She didn't dare challenge him by contesting what he said. "I'm sorry you felt that way," she whispered.

"You ain't sorry. You're just scared I'm gonna rip out your freaking throat." The screwdriver eased up against the soft underside of her chin. "It wouldn't be hard amp;"

She waited.

"Who the fuck was he, anyway?" he asked.

The question was incomprehensible. "Who was amp; who?"

"Him. The jagoff that KO'd you. Mr. Cool."

She was lost. "Mr. Cool?"

"Well, I gotta admit, I thought it was pretty cool, the way he snuck up behind both of us and never made a peep. I mean, the shoes that dude was wearingI gotta have 'em."

"I don't know what you mean."

"The guy that clocked you. What's the story there?"

"I thought amp; I amp;" She selected her words with care, conscious of the screwdriver testing her throat. "I thought you were the one who amp;"

"Brained you? Not sayin' I wouldn't have, but Mr. Cool beat me to the punch. The punch, ha, that's kinda funny."

"Yes. Funny."

The blade tickled her skin. "I don't hear you laughing."

"I guess the concussion robbed me of my sense of humor."

He grunted. "Petty theft. You saying you don't recollect Mr. Cool?"

"I'm sorry. I don't."

"You looked right at him. That pen thingamabob flashed a light in his face. You had to see him."

"I don't remember any of that."

"Bullshit."

"A lot of times a blow to the head will result in minor amnesia. Memory loss."

"Yeah, I know what amnesia is. So you're blaming your bad memory on the concussion, too?"

"It's the only explanation."

"You probably think I'm shittin' you."

"No, Justin, I don't." She kept her voice toneless.

"You think there never was no Mr. Cool. Right?"

"I didn't say that."

"You're thinking it. But you're wrong. I didn't mess you up. Didn't waste the Deputy Dawg neither."

"Okay."

"Mr. Cool must've iced him on the way in. Slit his throat nice and quiet. Silence n' violence. You got to respect that."

"Uh-huh."

"He was dead already, is what I'm saying. I didn't do him. He was lying mere in the other room when I ran out."

She went along with his story because she had no choice. "Chasing Mr. Cool."

"Fuck, no. Being chased by him. Yeah, I tangled with him for a sec, but all I had was this fucking screwie. Who knows what hardware that cat was carrying? So I make a run for it into the waiting room. Then I see the deputy, and his piece is still in the holster. This piece here."

He drew a gun out of the waistband of his pants. Robin pulled in a shallow breath.

"I snatch it," Gray said, "and I come back inside. Figure the odds are evened up."

"I see."

"It's a shame you was asleep for all this. You missed the whole damn show."

"Sounds like it."

"We played cat-and-mouse in the shadows for a minute or so." He snorted. "Minute, hellmore like ten seconds, probably. Then Mr. Cool hightails it outta here."

"You scared him off."

Gray shrugged, snugging the gun in his pants again. "Maybe he just remembered he left something on the stove. So who was he?"

"I told you, I don't know."

"You got an enemies list that long? Doc, you been hanging out with the wrong people. Hey, you know what? I bet I saved your damn life. Bet he woulda sliced you open just like the Deputy Dawg if I hadn't furnished a distraction."

She wondered if he believed the story himself. He might have suffered a psychotic break. "That's true."

"Woulda gutted the heart out of you, I bet. Then found a way to pin it on me."

"Probably."

"No probably about it. I gave you life, Doc Robin. And what I giveth I can taketh away."

The blade nuzzled her throat like the snout of an animal. Robin held her breath.

"Nah," he said, withdrawing the weapon. "Sorry, Doc. You ain't my type. I like 'em young and nubile. You're too goddamn old."

He stood, then glanced around the office and found her purse. Digging through it, he extracted her wallet and a key chain.

"I'll be needing cash and a set of wheels. If you don't mind amp;" He checked the logo on the key chain. "Saab. Nice. I seen that one parked out back. The nine-five, right?"

"Right."

"I'll see it gets back to you in good condition. And by the way, when you talk to the cops, be sure to tell 'em I did you a good deed. Not that it'll matter none. I'm still gonna be America's Most Wanted." He grinned, as if pleased with the prospect. "Ta-ta."

He left the room, and she started breathing again.

Gray was fighting back panic, an unfamiliar feeling for himbut then he'd never been a hunted animal before. His arrest last year had come without warning, and he'd spent all his time afterward in confinement. Now he was free, but the trick was to stay free. No fuckups, or he would be back in the Reptile House, then transferred to some state hellhole like Pelican Bay, and all his good times would end.

What he had to do was put some miles between himself and the office. Easy enough, once he was driving the doc's Saab, but it was parked in the lot behind the building, and the prison van was there too, with Forrest Gump nestled behind the wheel.

Gray opened the building's rear door and scouted the parking lot, considering his options. If he left this way, he'd be directly in the driver's line of sight. The doc's jacket and the deputy's cap and pants made him less conspicuous, but the Dawg was almost sure to recognize him if he looked in Gray's direction.

Maybe he wouldn't, though. Goober seemed to be reading a newspaper or some shit. Which was surprising, since Gray hadn't realized these deputy dipshits could read. The driver might not even look up. And if he did amp;

Gray could pop him. He had the dead hick's guna nice hefty Beretta nine, a bigger piece than the deuce-deuce he used when he was snuffing cheerleaders. Maybe he could smoke the Gumpster before old Forrest had time to react. Still, he wasn't kidding himself. He wasn't exactly surgical with a piece. The odds weren't exactly on his side.

Well, whatever the motherfuck he did, he better do it fast. Doc Robin might already be shaking off the woozies and getting on the phone to 911.

He should've pulled the plug on that bitch when he had the chance. Wasn't sure why he hadn't. Could've snapped her neck while she was out cold, or raked a hole in her throat with the screwie.

Too late now. He had no time to go back and finish the job. No time to find another exit, either. His only hope was to go out the back door and get out of the hillbilly's line of sight before he was made.

He stuffed the gun into the waistband of his pants, under the jacket, then stepped outside. He resisted the instinct to keep his head down, instead looking boldly ahead like any other nine-to-five zombie who had a perfect constitutional right to be here. He never even glanced at the prison van or the brainless inbred fucker in the driver's seat.

Hands in his pockets, he crossed the parking lot, taking slow, even strides, a man in no hurry. At the other end of the lot he finally allowed himself a look at the vannot by turning his head, but by checking it out in a parked car's side-view mirror.

The Deputy Dawg was still sitting behind the wheel, head down, reading. He'd be reading his fucking termination notice soon.

"You're horse-fucked, Gomer," Gray muttered with a smile, "you dumb peckerwood piece of shit."

It had been too easy.

He remembered where Doc Robin parked her wheels. On previous occasions he'd noticed the shiny new Saab in a reserved spacea tight car, perfect for his getaway. He headed toward it at a fast walk, then slowed, shaking his head in consternation.