He talks about you with a lot of hate but seems to be unwilling to do much about the whole thing.”
“You’ve done your homework.”
“I did.”
“I’m just checking to make sure you understood me before. I don’t want any trouble, I just want you to leave me and what’s mine alone.”
My smile was false and she said, “No.” Her smile was genuine and she went on, “You like movies?”
“What do you mean, no?”
Her face lit up. “No means no. Me, I love movies. But I hate the latest version of the first Star Wars . Where Lucas gives Greedo the first shot at Han Solo under the table in the Cantina scene. You know what I mean? In the original, Han has balls, he’s a drug smuggler, someone braces him and he pulls his piece under the table and BOOM. Bye-bye Greedo. Know what I mean?”
She leaned forward and kept talking. “Guess what’s pointed at you right now? Through the plaster wall right beside you.”
“A gun?”
“That was too easy, what kind of gun?”
I kept my voice level. “No idea. So you’re not going to make nice?”
Samantha’s face tightened and her voice dropped. “There’s a boy with a twenty-gauge sawed-off pump shotgun pointed at your head right now. It’s loaded with slugs. Listen, hear that?”
The ratcheting sound of the pump being worked somewhere to the right of me through the thin wall was loud.
Very slowly I held up my hand. “I came here in good faith …”
She shrugged and her eyes sparkled. “That’s your problem. Not mine.”
“… but I’m not an idiot. You know what this is?”
I held up the yellow plastic handgrip in front of her and she stared at it. “No.”
“It’s a remote off a set of toy race cars. A short-range radio, hooked up to four kilos of Semtex, which are rolled thin around my chest right now in this stupid vest. If your boy pulls the trigger, that might set the detonators off, or I might drop the remote as I die and that might do it.”
She chewed her bottom lip and I watched her eyes absorb what I was saying. When her eyes started to narrow I waited and counted my own heartbeats.
One.
You gotta make bad guys fear and their capacity for violence is truly amazing, so their capacity for fear is awesome indeed. That’s because they can imagine bad things happening.
Two.
In other words the bad ones can do really bad things and therefore believe the same in others.
Three, and I went on, “Smell, that’s not air you’re breathing. That’s the sweet chemical tang of Slovakian plastique, a mixture of cyclonite and pentaerythrite tetranitrate. Shipped from the Synthesia Pardubice factory to Odessa in Ukraine and from there by freighter to Churchill, Manitoba, where it is exchanged for Levi jeans, Viagra, and Colombian cocaine. And from there to me.”
“Bullshit.”
I nodded. “Sure. I’m lying. I walked into this place with my dick in my hand and no plan. And maybe the van outside is loaded with gasoline and propane tanks to blow this house into orbit. And maybe it has a timer, just in case the vest fails.”
“Bullshit. Why are you so willing to die for this kind of shit?”
“I’m not fucking around; I want to show you that, so here are all the cards on the table. I’m showing you some respect here; I’m laying it on the line with no bargaining. I’m telling you that I’m connected, honey, that I’m wired, pardon the expression. And I do not lie and I do not play games. My past will hopefully have shown you that.”
“Bullshit.”
“There’s enough bang here to make a hole twenty metres across and six deep. Enough to kill every person within thirty metres of here, guaranteed.”
“Bullshit.”
“Why don’t you call Fat Boy? He’s taped up in the van but I taped his cell phone into his hand. He should be able to text you something.”
Sam pulled out a cell phone and tapped away quickly for a few seconds and then read the message out loud. “He says the van is wired. That’s the van right
“You’ve done your homework.”
“I did.”
“I’m just checking to make sure you understood me before. I don’t want any trouble, I just want you to leave me and what’s mine alone.”
My smile was false and she said, “No.” Her smile was genuine and she went on, “You like movies?”
“What do you mean, no?”
Her face lit up. “No means no. Me, I love movies. But I hate the latest version of the first Star Wars . Where Lucas gives Greedo the first shot at Han Solo under the table in the Cantina scene. You know what I mean? In the original, Han has balls, he’s a drug smuggler, someone braces him and he pulls his piece under the table and BOOM. Bye-bye Greedo. Know what I mean?”
She leaned forward and kept talking. “Guess what’s pointed at you right now? Through the plaster wall right beside you.”
“A gun?”
“That was too easy, what kind of gun?”
I kept my voice level. “No idea. So you’re not going to make nice?”
Samantha’s face tightened and her voice dropped. “There’s a boy with a twenty-gauge sawed-off pump shotgun pointed at your head right now. It’s loaded with slugs. Listen, hear that?”
The ratcheting sound of the pump being worked somewhere to the right of me through the thin wall was loud.
Very slowly I held up my hand. “I came here in good faith …”
She shrugged and her eyes sparkled. “That’s your problem. Not mine.”
“… but I’m not an idiot. You know what this is?”
I held up the yellow plastic handgrip in front of her and she stared at it. “No.”
“It’s a remote off a set of toy race cars. A short-range radio, hooked up to four kilos of Semtex, which are rolled thin around my chest right now in this stupid vest. If your boy pulls the trigger, that might set the detonators off, or I might drop the remote as I die and that might do it.”
She chewed her bottom lip and I watched her eyes absorb what I was saying. When her eyes started to narrow I waited and counted my own heartbeats.
One.
You gotta make bad guys fear and their capacity for violence is truly amazing, so their capacity for fear is awesome indeed. That’s because they can imagine bad things happening.
Two.
In other words the bad ones can do really bad things and therefore believe the same in others.
Three, and I went on, “Smell, that’s not air you’re breathing. That’s the sweet chemical tang of Slovakian plastique, a mixture of cyclonite and pentaerythrite tetranitrate. Shipped from the Synthesia Pardubice factory to Odessa in Ukraine and from there by freighter to Churchill, Manitoba, where it is exchanged for Levi jeans, Viagra, and Colombian cocaine. And from there to me.”
“Bullshit.”
I nodded. “Sure. I’m lying. I walked into this place with my dick in my hand and no plan. And maybe the van outside is loaded with gasoline and propane tanks to blow this house into orbit. And maybe it has a timer, just in case the vest fails.”
“Bullshit. Why are you so willing to die for this kind of shit?”
“I’m not fucking around; I want to show you that, so here are all the cards on the table. I’m showing you some respect here; I’m laying it on the line with no bargaining. I’m telling you that I’m connected, honey, that I’m wired, pardon the expression. And I do not lie and I do not play games. My past will hopefully have shown you that.”
“Bullshit.”
“There’s enough bang here to make a hole twenty metres across and six deep. Enough to kill every person within thirty metres of here, guaranteed.”
“Bullshit.”
“Why don’t you call Fat Boy? He’s taped up in the van but I taped his cell phone into his hand. He should be able to text you something.”
Sam pulled out a cell phone and tapped away quickly for a few seconds and then read the message out loud. “He says the van is wired. That’s the van right
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