MAX WASN'T at the warehouse when I pulled in. Immaculata was upstairs, in the living quarters they fixed up above Max's temple. She had a stack of mail waiting for me. One of Mama's drivers handles the pickup from my P0 box in Jersey, drops it off every few weeks. Mac bounced her baby on her knee while I smoked and went through the pile.
Anything goes through the U.S. mail. It moves more cocaine than all the Miami Mules going through customs. That's why they invented the "American key." Key as in kilo. A true kilo, European-style, is 2.2 pounds. And the Federal Express cut-off is two pounds.
I work a different kind of dope. Some of the letters were from would-be mercenaries, sending their handwritten money orders to me for "pipeline" information. Child molesters sent cash, seeking the "introductions" I promised in my ads. Freaks ordered hard-core kiddie porn they'd never receive. Let them write the Better Business Bureau. Every so often, someone would answer one of my sting ads: " Vietnam vet, experienced in covert actions. One-man jobs only. U.S.A. only. Satisfaction guaranteed." You hire a hit man through the mails, you find out who first wrote that Silence Is Golden. Blackmailers.
The P0 box isn't just for suckers. Anyone out there who knows the game I play can use it for a mail drop. One of the envelopes contained only a single page ripped from a doctor's prescription pad. A blank page except for one word. Shela. She was a high-style scam artist who hated the freaks as much as I did. I never asked why. Whenever she ran across a rich one, she'd pass it along.
I left the money orders in a neat stack for Max to take to Mama's laundry, shrugged into my coat, bowed to Immaculata and the baby.
"Burke…"
"What?"
"Max can take care of this thing for you."
"What thing?"
"This man…the one you met…the one with the machine gun."
"Max told you about that?"
Her lovely dark eyes shone under lashes like butterfly wings. "Do you think that was wrong?"
"I'm glad he has someone to tell."
"You have someone too, Burke. You have us. You know that."
"There's nothing to tell. Wesley's not a problem."
"Not like before?"
"Let it go, Mac."
"That's what you must do," she said.