, if there are any hotels in that neighborhood.”

 

“So we'll look.” He slammed his door, let out the parking brake and backed out of the bushes, then spun Buff in a tight 180 and drove out on the main road.

 

Heading east, they took a left on a larger divided street and emerged from the tall eucalyptuses of the park into a neighborhood of elegant old four-story houses and apartments. Bean continued north along Park Presidio, signs pointing the way to the Golden Gate Bridge.

 

Rally watched his face. Obviously seeing Brown had rattled him, but she couldn't put the job off simply because her partner was in a foul mood.

 

“Can I ask you a question, Bean?”

 

“Spit it out.”

 

“Do you know anything about having been abandoned in a parking lot at the age of three?”

 

He stared at her, his expression finally changing; not for the better. “Where the hell did you hear that?”

 

“From Brown. He told me some things about you that he said he'd dug up here and there, and I want to know if he was lying.”

 

“Shit,” said Bean, with meaning.

 

“He didn't tell me who your parents were, if you're wondering. I did ask.”

 

“What the hell for?”

 

“Uh...I thought you might like to know...”

 

“Not from him, I don't!” Bean stepped on the gas and shot Buff through a yellow light.

 

“Sorry!” said Rally in exasperation. “I was trying to do you a favor!”

 

“Oh yeah? Weren't you just lookin' for dirt on me?”

 

“Has it ever occurred to you that I might like to know who I'm dealing with? It's not like you've ever told me a thing about your history.”

 

“You oughta be askin' the bastard about <i>himself</i>, not about me. <i>He's</i> the one you gotta worry about!”

 

“You think he would've answered me?”

 

“Nope. But it makes a lot more sense than wondering about stuff that happened a long time ago.”

 

“Look, Bean, I'm trying to find out if he was just spinning tales for his own purposes, or if he was telling the truth. Doesn't <i>that </i>make sense?”

 

“Aw, <i>shit</i>...” Bean growled, showing his teeth. There was a long pause as he turned right off Park Presidio onto Geary, dodging bicyclists and several pink-haired teenage pedestrians. “Some cop found me in a parking lot, yeah. But I wasn't three, I was five.”

 

“According to Brown, you were only three. You were so big they thought you were older. He said you were born in 1970.”

 

Bean gave her an odd look. “I don't remember it anyway. Somebody used to tell me she'd take me back there if I didn't behave. Like a freakin' stray dog.”

 

“One of your foster parents?”

 

Bean only grunted in reply.

 

No one had ever wanted him...according to Brown. Could that be true? Could he have grown up without a single devoted person in his life? That might well make him ravenous for the physical equivalent of affection. But it was also likely he would never have developed much emotional capacity. Rally wondered how much he really had. The difference between callousness and habitual reserve wasn't always easy to tell. She'd had a brief sense of insight into his motives when Brown had claimed Bean loved her.

 

There—that word. It made no sense applied to Bean, but he wasn't devoid of better feeling. He responded to children at the very least. Someone had nurtured a spark of human kindness in the tough young stray, oversize for his age and spurned like a dog.

 

“OK, well, he said you were in foster care until you were fourteen...or twelve, if he's right about your age. Then you ran away and became a drag racer.”

 

“Yeah, that's about right. Damn, I was twelve?” Bean suddenly laughed. “I was a braver little snot than I thought.”

 

“All on your own, at twelve?”

 

“Aaah, I got along. Shit, that'd mean I'm only twenty-nine. I got kinda pissed about turnin' thirty, and now I got to do it all over again.”

 

“Consider the alternative!”

 

“Never turnin' thirty?” He chuckled again. “Yeah, I guess so.”

 

“Do you know anything about the family that adopted you?”

 

Bean stopped laughing. “Nobody adopted me.”

 

“Yes, someone did right after you were born.” By now it seemed that Brown had gotten it right. “But I guess they didn't treat you well, if you ended up starving in a parking lot. You'd been beaten, too, so they must have been awful parents. If they were the ones who did it, that is.”

 

“Did he say that?”

 

“No, he didn't say a word about them. Which is strange, because he should have been able to find out everything about them. He said he had copies of all kinds of documents pertaining to you.”

 

Bean snarled. “Great. That's just the kinda thing I want gettin' around.” He chewed his jaw back and forth for a moment. “He say anything about what I was up to besides drag racin'?”

 

“No. He said you disappeared from the record for years. What were you doing?”

 

“Aw...stuff,” said Bean. “Long time ago now.” He fell silent for several minutes, looking out the windshield with a thoughtful expression as he drove towards downtown.

 

“Did...do you remember anyone who took good care of you?”

 

“Yeah, I guess they tried.” He seemed lost in reminiscence. “The people they sent me to, I mean. Not like I was easy to handle.”

 

“That doesn't surprise me. I meant, do you remember anyone who really, um, loved you...?”

 

Instantly she regretted that she'd asked. Bean's expression darkened until his scar nearly disappeared in heavy scowl lines. His eyes went icy.

 

“What the hell do you want to know that for?”

 

“No...no reason. Sorry.”

 

“Stay outta my frickin' head, Vincent. I don't need shit from both ends!” He twisted away and accelerated around a left turn.

 

The subject had closed, probably for good. Rally kept her eyes on Bean for a little while, then turned and watched rooftops slip by against the bright sky, her vision blurring. Surely there was no reason to cry for a child who had armored himself against every kind of pain, the original bruises having vanished with the passage of twenty-six years.

 

<br>

 

$$

 

 

 

“Which one of 'em is gonna kill the other one?” Manichetti started the engine of a long black Jaguar parked on a side street veiled by trees.

 

“Does it matter?” Brown laughed and flopped into the back seat as O'Toole held the door for him.

 

“No sir.” O'Toole grinned through the slit in his balaclava. “I can always take care of the other one for ye, sir. I'd count it a privilege to put a slug through either the wee slut or that mooncalf eejit of hers. Near broke my bleedin' heart to see the bitch pussy-whip any man like that, be he ever so big an' dumb!”

 

“Yeah, he might have the edge in a fight, hey?” said Manichetti.

 

“I'd say they were about evenly matched. Mr. Bandit has the edge in strength and sheer determination, and Ms. Vincent has speed and firepower.” Brown took off his suit jacket. “I imagine his skull is a hard one, but a shot at close range would penetrate it handily. It might not kill him instantaneously—he's possessed of enough animal energy to throttle someone even when fatally wounded. I can imagine a scenario in which they might kill each other simultaneously. That has possibilities.”

 

O'Toole got into the front passenger seat and closed the door. Manichetti pulled away from the curb and merged smoothly into traffic. Brown lay back on the leather cushions, his left hand over his eyes and an exhausted smile on his face.

 

“That young woman is certainly more cautious than her age would warrant, though a tad too eager to succeed. This is proving an interesting challenge.”

 

“Looks even hotter in the flesh,” said Manichetti. “You sure he ain't screwed her yet? He was acting jealous as a pup.”

 

“I honestly don't know, though I'm inclined to think not. It's not crucial.” He held up a finger, waggling it in the air with his eyes still closed, his voice taking on a professorial tone. “The important thing is the bond of trust between them. It's not as strong on her side as it is on his, but it definitely exists. Despite surface appearances, they are acting as a unit, defending each other from behind a citadel of mutual regard. The neighbors can hear the domestic squabbles, but so far the fort is solid.” Brown opened his eyes and grinned nastily. “I've planted a few mines under the wall, I think. With luck, some of them are going off right now.”

 

“Man, that was funny, when you made that crack about her 'longin' for his embrace'!” Manichetti took the cordless receiver out of his ear. “Sure was hard to keep a straight face—that ugly bastard.”

 

“Oh, thank you for the reminder,” said Brown, removing his tie and unbuttoning his shirt. He pulled his shirttails out of his trousers, revealing a miniature transmitter and antenna wrapped around his waist and taped to his ribs. “I certainly can't go into a summit meeting equipped with a wire. My colleagues might imagine I was in the pay of the FBI.”

 

O'Toole let out a sharp bark of a laugh and took off his balaclava.

 

<i>SKRRIPP!</i> With a sizzling rip of adhesive tape, Brown removed the transmitter. “Ouch—damn, that burns. But certainly worth it.” He rubbed his skin. “I'm sure both of you learned a great deal.”

 

“Fockin' soap opera, if ye ask me.” O'Toole reached to take the equipment from Brown, who handed the whole tangled mess to him and lay back again. Pausing with the wire in his hand, the little sharpshooter looked at his employer lounging in the back seat, shirt open to reveal a tanned, muscular chest with a moderate crop of dark hair. His pale green eyes moved over Brown's figure with covert, guilty longing, but he turned and stuffed the wire into the glove compartment. “Why d'yeh have to go talk to those bloodthirsty sodomites, sir? That 426 is just gonna try to sabotage yeh again.”

 

“I do have some allies still. My progress report will encourage them. In fact, I think I will be able to sketch a firm outline of action. Perhaps my request for backup personnel and materials will go through on the strength of it.”

 

“Materials?”

 

“Cash, mostly.”

 

“Oh, another—”

 

“Tom, I need to think, if you don't mind.” Brown closed his eyes and put his hands behind his head. “Manny, take me to the pier. But don't drive too fast.”

 

“Yessir, Mr. Brown,” said Manichetti. “Slow and easy.”

 

“Nothing is slower,” murmured Brown to himself, “than a fool's haste.”