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pants were an unmistakable clue that I didn t have even a single bearer bond or Krugerrand for him.
The restaurant itself was dark and cool and so quiet you could hear an American Express Black Card
drop. The far wall was tinted glass with a door that led out to a terrace. And there was Deborah, sitting
at a small corner table outside, looking out over the water. Across from her, facing back toward the
door in to the restaurant, sat Kyle Chutsky, who would pick up the tab. He was wearing very
expensive sunglasses, so perhaps he really would. I approached the table and a waiter materialized to
pull out a chair that was certainly far too heavy for anyone who could afford to eat here. The waiter
didn t actually bow, but I could tell that the restraint was an effort.
 Hey, buddy, Kyle said as I sat down. He stretched his hand across the table. Since he seemed to
believe I was his new best friend, I leaned in and shook hands with him.  How s the spatter trade?
 Always plenty of work, I said.  And how s the mysterious visitor from Washington trade?
 Never better, he said. He held my hand in his just a moment too long. I looked down at it; his
knuckles were enlarged, as if he had spent too much time sparring with a concrete wall. He slapped his
left hand on the table, and I got a glimpse of his pinkie ring. It was startlingly effeminate, almost an
engagement ring. When he finally let go of my hand, he smiled and swiveled his head toward Deborah,
although with his sunglasses it was impossible to tell if he was looking at her or just moving his neck
around.
Deborah smiled back at him.  Dexter was worried about me.
 Hey, Chutsky said,  what are brothers for?
She glanced at me.  Sometimes I wonder, she said.
 Why Deborah, you know I m only watching your back, I said.
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Kyle chuckled.  Good deal. I got the front, he said, and they both laughed. She reached across and
took his hand.
 All the hormones and happiness are setting my teeth on edge, I said.  Tell me, is anybody actually
trying to catch that inhuman monster, or are we just going to sit around and make tragic puns?
Kyle swiveled his head back to me and raised an eyebrow.  What s your interest in this, buddy?
 Dexter has a fondness for inhuman monsters, Deborah said.  Like a hobby.
 A hobby, Kyle said, keeping the sunglasses turned to my face. I think it was supposed to intimidate
me, but for all I knew his eyes could be closed. Somehow, I managed not to tremble.
 He s kind of an amateur profiler, Deborah said.
Kyle didn t move for a moment and I wondered if he had gone to sleep behind his dark lenses.  Huh,
he finally said, and he leaned back in his chair.  Well, what do you think about this guy, Dexter?
 Oh, just the basics so far, I said.  Somebody with a lot of training in the medical area and in covert
activities who came unhinged and needs to make a statement, something to do with Central America.
He ll probably do it again timed for maximum impact, rather than because he feels he has to. So he s
not really a standard serial type of What? I said. Kyle had lost his laid-back smile and was sitting
straight up with his fists clenched.
 What do you mean, Central America?
I was fairly sure we both knew exactly what I meant by Central America, but I thought saying El
Salvador might have been a bit too much; it wouldn t do to lose my casual, it s-just-a-hobby
credentials. But my whole purpose for coming had been to find out about Doakes, and when you see
an opening well, I admit it had been a little obvious, but it had apparently worked.  Oh, I said.  Isn t
that right? All those years of practice in imitating human expressions paid off for me here as I put on
my best innocently curious face.
Kyle apparently couldn t decide if that was right. He worked his jaw muscles and unclenched his fists.
 I should have warned you, Deborah said.  He s good at this.
Chutsky let out a big breath and shook his head.  Yeah, he said. With a visible effort he leaned back
and flicked on his smile again.  Pretty good, buddy. How d you come up with all that?
 Oh, I don t know, I said modestly.  It just seemed obvious. The hard part is figuring out how
Sergeant Doakes is involved.
 Jesus H. Christ, he said, and clenched his fists again. Deborah looked at me and laughed, not exactly
the same kind of laugh she had given Kyle, but still, it felt good to know she could remember now and
then that we were on the same team.  I told you he s good, she said.
 Jesus Christ, Kyle said again. He pumped one index finger unconsciously, as if squeezing an invisible
trigger, then turned his sunglasses in Deb s direction.  You re right about that, he said, and turned
back to me. He watched me hard for a moment, possibly to see if I would bolt for the door or start
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speaking Arabic, and then he nodded.  What s this about Sergeant Doakes?
 You re not just trying to drop Doakes in the shit, are you? Deborah asked me.
 In Captain Matthews s conference room, I said,  when Kyle saw Doakes for the first time, there was
a moment when I thought they recognized each other.
 I didn t notice that, Deborah said with a frown.
 You were busy blushing, I said. She blushed again, which I thought was a little redundant.  Besides,
Doakes was the one who knew who to call when he saw the crime scene.
 Doakes knows some stuff, Chutsky admitted.  From his military service.
 What kind of stuff? I asked. Chutsky looked at me for a long time, or anyway his sunglasses did. He
tapped on the table with that silly pinkie ring and the sunlight flashed off the large diamond in the
center. When he finally spoke it felt like the temperature at our table had dropped ten degrees.
 Buddy, he said,  I don t want to cause you any trouble, but you have to let go of this. Back off. Find
a different hobby. Or else you are in a world of shit and you will get flushed. The waiter
materialized at Kyle s elbow before I could think of something wonderful to say to that. Chutsky kept
the sunglasses turned toward me for a long moment. Then he handed the menu to the waiter.  The
bouillabaisse is really good here, he said.
Deborah disappeared for the rest of the week, which did very little for my self-esteem, because no
matter how terrible it was for me to admit it, without her help I was stuck. I could not come up with
any sort of alternative plan for ditching Doakes. He was still there, parked under the tree across from
my apartment, following me to Rita s house, and I had no answers. My once-proud brain chased its tail
and caught nothing but air.
I could feel the Dark Passenger roiling and whimpering and struggling to climb out and take the
steering wheel, but there was Doakes looming up through the windshield, forcing me to clamp down
and reach for another can of beer. I had worked too hard and too long to achieve my perfect little life
and I was not going to ruin it now. The Passenger and I could wait a bit longer. Harry had taught me
discipline, and that would have to see me through to happier days.
____
 Patience, Harry said. He paused to cough into a Kleenex.  Patient is more important than smart,
Dex. You re already smart.
 Thank you, I said. And I meant it politely, really, because I was not at all comfortable sitting there in
Harry s hospital room. The smell of medicine and disinfectant and urine mixed with the air of
restrained suffering and clinical death made me wish I was almost anywhere else. Of course, as a
callow young monster, I never wondered if Harry might not feel the same.
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 In your case, you have to be more patient, because you ll be thinking you re clever enough to get
away with it, he said.  You re not. Nobody is. He paused to cough again, and this time it took [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]