F Paul Wilson - Novel 04 Read Free Page B

the bill,
Paulie. Just watching over my investment.”
    “Yeah, but I feel like a
little kid. I mean, what next? A booster seat?” Snake permitted himself a
smile. Paulie was never completely happy unless he had something to whine about.
    “I’m just making sure
that—What’s your name again?” Snake said to the
barber—oops, sorry: hair stylist.
    “Raynoldo,” said the
stylist. He had a delicate build and a delicate mustache and dark hair slicked
back tight against his scalp.
    “Yeah. Raynoldo. I just want
to make sure Raynoldo here does it right. And that means off with the
ponytail.”
    “Aw, Christ!” Paulie
said. “Do we really have to do that? I mean, isn’t that like
goin‘ kinda far?” Snake ignored the question. The ponytail
wasn’t up for discussion.
    “And I want to make sure the
beard looks good too,” he said. “Neat is the word. Hear that,
Raynoldo? Neat.”
    “Yes sir,” Raynoldo
said. He gave Snake a quick, delicate smile. “Neat it will be.”
Probably thinks me and Paulie’ve got a thing going, Snake thought.
    “The beard I don’t care
about,” Paulie said, still whining. “I mean, I only grew it for the
gig. But the tail, man. Plenty of chauffeurs got ponytails. I can—”
Sudden fury overcame Snake.
    The goddamn jerk! He said
chauffeur!
    He catapulted out of his seat and
pulled the scissors from Raynoldo’s fingers. He grabbed Paulie’s
ponytail, yanked it taut, and snipped it off about two inches from his head.
    “You talk too much,
Paulie,” he said through his teeth, handing the scissors back to Raynoldo
and tossing Paulie’s hair into his lap. “End of discussion.”
Paulie glared at him but said nothing.
    Good, Snake thought. Just so long
as we know who’s boss here.
    He felt the rage cool as quickly as
it had flared, the way it always did. One second he was ready to kill; another
second and it was as if nothing had happened.
    He didn’t like the outbursts,
but sometimes they served multiple purposes. Like now: He wouldn’t have
to listen to any complaints from Paulie about the change of clothes waiting for
him. He was going to be dressed right for the pickup this morning.
Chauffeur’s livery all the way.
    He glanced at his watch. Time was
a-wasting.
    “All right,” he said to
Raynoldo. “Let’s get going. Make him nice and respectable looking,
and make it quick. We’re on a schedule here.”
     
6
     
    “… so let’s
remove the outlaw glamour from drugs. Let’s make drugs dull, and
let’s portray people who use them as dumb. One of the definitions of
stupidity is the inability to learn from experience. Nothing we’ve tried
has worked. It’s long past time for a change of tactics…”
John twisted the knob and cut off Tom’s voice as he hit another major
snag near Pennsylvania Avenue. Cars were backed up on 17th Street. When he
reached Lafayette Square he
saw why.
    Hundreds of people were gathered on
the grass, setting up tables and tents wherever they found an open patch, one
even holding an impromptu prayer meeting on a nearby corner. Across the park,
on the far side of the section of Pennsylvania Avenue in front of the White House that had been blocked off and turned into a
pedestrian mall in 1995, he could see chanting, sign-carrying protesters
marching in front of the wrought-iron fence.
    The circus had arrived.
    John edged his car toward the cadre
of armed, grimlooking members of the Secret Service uniformed division manning
the visitors gate. Twice the number he usually encountered. One started to wave
him off, but then let him approach when John held his ID and pass out the window.
    John knew most of the gate guards
by now. This guy must have been one of the reinforcements.
    As his ID and pass were being
scrutinized, John said, “They didn’t waste any time, did they. Must
all be early risers.” The guard grunted, “The first group showed up
around ten o’clock last night.” He checked the appointment book in
the gatehouse, then