The car rolled to a stop down the street and Antonio reached down the front of his jeans, where he kept his Colt. He thought it was macho to wear it there. Also the barrel bulged up his crotch something fierce. The chicks really dug that.
The man stepping out of the car had the weirdest eyes Antonio had ever seen. They were blue. Like neon. They fixed on Antonio like he was some kind of bug. The man wore casual clothes.
Antonio pulled out his weapon. The blond man did not flinch or run, or do any of the usual things people did when they stared down the barrel of Antonio's gun. In fact, the man acted as if Antonio was holding a water pistol on him.
"I'll bet that gun is hot," the man said in a quiet, reasonable voice.
"Hey, I paid good money for this piece," Antonio said. "I don't have to steal. I make a grand a week."
"I didn't mean stolen," the man said, moving toward him. "I meant hot. As in red-hot."
Antonio wrinkled his forehead. "Get real, man," he said. But then the grip felt warm, the way a coffee cup is warm when you first take it in your hands. It grew warmer, the way a coffee cup feels when it's full of piping-hot coffee and you forget to grab it by the handle.
"Ouch!" howled Antonio Serrano. His prize pistol fell into the gutter.
The blue-eyed man got to the gun before he did. He picked it up, broke open the cylinder, and emptied the chambers into his hands. Tucking the Colt under one armpit, he calmly twisted the tips off the bullets and shook out the gray gunpowder like a man using a salt shaker.
"What the fuck is going on?" Antonio Serrano asked when the man offered the useless weapon back.
"Don't be afraid to touch it," the man said. "It won't bite you."
Antonio reached out tentatively. He touched the barrel. It felt cool, like metal is supposed to feel. He yanked the gun back, but without bullets it was useless. Still, it felt good in his hand.
"What's your problem, pal?" Antonio demanded, pointing the Colt out of habit.
"I knew if I cruised this neighborhood long enough I would find someone like you."
"Congratulations. I don't give fucking autographs."
"You run with a gang?"
"I lead the gang," Antonio boasted. "The Eastie Goombahs. You musta heard of us. Even the cops are scared of us."
"Even the cops," repeated the blue-eyed man. "Did I mention my name?"
"Screw your name."
"Tulip. Call me Tulip. I like the way you carry yourself."
"Hey, keep that faggy stuff to yourself."
"Don't be crude. I'd like to hire you."
"I'm self-employed, jack."
"So I gathered. A thousand dollars a week, isn't that what you said?"
"Yeah. "
"That would make fifty-two thousand dollars a year, assuming you don't take vacations."
"I wouldn't know a fucking vacation if it sat on my face."
"No doubt," said Tulip. "How would you like to make, say, twice your yearly income-one hundred thousand dollars-for a few days' work?"
"Twice fifty-two thousand dollars is one hundred and four thousand dollars. You trying to cheat me? Or maybe you think because I never got past sixth grade, I'm stupid or something. "
"No, I don't think you're stupid or something," said the man who called himself Tulip.
"Because you don't pull down the bucks I do unless you can count. Counting's important. Once I had my multiplication fucking tables down, I was set for life. That was my education. I got the rest on the streets."
"I want you to kill two men for me."
Antonio looked interested. "Yeah, who?"
"The Vice-President of the United States is one of them."
"Pass. I heard the Iranians or somebody like that are already working on it. "
"They failed. I have a suitcase full of money that they would have claimed had they succeeded."
In spite of himself, Antonio Serrano was impressed. This guy was talking about dusting the Vice-President of the fucking United States. Antonio Serrano had never even left the state.
"You serious, man?"
"What do you think?" asked Tulip.
"You mentioned another guy."
"Governor Michael Princippi."
"Isn't he running for President too?"
"Yes, are you interested?"
"I don't know, man. Drugs are my line. Breaking heads, too. I killed guys before, sure. But only over turf or bucks."
"Work for me. You will make money. What is the difference between killing for territory or killing directly for money?"
"I don't know. Killing for money doesn't have much of a purpose. I gotta have more. Yeah, I gotta have purpose." Tulip looked around.
"This is your turf?"
"Me and the Goombahs own it."
"I doubt that," said Tulip.
"Well, we don't own it exactly. We control it, though. Nobody comes here unless we let him."
"I'm here," said Tulip, smiling thinly.
"All I gotta do is whistle and the Goombahs'll be all over you like bugs on a barbecue."
"I'll take your word for it. Why do you fight for this street?"
Antonio Serrano thought. He shrugged. "For power, prestige, and . . . "
"Money?"
"That's what it all comes down to, sure. I'll give you that. "
"Work for me and the money will be bigger and quicker."
"Nah, that's like Mafia stuff, man. If I wanted to join the Mafia, I'd have done that a long time ago. Not me. No way. You think I'm going to work my ass off and turn over half my score to some old Italian guy? That's stupid. I'm not stupid. "
"Try it. I will give you one hundred and four thousand dollars for the governor. If it works out, I'm prepared to offer double that amount for the Vice-President."
"I don't know," Antonio Serrano said slowly.
"You don't have to kill anyone yourself. You have men. Send them. Pay them whatever you wish out of the money I offer and keep the rest. "
Antonio considered. Whenever he thought, his bushy eyebrows grew together into one long eyebrow. He scratched it absently.
"I don't know. I don't think my guys can handle this kind of action by themselves. I might have to go with them. You know, to keep them on target. They're not smart like me."
"It will be easy. The governor does not like guards. He has no Secret Service protection. What have you got to lose, my friend?"
"How do I know you'll give me the money afterward?"
"I have the money in my car. I will show it to you. Then we will go to a bus terminal and put it in a locker. We will mail the locker key to your home address immediately after."
"Hey, then all I gotta do is wait for the mail. What do I need to kill anybody for?"
"You will not do that."
"Why not?" Antonio asked.
"Because after you give me your address, I will know where you live," said Tulip.
"I could move."
"Not you. No one making your kind of money would live here because he liked it. This street is all you know. You were born here and you will die here. Besides, wherever you hid, I would find you." And to drive the point home, Tulip jammed his finger into the muzzle of Antonio's pointing pistol. The barrel split along its entire length.
"You got something there," admitted Antonio Serrano, examining his ruined Colt.
"It is a deal, then?"
"The governor, sure I can do the governor. He probably doesn't even pack a piece."
"Fine. Let me show you the money and we will go to the bus station. After that, you will have forty-eight hours to complete this job."
"One other thing," said Antonio Serrano as they walked to Tulip's car.
"Yes?"
"The governor. After I kill him, is it okay with you if I lift his wallet too?"