IN THE WAY back to the city, I called the junkyard. We stopped in, spoke to the Mole. He'd place the cars. I didn't ask him to do anything else.
It took us a couple of hours to find the Prof. He was working Penn Station, deep in talk with a couple of guys stretched out on sleeping mats made from cut-up cartons. A two-wheeled shopping cart stood between them, full of magazines, empty plastic bottles, a Cabbage Patch doll with only one arm on top. As we closed in on him, I recognized the two pups from the shoeshine stand.
They recognized me too. The bigger one snaked his hand into the cart.
"Chill it, fool," the Prof snapped at him. The pup listened to his teacher. The Prof walked over to us. We stood against the corner as I ran it down.
The little man thought it over. "There's always danger from a stranger."
I thought of what the Mole said about Wesley. "He's not us, Prof. But he's not them either."
"I'll drive. From the far side. Couple of hours. You don't show, I go." Dealing himself in. One piece left.
I rang Michelle's room. "Are you decent?" I asked her.
"No, but I'm dressed."
Max and I went up to her hotel room. She was wearing green Chinese pajamas, makeup in place, hair still up. Smoking one of her long black cigarettes.
She kissed Max on the cheek, reached over, squeezed my hand. "What is it?"
"Monday night, late. I need someone to drive me and Max. Wait for us. Couple of hours. We don't show up, take the car and split."
"What's the risk?"
"Not much. The car'lI be clean when you're sitting in it. We come back on the run, you can still fade."
"Somebody's paying?"
"Somebody."
"I'm in for a piece?"
"We're not stealing, Michelle. Flat rate. You call it."
"I'll have to take the whole night off. Say, two large."
"Okay."
"You're different now. Different again."
"What?"
"You don't feel like a gunfighter to me anymore. But you're not back to yourself. Something's still missing."
I knew what it was: I didn't feel afraid.