of anything other than of reckless driving.
“Maybe if you can shake out the real ID from all the fake ones, maybe if we get the guy’s born name, who he really works for, where he lives, maybe then I can tell you the story.”
“Three maybes. I’m just warning you. I’ve got a hard ass, and I’ll sit on this for you, but not all the way till Judgment Day.”
Tim said, “Thanks, Pete. Call when you have something.”
“I suspect I’ll be working on this into the wee hours. I’ve already phoned in sick for tomorrow.”
“No matter what time it is, if you get something, call.”
“She still with you?”
“Yeah. She eats bacon cheeseburgers and hates arugula.”
“
American Idol
—does she like it?”
“Doesn’t watch it.”
“I told you she was something. Didn’t I tell you? Ask her what is her favorite chick flick of all time.”
To Linda, he said, “Pete wants to know what is your favorite chick flick of all time.”
“It’s a tossup between
Die Hard
and
Man on Fire,
the Denzel Washington version.”
Tim repeated her answer, and Pete said, “You lucky sonofabitch.”
Seventeen
I n the laundry room, Krait located spare hangers for his pants, shirt, and sports coat. He hung these clothes from handles on the kitchen cabinetry.
Attired only in underwear, socks, and shoes, he closed the blinds at the kitchen windows. He did not approve of people who made spectacles of themselves.
He found a clothes brush with stiff bristles and another with soft bristles. The discovery of a clothes sponge delighted him.
The homeowners seemed to be as fastidious about the condition of their garments as they were about their house-cleaning.
Before departing, he would be tempted to leave them a note of approval, but also some advice. Currently on the market were nontoxic, biodegradable dry-cleaning fluids for home use, of which they had none. He felt certain they would be pleased with the products he recommended.
Using the lightly dampened sponge only where necessary, and then each brush as the nature and the condition of the different fabrics required, he had soon completed refreshing the garments.
Because the laundry room was small, he set up the ironing board in the kitchen. The homeowners possessed a high-quality, versatile steam iron.
He had once employed this same brand of steam iron to torture a young man before killing him. Unfortunately, the superb appliance had been ruined by the end of the session.
When he had finished pressing his clothes, he went in search of black shoe polish, a suitable brush, and a buffing cloth. He found a shoeshine kit under the kitchen sink.
After returning everything he had used to its proper place, he dressed and went upstairs in search of a full-length mirror. He found one in the master bathroom.
His appearance pleased him. He might have been a schoolteacher or a salesman, or anyone at all.
Mirrors intrigued him. Everything was reversed in a mirror, which suggested to him some mysterious truth about life that he had not yet been able to grasp.
He had once read an interview with a woman writer who said the fictional character with whom she most intensely identified was Lewis Carroll’s young Alice. She claimed that in spirit she
was
Alice.
Because she had many lamentable opinions, Krait visited the writer one evening. She proved to be quite petite. He easily picked her up and threw her at a full-length mirror to see if she would magically pass through and vanish into Wonderland.
In fact, she was not Alice. The mirror shattered. When she failed to pass through the mirror, he spent some time passing the fragments of the mirror through
her
.
Only when his phone vibrated did Krait become aware that he had been standing in front of this particular looking glass for more than a minute or two.
A text message informed him that the order he had placed would be delivered by 2:00 A.M.
According to his wristwatch, he had one hour and fifty-five minutes to
“Maybe if you can shake out the real ID from all the fake ones, maybe if we get the guy’s born name, who he really works for, where he lives, maybe then I can tell you the story.”
“Three maybes. I’m just warning you. I’ve got a hard ass, and I’ll sit on this for you, but not all the way till Judgment Day.”
Tim said, “Thanks, Pete. Call when you have something.”
“I suspect I’ll be working on this into the wee hours. I’ve already phoned in sick for tomorrow.”
“No matter what time it is, if you get something, call.”
“She still with you?”
“Yeah. She eats bacon cheeseburgers and hates arugula.”
“
American Idol
—does she like it?”
“Doesn’t watch it.”
“I told you she was something. Didn’t I tell you? Ask her what is her favorite chick flick of all time.”
To Linda, he said, “Pete wants to know what is your favorite chick flick of all time.”
“It’s a tossup between
Die Hard
and
Man on Fire,
the Denzel Washington version.”
Tim repeated her answer, and Pete said, “You lucky sonofabitch.”
Seventeen
I n the laundry room, Krait located spare hangers for his pants, shirt, and sports coat. He hung these clothes from handles on the kitchen cabinetry.
Attired only in underwear, socks, and shoes, he closed the blinds at the kitchen windows. He did not approve of people who made spectacles of themselves.
He found a clothes brush with stiff bristles and another with soft bristles. The discovery of a clothes sponge delighted him.
The homeowners seemed to be as fastidious about the condition of their garments as they were about their house-cleaning.
Before departing, he would be tempted to leave them a note of approval, but also some advice. Currently on the market were nontoxic, biodegradable dry-cleaning fluids for home use, of which they had none. He felt certain they would be pleased with the products he recommended.
Using the lightly dampened sponge only where necessary, and then each brush as the nature and the condition of the different fabrics required, he had soon completed refreshing the garments.
Because the laundry room was small, he set up the ironing board in the kitchen. The homeowners possessed a high-quality, versatile steam iron.
He had once employed this same brand of steam iron to torture a young man before killing him. Unfortunately, the superb appliance had been ruined by the end of the session.
When he had finished pressing his clothes, he went in search of black shoe polish, a suitable brush, and a buffing cloth. He found a shoeshine kit under the kitchen sink.
After returning everything he had used to its proper place, he dressed and went upstairs in search of a full-length mirror. He found one in the master bathroom.
His appearance pleased him. He might have been a schoolteacher or a salesman, or anyone at all.
Mirrors intrigued him. Everything was reversed in a mirror, which suggested to him some mysterious truth about life that he had not yet been able to grasp.
He had once read an interview with a woman writer who said the fictional character with whom she most intensely identified was Lewis Carroll’s young Alice. She claimed that in spirit she
was
Alice.
Because she had many lamentable opinions, Krait visited the writer one evening. She proved to be quite petite. He easily picked her up and threw her at a full-length mirror to see if she would magically pass through and vanish into Wonderland.
In fact, she was not Alice. The mirror shattered. When she failed to pass through the mirror, he spent some time passing the fragments of the mirror through
her
.
Only when his phone vibrated did Krait become aware that he had been standing in front of this particular looking glass for more than a minute or two.
A text message informed him that the order he had placed would be delivered by 2:00 A.M.
According to his wristwatch, he had one hour and fifty-five minutes to
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