“Nah, it don’t make much difference,” he said. “I don’t care if I die.” Jawarski had a peculiar way of talking out of one side of his mouth, as if he thought it made him look tough and fierce. He obviously had some serious psychological problems, but he wasn’t going to live long enough to clear them up. “So who told you I was here? I always bumped off squealers. Tell me who it was, so I can fog the bastard.”
“You won’t get the chance, pal. You can’t have the whole city bought off.”
“Let’s make this quick,” he said, trying to upset me. “I’m supposed to collect my money and leave town tonight.” He didn’t seem to be bothered at all by my static pistol.
He was staring to my right. I let my eyes drift in that direction, toward a small wooden table not far from the couch, covered with newspaper. There were three clips of ammunition lying there. “Was it Hajjar who told you to kill Shaknahyi?” I asked. “Or Umar, Abu Adil’s punk?” “I ain’t a squawker,” he said. He gave me a twisted grin.
“And the others — Blanca Mataro, the rest of them. You didn’t use that .45. How come?”
Jawarski shrugged. “They told me not to. They didn’t want any of the parts damaged, I guess. They told me who to put away and I done it with a little static gun. I always called in the tip to the cops myself, so the cripple cart’d get there fast. I guess they didn’t want the meat to spoil.” He gave a grunting chuckle that set my teeth on edge.
I glanced at the table, thinking that Jawarski might not have bothered to put a clip into his pistol before he let me into the room. He looked like he enjoyed bluffing. “How many have you killed?” I asked.
“You mean altogether?” Jawarski looked up at the ceiling. “Oh, I’ve got twenty-six anyway. That’s all I ever kept track of. Pretty near one for every year. And my birthday’s comin’ up soon. How’d you like to be number twenty-seven?”
I felt a rush of fury. “You’re real close, Jawarski,” I said through clenched teeth.
“Go ahead, you got a girl’s gun, lay me out if you got the guts.” He was enjoying this, mocking me and goading me. “Look, here’s a clipping,” he said. “ ‘Jawarski Bad Man, Legendary Figure,’ it says. How ’bout that?” “Ever think about the people you shoot?” I asked. “I remember that cop. I turned and let him have it in the chest. He didn’t even wobble, but he shot back at me. I wasn’t hit, though, and I beat it around behind the house. When I got to the other side, I peeked around the corner and saw the cop I shot coming after me. I let fly at him again, and ran behind another house. When I looked again he was still following me. There was blood running all over the front of his coat then, but he was still following me. God, that guy was a real man.”
“Ever think about his family? Shaknahyi had a wife, you know. He had three kids.”
Jawarski stared at me, and another crazy grin spread slowly across his face. “Fuck “em,” he said.
I stood up and took three steps. Jawarski raised his eyebrows at me, inviting me to come closer. As he stood, I tossed him the static gun. He fumbled it against his chest with his left hand, and I pulled my fist back and cracked him in the corner of his mouth. Then I grabbed his right wrist tightly and turned outward, prepared to break the bones if I had to. He grunted and dropped the automatic. “I’m not Hajjar,” I snarled. “I’m not that goddamn Catavina. You’re not gonna buy me off, and right now I’m in no mood to worry about protecting your civil rights. Understand?” I bent and scooped up his gun. I’d been wrong. It was loaded.
Jawarski put a hand to his lips. When he pulled it away, his fingers were bloody. “You been watching those holoshows again, buddy,” he said. He grinned, still not terribly worried. “You’re no better’n Hajjar. You’re no better’n me, you want to know the truth. You’d put a round right through me, if you thought you could get away with it.”
“You’re right about that,” I said.
“But you think there’s too many like Hajjar already. And it ain’t even that Hajjar’s a rotten cop. He ain’t. He’s just acting the way they all act, the way everybody expects him to act, the way he’s supposed to act. It ain’t wrong if everybody knows about it ahead of time. I’ll tell you a secret: You’re gonna end up just like Shaknahyi. You’re gonna help little old ladies across the street until you’re old enough to retire, and then some young son of a bitch like me is gonna plant you in the ground.” He reached his little finger into his ear and jiggled it a few times. “And then,” he said thoughtfully, “after you’re gone, the young son of a bitch is gonna jam your wife.”
My face felt hard and tense, frozen into a cold stare. I raised the pistol calmly and held it steadily, pointed between Jawarski’s eyes. “Watch it,” he said scornfully. “That ain’t a toy.”
I grabbed back the static pistol and put it in my pocket. I motioned for Jawarski to sit down, and I returned to my seat on the couch. We looked at each other for a few seconds. I was breathing hard; Jawarski looked like he was enjoying himself.
“I’ll bet you’re doing everything you can to comfort Shaknahyi’s widow,” he said. “You jammed her yet?”
I felt rage and frustration growing in me again. I hated hearing his lies, his justifications for crime and corruption. The worst part was that he was telling me Shaknahyi had died stupidly, for no good reason. I wasn’t going to let him say that. “Shut up,” I said in a strained voice. I found myself waving the automatic pistol at Jawarski.
“See? You can’t shoot. It’d be smart to shoot. I’ll get away clean otherwise, ’cause no matter who locks me up, I’ll be sprung. Shaykh Reda will make sure I get sprung. Ill never be brought to trial in this town.”
“No, you wouldn’t be,” I said, knowing it was probably true. I fired once. The explosion was tremendous, and the booming crack rumbled on forever, like thunder.
Jawarski fell backward in slow motion, half of his face blasted away. There was blood everywhere. I dropped the pistol to the floor. I’d never shot anyone with a projectile weapon before. I backed away and fell against the couch, unable to catch my breath.
When I’d come through the door, I hadn’t planned to kill this man, but I had done it. It had been a conscious decision. I had taken the responsibility for seeing justice done, because I’d become certain it would be done no other way. I looked at the blood on my hands and arms.
The door crashed loudly into the room. Morgan ran in first, followed by Saied. They stopped just inside the threshold and took in the scene. “Aw right,” said the Half-Hajj quietly. “That’s one loose end tied up tight.”
“Listen, man,” said Morgan, “I got to go. You don’t need me for anything more, do you?”
I just stared at them. I wondered why they weren’t horrified too.
“Let’s go, man,” said Morgan. “Somebody might’ve heard that.”
“Oh, somebody heard it, all right,” Saied said. “But in this neighborhood, nobody’s dumb enough to check on it.”
I reached up and popped the tough-guy moddy. I’d had enough of Rex for a while. We left the apartment and went down the stairs. Morgan turned one way on the sidewalk, and the Half-Hajj and I turned the other.
“What now?” asked Saied.
“We got to go get the car,” I said. I didn’t like the idea at all. The sedan was still back at Abu Adil’s. I really didn’t feel like going back there so soon after the bastard mind-raped me. I was going back there; I had that score to settle. But not just yet, not just now.
Saied must have guessed my feelings from the tone of my voice. “Tell you what,” he said. “I’ll go get the car, you sit here and wait. Won’t take long.”
“Fine,” I said, and I gave him the keys. I was immensely grateful that he’d come looking for me, and that I could count on him for help. I had no trouble trusting him again. That was good, because even with the pain-override daddy chipped in, my body was near collapse. I needed to get to a doctor soon.