She followed Paulie into the smaller bedroom and watched him begin to change his rags.

“Did Mac give you any idea who you’re gonna be snatching?”

“Nope.”

“I wish you weren’t doing it.” He removed his earrings, then stripped down to the black jockeys she’d bought him for Christmas. Paulie was about half a dozen years older than Poppy, but he still looked good for a guy pushing thirty. So maybe his nose was on the large side, and his face a little pockmarked, but she liked his curly hair, even if it was thinning on top. His deep blue eyes had like grabbed her first time she saw him. Still grabbed her. He didn’t work out but had a naturally muscular body. Cool tattoos too. She especially loved the Grim Reaper on his right upper arm. She’d be turned on now if she wasn’t so damn worried.

He looked up at her. “Why not? He’s paying me extra, and we could use the money.”

“Yeah, I know, but…”

“But what?”

“But I don’t want you to, like, get hurt.”

He smiled. “Don’t worry. No rough stuff. The package thinks it’s going for a limo ride. I drive up, I open the door, the package gets in, I close the door, I drive away. Simple.”

“ ‘Package’,” she said. “Why does he always call them ‘packages’?”

Paulie took the white shirt off its hanger and slipped into it. “That’s the way he is. You want me to explain Mac to you? He’s a genius. How’m I supposed to explain a genius?” Poppy stepped over and helped him with the buttons.

“I don’t know. I just wish he wasn’t like so mean.”

“He’s not mean. He’s a totally straight shooter. Has he ever stiffed us? Ever even tried? No.”

“Yeah, but last time—”

“All right,” Paulie said, slipping into the gray pants. “I admit, things got a little rough. But that had nothing to do with us. That was all the fault of the package’s family. Buyer, I mean.” Another of Snake’s words.

Poppy shuddered. “A little rough? That was more than a little rough. That guy—”

“Look, I didn’t like it either, but it worked out, didn’t it? I mean, he’s back home, right? And he ain’t all that much worse for wear.”

“Easy for you to say. I told you I didn’t ever want to do this again.” Paulie stepped forward and put his hands on her shoulders.

“Look, Poppy. Didn’t we make a deal? Didn’t I promise this is the last one? Well, I mean it. This is going to be a huge score; that’s why Mac’s paying us so much. He’s a good guy that way. If he makes out big, we make out big.” The thought of being set up with a big cash stash was so appealing. Just the two of them, traveling around… no strings… no Mac…

“Okay, fine” she said. “I want the money too. But there ain’t enough of it in the world to make me go through something like that last job again.”

“This will be different, I promise you. We don’t have to worry about the package’s family not paying up because the money’s coming from somewhere else.”

Poppy stared at him. “I don’t get it.”

“Well, neither do I, completely. Mac didn’t give me no details, just that someone else is paying him. All we got to do is baby-sit the package for like a week or so and then walk away. That’s it. No persuaders, no worrying about somebody holding back on the money—it’s totally guaranteed.” At the mention of “persuaders” and what they’d had to do last time, Poppy shuddered again.

“I still don’t like it.”

“Hey, Poppy—two hundred large in cash for a week’s work. We can go away and never come back.” She threw her arms around him and held him tight.

“Oh, I hope so. And then I never want to see Mac again. He scares me.”

“Hey, you’re wrinkling my shirt.” Poppy let him go and helped him with his dark gray clip-on tie. That done, he shrugged into his jacket. Then he put on this dumb cap and—

“I hardly recognize you,” she said.

He grinned. “You ain’t seen nothin‘ yet. Watch.”

He turned away from her and reached into a brown paper bag on the dresser. After rattling around in it and then fiddling with his face, he whirled and faced her again with a flourish.

“Ta-da!” The transformation was so totally awesome. Poppy took a step back. His normally rectangular face looked round, his nose was wider and flatter, and his eyes hid behind super-dark sunglasses. The only skin showing was between the bottom part of the shades and the upper edge of his beard.“

“Jesus, Paulie! How the hell—?” He pulled a soft white cylinder from the inside of his cheek and held it up.

“A few cotton plugs”—he pointed to his nose—“some nostril dilators, some shades, and I bet I could fool my own mother.” He stepped around the corner and studied himself in the bathroom mirror, obviously very pleased.

“How cool is this? I mean, can you just see me going up to my mother and saying, ‘Mrs. Dicastro, you seen Paulie around lately?’ Would that be cool or what?” Poppy stepped up behind him and slipped her arms around his waist. Seeing Paulie transformed like this made her feel a lot better about this snatch. Still…

“You be careful, Paulie. You pick up this package, whoever he is, and get back here safe and sound.”

He nodded, still staring at himself in the mirror. “And then I shave off this goddamn beard and get my hair back to black and—”

“And I’ll have my old Paulie back again.” He turned and kissed her.

“Right.”

She rubbed her pelvis against his. She was beginning to feel hot and didn’t want to let him go. “Mmmm, I love a man in uniform. How about you and me, like—?”

“Whoa, no.” He pulled away and slipped past her, returning to the bedroom. “That’s all I need: Show up late and miss the snatch. You know what Mac would do? I don’t even want to think about it.” Neither did Poppy.

She followed him through the bedroom and noticed a pair of black leather gloves on the bed—fingered gloves.

“Hey, Paulie, these yours?” He turned and looked. “Oh, yeah. My driving gloves. Almost forgot.”

“No fingerprints, huh?”

He shook his head and held up his fists. “No tattoos.”

“Oh, right.” She’d got so used to the letters on his fingers between the first and second knuckles that she didn’t see them anymore. But someone else would notice them sure: l-o-v-e on his left hand, h-a-t-e on his right. He slipped them on and flexed the fingers.

“How do I look?”

“Like you’re ready to drive the President.”

“Who knows?” He grinned. “I might be.”

“Not funny, Paulie.”

“Yeah, that’d be a little much to handle, even for Mac.” He stared at her. “You all set?”

“I think so.”

“Let’s check the room one more time.” She followed him into the darkness of the master bedroom and wrinkled her nose at the smell. The last renters must have kept a dog in here. A sharp, acid odor permeated the room.

Paulie flipped on the light and checked out the two windows. He’d hung room-darkener shades in both, then nailed plywood over them. He tapped his toe against the box sitting on the floor by the bed.

“All our supplies are up to date, right?”

“Yep.”

“You sure?”

“What do you think I am, an Appleton?”

His smile had an edge to it. “No. I still don’t know what an Appleton is. You keep using that word and—”

“Sorry.” She should like keep her mouth shut about Appletons. “Just a family expression.”

“Yeah, well, I just want to make sure we got everything we need. Is that okay?”

“Sure.” She knew the checklist by heart: “Three sets of cuffs, fifty feet of rope, duct tape, two flashlights plus extra batteries, three blindfolds, a first-aid kit, a gag, our masks, and a good supply of yellow jackets.” The last were the downers she used to use to bring her off the quartz when she wanted to sleep. They kept them in case the package got antsy and noisy.

“Cool. We’re set, then.” Paulie returned to the front room where he took off his cap and pulled on his long black-leather coat, completely hiding his chauffeur’s livery.