F Paul Wilson - Novel 04 Read Free Page A

came out with only a few scratches.
    John shook his head. Yeah…
lucky to be alive.
    They drifted apart after college:
Tom to Duke Law, John to Tufts School of Medicine. He’d finished his
residency and was just starting as an internist when he got a call from Tom:
“I’m thinking of running for Congress. Want to help?”
Starting then, John had played a part in every one of Tom’s campaigns.
The disintegration of John’s marriage coincided with the beginning of the
Winston presidency. When Tom offered him a post in the Health and Human
Services Agency, John jumped at the chance.
    So here he was, inching through the
traffic around Dupont Circle .
It finally loosened up on Connecticut Avenue, but instead of heading for HHS,
John continued downtown. He was due at the White House.
     
5
     
    “You don’t have to be
here Mac,” Paulie said as the barber fastened the plastic drape around
his neck.
    “I mean, I know how to get a
haircut on my own.” Snake stiffened at Paulie calling him
“Mac”—he should know better than to use any sort of name when
there was a third party in the room. He forced himself to relax. Mac was such a
common term. Could mean anything.
    Probably what Ronald
McDonald’s friends called him. He didn’t like it, but he guessed it
was okay… just so long as Paulie didn’t call him Snake. But how
could he? Only packages’ families and friends ever heard that name. To
Paulie he was simply Mac. Not Mike, not MacLaglen… just plain Mac.
    Snake leaned his chair back against
the wall of the private cubicle and stared at Paulie Dicastro—a stocky
guy of average height, thirtyish with long red hair and beard, blue eyes, and
fair skin. The least Italian-looking Italian he’d ever met. Snake had booked
him with one of these upscale men’s hair stylists on Connecticut Avenue
because he wanted a quality job. Who the hell knew where Paulie would have
ended up if the choice had been left to him?
    Snake had hired him for jobs
through the years. For all his whining, Paulie was a stand-up guy. He followed
instructions, and that was the number-one priority. Even when things had got a
little dicey with the last package, Paulie had hung in there. Poppy had been a
little freaked, but it all worked out. Usually Paulie and Poppy just baby-sat
the packages until the buyer came through with the ransom, but this time Paulie
was going to do the actual snatch.
    Thus the beard. Snake had told him
two months ago to stop dyeing his hair and start letting his face grow. It
looked pretty shaggy now, but the guy with the scissors would trim it up nice
and neat. And tonight, after the package was safely tucked away, Paulie would
shave it off. Anybody looking for a guy with a beard wouldn’t give him a
second look.
    Next step after the haircut was to
get him into normal looking clothes. Paulie and that girl of his both had this
thing for black. Look at Paulie now: black T-shirt, black leather pants, black
fingerless gloves, black boots, long black coat—Paulie even dyed his hair
jet black most of the time. And Poppy… she had these straight, severe
bangs and shoulder-length pink-burgundy hair that looked like it had been cut
with a laser; she dressed in slinky, low-cut black dresses with spider-web lace
down the arms and fishnet stockings. Even had black lipstick and fingernails.
Looked like a vampire hooker. A couple of tattoos high up on her arms that
Snake had never got a close look at and loads of earrings. Christ, she must
have had ten in her left ear alone last time he saw her.
    And if that wasn’t enough,
she had a nostril ring and an eyebrow ring. Who knew where else she had a ring.
Between the two of them the only thing that wasn’t black was their skin
and Poppy’s hair—which probably was genuinely black when it
wasn’t dyed that weird color.
    Snake didn’t get it. He
wouldn’t be caught dead in Paulie’s get-up. Like carrying a
flashing neon sign that said Look at me! Hell with that.
    “I’m footing